Page 22 of His Passerotta

“Who are you?” I ask, making her jump.

She shifts on the cushion and fiddles with her hands, seemingly preparing to speak. “Bailey Fisher.”

Her voice is strong, brave, which must’ve been what she was preparing for. I like that.

My mouth stays closed while I wait for her to continue. She strikes me as foolish but not stupid. She knows I want more.

Her eyes dart to me then to her lap. Taking a deep breath, she turns to face me. “I promise you, everything I said was true. I work at La Divina and forgot my phone in one of the lockers this afternoon, so I was only there to get it. I didn’t even hear your conversation, so I know nothing.”

My hands clasp, and I rest my forearms on my knees. “You know enough.”

“No.” She shakes her head, a desperate denial of the fate we’re both aware of. “I—I don’t?—”

“I never told you my name,” I say, my voice even. “So you must know who I am.”

“Of course I do.” Her hand presses to her chest. “You’re Anthony Gruco, half the people in this city know who you are. People with several multi-million-dollar businesses are well known. It’s a thing.”

Her eyes plead with me, begging me to understand her simple explanation. Her bullshit explanation.

“Are you going to lie to me all night?” I ask. “Because if so, I need to make a call. Maybe you’ll be honest with Finn.”

“No.” Her eyes bug, and she scoots closer to me, her breathing noticeably heavier. “No, please, don’t do that.”

I sit up straight, unclasping my hands to rest them on my slacks. “How do you know who I am?”

“I…” She looks up and inhales a shaky breath like she’s once again trying to prepare herself to speak. “I know you from Freddy’s. About seven months ago, a guy you were with called you Gruco, and I found your first name from a quick Google search. There’s a news article from when you opened your hotel that has a picture of you.”

“Why?” I squint at her, trying to summon Lorenzo’s ability to see through someone. “Why would you care so much about who I might be that you felt the need to look me up?”

Color floods her previously pale face, and she looks down.

“Did you overhear something? Did you…” I search my brain for the right way to phrase this without eliciting her to lie. “Was it because you thought I was rich? Or was it because you thought I was a criminal?”

Wheels turn behind her eyes while she thinks through her answer, and I cut to the point before she has time to think up a lie.

“Were you planning on robbing me?”

“What?” Creases shoot between her eyes. “No.”

“Then why did you look me up? Why did you decide to apply to my restaurant? Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe all of this is a coincidence? That you just so happened to run into me today when your car just so happened to break down?”

Her mouth opens and closes several times before she bites her lip and shrugs.

This was a mistake.

I pull out my phone, not sure if I’m bluffing or not.

“Don’t!” Bailey hops to the cushion beside me, putting her hand on my wrist and carefully guiding my phone to the couch. “Please don’t.”

“Then stop making me ask so many questions.” I pry her hand from my wrist. “You can either make this make sense or you can talk to someone who enjoys this an immense amount more than I do.”

She stares at me, doe-eyed. When her mouth opens and closes again, my patience snaps, and this time I’m not bluffing when I pick up my phone.

“No, wait. Please, just give me a minute. I just… I’m scared. I—I…”

I unlock my phone and pull up Lorenzo’s contact, the fear in her voice slowing my movements but not stopping me.

Something is up with this girl. I can’t just let it go. I can’t let her go.

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