Page 8 of Tasting Sin

“Grace, at least say hello to your brother before you take dessert,” my mother scolded her. She tilted her head. “Did you really bring cupcakes? You hate sweets.”

I shrugged. “I know. I thought you might like cupcakes.” She smiled suspiciously, and Giaco and Enzo chuckled. I narrowed my eyes, shooting them a look that barely stifled their laughter. “If you don’t want them, I won’t bring them next time.”

“No. You should bring cupcakes every time,” Grace said, swiping her finger through the frosting on one of them and sticking it in her mouth. “I love when you leave town. You’re always nicer when you get back!”

“I’m nice all the time!” I argued while she skipped to the kitchen.

Enzo laughed almost maniacally, pushing off the wall and nudging me with his elbow on the way past. “Yeah, I’m always nice too.” He stuck out his tongue, wagging it and shaking his head as I groaned. Enzo was known for a lot of things, but being nice to anyone outside of the family—even sometimes inside the family—was not one of them. He was violent, the Moretti everyone dreaded getting involved because it was a guarantee things would get blown out of proportion. It was never a doubt he’d get the job done, though.

“Yeah, okay, fireman.” I caught up to him, mussing his hair. He threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled down, forcing us both to fold at the waist, and he hissed like he was mimicking the sound of flames.

My mother huffed behind us. “You two knock it off.” We broke apart, laughing while she strode past us and into the kitchen, where Grace was likely already halfway through her first cupcake. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.”

My father nodded. He didn’t have to say much beyond pointing to the doorway that led to his office in the den. We knew to follow, and that we would do the best we could to pack six months into thirty minutes. After leaving The Full Spread, I knew we weren’t going to even scratch the surface.

“What did you find out?” Giaco was asking as soon as the latch clicked. The playfulness that had semi-decorated his face in the foyer had all but disappeared, and his stone-carved face matched the seriousness of my father’s.

I shook my head. “The Cassidys have been giving Nikki a hard time,” I said, ignoring their frustrated groans. “She said they’ve been hanging around there a lot. Most nights of the week.” I paused. “One of the strippers is dead.”

Three heads snapped in my direction, and their eyes narrowed. “Who?” Giaco asked.

“Brittney. Nikki said it was an overdose,” I explained, repeating what she had told me in her office at the strip club.

The tension in the room grew thick as my brother got more frustrated. “An overdose? I thought Nikki was keeping that shit out of her club.”

“So did I,” I said, shrugging. “Apparently, these guys coming in have been bringing enough to share.”

My brother put his fingers to his temple. “Enzo, start keeping an eye on the place,” he directed, and Enzo nodded. “You’re not there to entertain the ladies. Leave your singles at home.”

“I know, Giaco.” Enzo’s voice was always a little lower and a bit huskier when he got serious. “I’ll check in a few days a week and make sure everything is going alright.”

“But what do we do about the Cassidys?” I asked, stuffing my hands in my pockets and fingering the metal coin I carried with me for good luck.

Giaco shrugged, keeping his stone-cold expression. “We’re going to have to meet with them.” He shook his head and opened his mouth, like he was going to say something more, when the door to the office clicked and swung open.

Grace stuck her head through, her curly brown hair bouncing when she followed it, stepping past the threshold and into the middle of our meeting. She grinned for a second and then scowled when nobody looked amused.

“I know this meeting is for the men in the family only, and I’m not allowed to be in here even though I deserve to be,” she said, pausing to scan the room like she was making sure none of us had changed our minds. When none of our expressions changed, she huffed. “Mom sent me to get you. Dinner is ready, and she doesn’t want it to get cold. You know how it goes.”

Our father patted her on the back, giving her a sympathetic look. He knew she hated not being part of family meetings, but he was adamant she’d never be involved, not as long as he was alive. “Thank you. We’ll be right up.”

I looked at the cupcake on my counter—the last of the six I had purchased from Sugar & Spice last night. Grace had insisted I bring it home, claiming that if I didn’t, it would be my fault that she ate three cupcakes. Three. I picked it up from the marble, turning it in my hand before I peeled the paper wrapping from the bottom and took a bite. A cupcake for breakfast wouldn’t be so bad the one time.

The cake was moist, and the sugary frosting coated the roof of my mouth and my tongue. I swallowed, half expecting to throw the rest in the trash. I surprised myself when I took another bite instead, and then a third before I sat it back on the wrapper and stood.

I pulled my laptop from my bag, opening it and returning to the counter. The screen turned on, adding an extra glow to the dimly-lit kitchen. It nearly shined a spotlight on the half-eaten cupcake, and I took another bite, scowling. I don’t even like sweets. I set it back down, licking the frosting from my finger before I typed.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” I said to myself while I entered her name on the screen. I was going to do it anyways. The coin in my pocket felt heavier while I dug through webpages and information. I always found the details I wanted. It was what I did.

Finding the secrets most people hid was my specialty. A few finger strokes, and I was getting exactly that. The first thing that popped up wasn’t surprising. Teenage girl organizes suicide prevention fundraiser after loss of older brother. I bit my tongue until it stung, reaching into my pocket and turning the coin over in my hands again. Dickie had been my best friend, and his death had been hard on all of us, but it had been the hardest on Nellie.

I shook my head like it’d clear the fog from my eyes or erase the memories of that day. When it didn’t, I clicked my mouse again, closing the screen and opening a new page that showed me Nellie’s rundown apartment. It sat nested at the top of what looked like a narrow stairwell at the end of an alley, not far from her bakery.

My throat tightened when an article popped up on a new screen. Boston couple killed in car accident by apparent drunk driver. I sighed. I remembered reading about her parents’ car accident when it happened. A heavy feeling of guilt sat on top of the sugar that swirled in my stomach. I stuffed the last bite of the cupcake into my mouth, swallowing it hastily in hopes that it’d chase away the sour feeling. It didn’t.

With another click, I had her bank info. I hacked into the system, and in an instant, I had her records in front of me. She was struggling more than she let on. “No wonder the building is for lease,” I grumbled. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting my help. She had always done everything on her own. I looked at the other articles. And I hadn’t been there to help.

“Fuck.” I slammed the laptop shut and grabbed my keys.

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