Page 46 of Killing Emma

“That’s a ballsy accusation, considering her husband was dipping his dick in someone else,” I snap as I suddenly fight the urge to smash Jude’s face through the monitors.

“Wow, you got a moral compass now?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.

“Look, I’m not saying that Jared is a good guy. I think he’s a piece of shit, personally. However, Lydia has shifted. She wonders if Emma did something reckless to escape from life—and look at this.”

I run my hand over my face, knowing I could set this all straight if I just told Jude the truth. But something clamps my fucking mouth shut.

“Listen,” Jude starts a news video, and I force myself to listen.

“Emma Nightingale, the sole heiress of the Nightingale fortune, has disappeared. A source close to her says that mental health issues may have played a role. Her attorney, Kyle Watson, maintains that her mental state was fine. However, our source says she was dealing with depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder after her mother passed away in 2018. The investigation is still ongoing, but rumors have been swirling that she may have committed—”

“Who’s the source?” I smash the pause on his keyboard before the video finishes. It’s a load of bullshit, but it is what it is—and I sure as hell wasn’t responsible for this blip of slanderous misinformation.

“No idea,” Jude says. “Lydia thinks maybe it was Jared. He’s reached out to her multiple times, expecting Emma to show up in California.”

And then what? She shows up murdered in California? What are the actual fucking instructions to Manny? He said they needed DNA to prove she’s dead, obviously. Damnit, I need to ask him.

I rub my eyes, fatigue pummeling me like a fucking ton of bricks. “This all just sounds like a clusterfuck, Jude. I don’t know what to tell any of you about it.”

“Yeah, well, I think someone has the answers. And you know what else I think?” Jude turns his chair to face me.

“What’s that?” I ignore the scrutiny written all over his face.

“I think someone fucked this up.” He folds his arms across his chest. “I think there was a plan in place, and it went haywire.”

“Or,” I reason. “Maybe it went exactly as it was supposed to, and she’s laying low, waiting for the shitstorm to pass along with her divorce.”

Jude tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, letting the silence hang.

Jude’s jaw tenses as the air grows charged with the unspoken. “Luca, why did you want to know about Ronaldo Vitalia? Because he wasn’t even around when Victor passed away. He died three years before—and by then, he wasn’t even near Victor’s place in New York.”

“Just a connection,” I grunt. “Bad information.”

“Yeah, bad information about the kidnapper of Emma’s grandmother.” Jude’s voice grows cold. “And Manny really likes to run his mouth when he drinks, you know.”

“He comes up with some weird shit.” I don’t have to lie about that one. Manny is known for his stories, blended with fiction and fact.

“Yeah, I was at The Den when he was talking about you railing a pretty ginger from Georgia.”

My palms begin to sweat. “There’s a lot of gingers in Georgia.”

Jude falls silent for a few beats. “Did you kill Emma Nightingale? And did the plan get fucked because of Henry and Lydia?”

I shake my head. “No.” But the plan did get fucked up.

“If you’re lying, and you think that you can cover your tracks with all the misinformation and shitty cover-ups—that scream Manny—you’re going to catch a wrath that I won’t protect you from.”

I nod, just as my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. “I’d never ask anyone to protect me.” I pull it out, seeing a text from Manny.

On my way to Vinita. See you in 10 minutes. We have to wrap this up ASAP. I already called Ivan.

I read the message, panic slipping into my body. “I have to go.”

Chapter Twenty-One

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