Page 32 of Body of Trust

“You don’t look so great.” Eric slides a coffee onto my desk.

I stare at the kind gesture in a white-and-green cup.

I never went to bed last night, too frazzled, confused, and restless to sleep. As I lay in my bed, staring at the shadow of my blinds on the ceiling, I decided I was no longer taking risks with my life. Not that I’d ever really taken risks, but clubs were now out of the question.

My fear became so real that I actually considered quitting my job. Around three in the morning, I was ready to go to my mother’s house and declare that I was never leaving her fortress again. I talked myself out of that real quick. At five a.m., I was driving myself mad and decided being home was the worst I could do.

I think too much when I’m alone, and I need to get my normalcy back.

Plus, I feel like I’m a sitting duck. If someone as close to my family as Rocco set out to hurt me, who else would try? If someone is after me, I can’t go home and endanger my family. If someone is after me, I can’t wait for them to come here and find me alone.

All I can do now is be vigilant.

So, here I am, at work, with security cameras and guards and staff everywhere I look. I even drove to work which made me feel somewhat in control. No one can harm me in my own vehicle.

“Thanks,” I grumble as I take the cup.

“For the coffee or for telling you that your eye circles show you haven’t slept?”

If I had taken a sip, I would have spit it out from surprise at his blunt assessment. “The coffee. Do I really look that bad?”

“You tell me.” He leans his khaki-covered hip against the doorway of my cubicle and grins.

Shifting back in my seat, I sigh. “Family issues.”

He nods with a knowing expression. “Say no more. We all have our fair share. Just don’t let it ruin your day.”

“I’ll try.” At that notion, my cell phone rings. “It’s my mother,” I say in a way that says I need privacy for a moment.

He holds his hands up and backs away with an apologetic smile.

I pick up the phone. “Hi.”

“What is this I hear, that you were out clubbing with Sienna?” she screams into the phone.

I have to hold it away from my ear.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“We needed a night to let loose. It’s been a crazy few days.”

“Crazy? You don’t even know just how pazzo this can be! This isn’t a game, Amelia. Rocco is dead!”

My stomach drops, and I think I’m going to be sick. “He’s dead?”

“Your father called with the news. He was beaten to death!” she cries.

My hand flies to my mouth in shock. I saw him last night at the club when he tried to abduct me. Jesse fought him off, but Rocco was alive when we left him in the alleyway.

Wasn’t he?

“Where … where was he found?” I dare to ask.

“I don’t know all the details, but we’re going to get to the bottom of it. Beaten and bloody. His body was found in his car in some back alley. When we find that brutto figlio di puttana bastardo”—I can hear her pacing and panting as she calls the supposed killer an ugly son of a bitch bastard in Italian—“he’s going to wish he never touched Rocco.” She gasps. “He was a good man.”

“No, he wasn’t,” I say quickly but instantly regret it.

“What are you talking about? Amelia Grace, you do not speak ill of the dead that way.”