Page 8 of Malevolent Secrets

"I…my name is Daniella and two weeks ago, my fiancé died in a car accident.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” the officer says. He sounds sympathetic but confused, probably wondering why I’m giving him this information.

“I have reason to believe that it was not an accident at all. Who do I speak with? I reply, my voice firm despite the anxiety gnawing at me.

He seems to sense the urgency of the situation. He stands up. "Please wait here. I'll get someone to assist you."

A few minutes later, a tall, broad-shouldered officer with a serious demeanor approaches me. His eyes are sharp, scanning me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Good evening. I'm Detective Wesley. Follow me, please."

I follow him through a maze of desks and offices, finally arriving at a small, windowless room. The walls are painted a drab gray and a single fluorescent light hums overhead. A large wooden table occupies the center of the room, flanked by a few uncomfortable-looking chairs.

"Please, have a seat," Detective Wesley says, closing the door behind us.

I sit down, placing my phone on the table in front of me.

“Miss Roberto, I am truly sorry for your loss. I was here the night the accident was called in.”

“Thank you. These pictures show my fiancé's car's brake lines. They were cut.”

The office raises an eyebrow at this. “I don’t know how that was missed in the investigation, but maybe no one thought that there was foul play involved.” He takes my phone and looks at the images.

He passes my phone back to me. I notice that my fingers are shaking a little as I take the phone back. “My fiancé seemed upset when he dropped me off at home. He said that he had to meet someone for work, but he didn’t tell me anything else. He works in an office. He’s not someone who would usually need to take care of work at night.”

I pause, then forge ahead even if I’m opening myself up to potential retaliation from someone or some organization. “Also, there was a man at his funeral. He said his name was Massimo Ranieri. He said he met Jeremy in college. But Jeremy didn’t go to college.”

“Massimo Ranieri?” the police officer says, straightening in his seat.

I nod tightly. “Yes. Handsome. He looked Italian. He wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“I know why,” the office says, his voice tense. His eyes meet mine for a moment as if he was appraising me. "This is indeed troubling, Miss Roberto. Massimo is the head of one of the biggest mafia families in the city, but we haven't ever been able to pin anything substantial on him. This might be the break we need."

“Mafia?” I whisper, my heart racing.

"We'll launch a full investigation," he assures me. "But I must warn you, this could get dangerous. Massimo has connections and he's not afraid to use them."

"I understand," I say, my voice steady. "I don’t know why Jeremy would have been ‘friends’ of theirs or why they would want to hurt him.”

Detective Wesley gives me a nod. "We'll do our part to figure that out. In the meantime, I suggest you be very careful. Watch your back and if you notice anything suspicious, contact us immediately."

I leave the station with a mixture of relief and dread sitting under my breastbone. The wheels of justice are in motion, but the danger feels more real than ever. As I drive home, the city lights blur and the enormity of what I've set in motion sinks in. There's no turning back now.

Back home, I begin my research. Hours pass as I dig through endless articles and websites, piecing together Massimo’s connections. He’s linked to shady dealings, his name appearing in reports of corruption and crime. But there’s never been anything concrete enough to put him behind bars.

My frustration mounts as I sift through the information, feeling the weight of Jeremy’s death more acutely with each passing moment. But I won’t stop looking for answers.

I can’t stop.

I owe it to Jeremy and to myself, to uncover the truth.

Chapter Three

Daniella

I run down a dark hallway, chasing after Jeremy. I just saw him vanish around a corner.

“Jeremy!” I shout, but he doesn’t look back. “Jeremy!” I yell again, slipping on the wet concrete as I race after him.

---