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He wasn’t wrong about that. I’d talked about being a detective for so long it was part of me. I’m closer than I’ve ever been. This task force was going to get me to my goal. Finally, I would show the world I wasn’t the strung-out loser everyone thought I was.

Thoughts of Enzo distracted me. I could see the hurt on his face, the anger. Even if he didn’t kill me, he would be devastated. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Everything we’ve been doing could be a lie. And I’m falling for it.

I couldn’t imagine Enzo playing along for this long, though. If he wanted to kill me, he could. Enzo could make my body disappear in the blink of an eye and not think twice. Instead, he was taking care of Penelope and me, holding us close when there was no reason to. Could anyone really play a game as long as we’d been dancing around each other?

Picking up my half-empty cup of coffee, I tossed it in the trash. No matter what Enzo was doing, whether it was real or fake, I had a job to do. What we had couldn’t last forever.

“Let’s go check out that storage room,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding my head until I could almost believe it myself. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“We can take my car.” Rourke carried his coffee out. “Are you sure you don’t need another drink?”

“No,” I said, my stomach churning. I wasn’t sure I could hold anything down if I tried. “I’m good.”

* * *

Brycen’sentire life was laid out in a series of boxes. Is this what it’s like in the end? Everything you are reduced to a cold, empty room? The knot in my stomach hadn’t subsided. I pushed through it, shuffling old mail before placing it to the side.

“What are we looking for?” Rourke asked.

“I have no idea,” I muttered. “When I find it, I’ll know.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Shut up and look.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

We went back to scouring the boxes. Old clothes, shoes, even stuffed animals were in there. My brain wouldn’t stop coming up with scenarios where Enzo had seen Brycen in a certain outfit, or he’d gone to a carnival with the man and won him a prize. The more I went through, the angrier I became. Not because Enzo had killed him, though. The feeling was… stranger, more twisty and desperate. And I realized I wasn’t pissed; I was jealous.

Of a dead guy. Great. What the hell is Enzo Vitale doing to me?

A heavy notebook dropped out of one of the boxes, thudding against the concrete floor. I picked it up and flipped through it. As I read some of the text, I knew what it was a diary. Brycen’s words enamored me, and I couldn’t look away.

“Did you find something?”

“Not sure,” I muttered, turning the page. “Just reading for now.”

“Guess I’ll keep looking then.”

I nodded but stayed focused on the book.

…I think I’m in love with E. We went out of town today. E gave me whatever I wanted.

…I never thought I could be so happy.

…Am I doing the right thing?

…He knows. I know he knows, and I’m terrified. I wish I could tell Abi, but she wouldn’t understand. I’m fucking scared.

My heart clenched. The more I read, the more the story twisted. Brycen wrote that he was scared of Enzo and Benito. He wanted to get away, but he couldn’t. I flipped to another page. He had another slip-up. He was back on drugs worse than before, from what I could tell by looking at his slanted writing. I turned the page, my heart racing, only to be met with nothing.

I frowned at the sight of ripped-out edges where the pages should be. Someone had torn them out. My stomach clenched. Did Enzo do this? Or Benito? Giancarlo? Why get rid of these pages and not the whole journal?

Nausea rose in my throat. What if those missing pages concealed the truth about Enzo and what really happened with Brycen? I closed my eyes, trying not to think about it. Enzo had explained it all, and I’d been on his side. But what if he was lying?