Page 26 of Savage Roses
Stitches strokes his knobby chin. “He could be playing the long con. Lulling you into a false sense of security before he strikes.”
“Possibly.”
“You think it’s something else?”
“I think a guy who snatched Leandro Crotone’s family out from under him’s capable of anything.”
The light in Stitches’ face goes out. His features tighten up, a grizzled look he doesn’t normally carry. “In that case,” he says more soberly, “it might be useful to put our ears back on the streets. See if we hear anything else about what he might be plotting.”
He leaves on that note. I finish my whiskey, considering the possibility I’m being paranoid. Maybe Lucius really is fooled—he really believes I’m tracking the second half of the tape to Leandro’s old getaway and that I don’t have anything else up my sleeve.
That’s the thing about paranoia, rarely does it have an ending once it’s given a beginning.
My phone twitches on the desk, alerting me to an incoming call… from a number I don’t recognize. The area code belongs to South Valley.
My eyes narrow into slits.
Few people have my personal number. Only my inner circle.
I snatch the phone up and let ragged, heavy breathing answer for me.
“Salvatore Mancino,” says the voice on the other end. Female. Older. Though unfamiliar. “I have something you want.”
The muscles in my jaw pull tighter as I grit my teeth. “Which is?”
“You know what it is. They went missing when she died, and I have them. Meet me tomorrow at the city wharf. Seven in the morning. Bring no one.”
She hangs up without waiting for my answer. As if she knows my curiosity will win out and I’ll show up regardless. Whoever the fuck she is, she’s right—if she’s in possession of Stefania’s cell phone and those photo albums, I want them.
I’ll do anything to get my hands on them.
delphine
There’ssomething darkly amusing about spying on my father after finding out he spent most of my life spying on every intimate, private moment of mine. I have complete access to his calls, texts, even his emails. I can track every place he goes (so long as he brings his cell with him, which he does, everywhere).
Some would say it’s wrong. It’s a complete invasion of his privacy and betrayal of his trust. Those people would be right. I just don’t give a damn.
The respect for privacy and care for maintaining trust went out the window the second he tricked me into wearing a necklace with a hidden camera inside. As far as I’m concerned, Dad deserves a taste of his own medicine.
What I call perfect karmic irony.
The spy is now spied on. The tracker now tracked.
I scroll through the app, rummaging through his text messages for anything interesting. In a few minutes I’ll make my way to Luxe, where he’s slated to meet Lena for drinks. They haven’t been in contact since scheduling their meeting.
As far as I can tell, most of their digital footprints are making arrangements to meet in person.
The definite sign of two people up to something. But the question is, what could it possibly be?
Mom passed away years ago. Dad is a widower.Technically, he could date Lena out in the open. There’s no reason for them to sneak around, other than perhaps the optics of the situation. Perception is everything to Dad, but it’s not as though Lena’s a slouch—she’s a professor at Northam University.
When ripples of his affair spread to the public, the identity of the mystery woman was never revealed. In hindsight, likely due to a favor Dad worked with the media to ensure that was the case.
They could conceivably date out in the open.
The possibility nothing romantic is happening between them disturbs me more. If Lena’s father is Volchok and Volchok orchestrated my rape, then that means Dad had to have played a role. Just like Mom’s murder. Has he been selling us out? Trading us in for favors with his disgusting friends in the Society?
I’m so lost in thought I don’t realize it’s time to go. I leap up from where I sit with Salt and Pepa on the sofa and rush off. Oscar insists on driving me.