SWNOVELS Stolen Touches: Chapter 4
“Jesus fuck!” I yelp and jump over the cat who’s sleeping unaware, sprawled lengthways along the floor right in front of the entryway. I almost squished him underfoot. Again.
Shaking my head, I go to the kitchen area, my mind on leftovers from the day before, and then sleep. The night shifts are killing me. I open the fridge, reaching my hand up to the top shelf, and blink twice. I close the fridge and turn around to make sure I’m in the right apartment.
My kitchen.
My cat.
The two-day-old pile of dirty dishes, also mine. No, I didn’t walk into the wrong apartment. I open the fridge again, gawk at its contents, and take out the phone from my back pocket to call Pippa.
“Did you drop by my place while I was at work?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Why?”
“I think someone broke in last night.”
“What?! Did you report it? What did they take?”
“Ahem. They didn’t take anything.” I bend to inspect the contents of the shelves, blinking several times to be certain I’m not imagining things. “They’ve . . . stocked my fridge.”
“I’m not following.”
“Someone broke in, filled my fridge with vegetables, a ton of meat, milk, eggs, and”—I reach for the plastic container on the middle shelf and lift the lid—“home-cooked soup.”
I’m greeted with silence on the other end of the line, then the sound of giggling. “Yeah, must be little home elves. You’re funny.”
“I’m serious. I haven’t seen a fridge this full since I left home.”
“You probably stocked it yesterday and forgot. Fridges don’t miraculously fill themselves.”
“I’m sleep-deprived, not demented, for God’s sake. I’d remember going to a store and spending half my monthly paycheck on food.” I reach out to take a block of cheese from the middle shelf and turn it to get a better view. It’s one of those fancy, moldy varieties. “There’s even a huge package of Gorgonzola there. Posh burglars.”
“You’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.” I throw the cheese back on the shelf and slam the fridge closed. “I’m calling the police.”
“To tell them what?”
Shit. She has a point, they’d only laugh. “Do you think it was David?”
“Your ex? I thought he left for India with his yoga group when you two broke up. Man, that guy was super strange, and obsessed with food. I can totally imagine him sneaking into your place.”
“Jesus. I was certain I got the extra keys back.” I sigh and squeeze my nape. “I’m going to crash, but I’m messaging David when I wake up, and I’m changing the locks first thing tomorrow.”
I cut the call and head to bed. A stray thought passes through my mind as I’m falling asleep—wasn’t David a vegan?
Salvatore
Tilting my head to the side, I watch Milene as she gets ready for work. She brushes her hair in front of the mirror, then gathers it near the crown of her head in a high ponytail. I prefer when she wears it down. I turn my phone face down and focus on the two capos across from my desk, Cosimo and Rocco, who are arguing about hiring yet another construction company.
“Atticus works on government projects, as well,” Cosimo snaps. “They have strict internal and external audits. What if someone decides to check out all the companies they work for and combs through our documents?”
“All our contracts are solid. They won’t find anything suspicious.” Rocco shrugs.
“Oh? And if they dig deeper?” I ask. “Checking up on our investors, for example? Did you think of that, Rocco?”
“Shit,” he mumbles.
“Exactly. We’re not doing any business with Atticus.” I nod toward the door of my office. “We’re done for today.”
When they leave, I return my attention to my phone, and switch on the second camera feed. Milene is filling her lunch box with some meat she obviously grilled herself because half of it appears to be charred. I’ll need to tell Ada to get more groceries and send Alessandro to fill her fridge again next week. She changed the locks, but locked doors have never posed a problem for Alessandro. The moment she leaves her place, I power off my laptop and head to the garage.
I drive forty minutes to reach the hospital where Milene works. Parking close to the entrance, I lean back in my seat and wait. Sometime later, she comes around the corner, and I follow her with my eyes until she disappears through the wide sliding doors. I turn on the ignition, reverse, and leave the parking lot.
This obsession I have with the girl hasn’t waned like I expected it to. In fact, it’s only intensified. At some point in the last couple of days, I’ve switched from checking the camera feed a few times per day to leaving it on constantly, except for when I’m in meetings. Even then, if the conversation goes on for more than three hours, I’ll pull it up and have a quick glance. It’s barely enough to alleviate the anxiety that builds whenever I’m unaware of her location for an extended period. Milene Scardoni, for whatever reason, has become a drug coursing through my veins. The more I get, the more I want. I need to see her again, in person. It won’t be today, but soon.
I stop at a red light a few blocks from home and check the rearview mirror. A familiar black car has been following me for the past fifteen minutes, staying in the same lane and a few vehicles back. Looks like the wife of the Boston don has sent another one of her pets to follow me. She needs to have her men trained better, because disposing of her incompetent spies is becoming bothersome. After the traffic light switches to green, I turn right and drive for half an hour until I reach a half-constructed office building. I make another right and head into the underground garage, which should have been finished last week. Based on the boxes, painting supplies, and rolls of electric cables strewn along the walls, the completion is way behind schedule.
After parking next to the service door leading to the stairwell, I take my gun from below the seat, and leave the car. I pass a concrete pillar on my way to the stairs and enter the building, leaving the door ajar.
Less than thirty seconds later, a man in black jeans and a black T-shirt sneaks inside the garage. He keeps his back to the wall and creeps toward the service door with a gun in hand. As he reaches the threshold and presses the palm of his free hand to the doorjamb, I step out of the shadows and put a bullet in his temple. The blood sprays across the freshly painted wall, and the man’s body drops to the ground. I lower my gun and, taking out my phone, approach the body.
“Yes?” a female voice answers.
“Nera. I found something of yours.”
“Oh. How unfortunate.” There is a short silence on the other end before she continues, “Well, I guess we’re even. Should we put a stop to this situation for now? I’m having some issues here in Boston. I need to focus on that for the moment and can’t exactly spend the time and effort on hunting the spies you’re sending.”
“Yes. That would be wise. Please pass my best wishes for a quick recovery to Don Leone.”
“I will,” she says, and the line goes dead.
I step over the dead body at my feet and call Nino.
“I have another of Nera Leone’s spies. Send someone to dispose of the body. It’s in the garage under the Brooklyn office building.”
“Right away. Should we expect more?”
“No. Nera and I came to an agreement to pause spying on each other for the time being.”
“Will we be sending a message again?” he asks.
“Yes. The head is enough this time. But wrap it in a fancy red paper. It’s her favorite color.”
“That woman always gave me the creeps.”
“You know the views Cosa Nostra has on women being in a position of power. She needs to be ruthless to put up with all of that.”
“You think she’ll uphold her promise.”
“Yes. Nera is a snake, but she won’t go back on her word. Too bad she’ll be dead soon.”
“You think someone will kill her?”
“As soon as her husband dies. She’ll keep the reins until then, but the moment the don dies, she’s done.” I put the phone away and return to my car.