Page 5 of Out of Sight

I saved everything to a flash drive hidden in my bra, but then I started the tedious process of printing everything out just in case something happened to the drive—going that extra mile to complete the mission—stuffing papers into my purse the second they were freed from the machine. I was still printing the last few pages when Carlo and Angelo strolled back in from their lunch.

I hurried to wipe the sheen of sweat from my forehead before I turned toward them.

“How was your meal, gentlemen?” I asked with a bright smile.

“Delizioso, cara mia. As always,” Carlo purred, giving me the same smile he always did. It looked creepy and out of place now that I knew the truth.

“Wonderful,” I said, keeping eye contact as I grabbed another paper that had just finished printing. I glanced down; it looked like only a couple more left. “I might go there for dinner tonight. I’ve been craving pasta.”

Angelo stayed silent, just staring hard at my face. It never bothered me before how little he ever spoke to me, but maybe that was his thing: silent when everything was fine, scary loud threats when things went wrong. Maybe I should have felt lucky he was always so quiet around me.

“My dear girl, why let yourself crave it?” Carlo let out with all the generic Italian hand gestures you could imagine. “Eat the pasta every day and you never need crave it!”

I laughed, taking hold of another paper and letting it rest on my lap until I could slip it into the bag at my feet. One more.

“If I did that I’d need another wardrobe! I’m not blessed with a European metabolism, so it’ll go to all the wrong places if I eat carbs every day.”

Why did I say that? I was a skinny little nerd who ate more than enough carbs. Hopefully the brothers never paid attention to what I brought in for lunch most days and wouldn’t catch me in a lie.

“Nonsense. All the TikTokkers and Intsagram influencers say the same thing, do they not? There are no bad foods, only bad portions.”

What’s taking the paper so long?I thought.And is Carlo Morelli really on TikTok?

“Trust me, Clara,” Angelo began, that hard stare returning to me and looking more sinister by the second. Was it because I knew the truth now? Did he know that I knew, or did he only look like he knew that I knew because I knew it all? “You are a beautiful woman. Even if you did add a bit of pasta to your diet, you have a long way to go until you’re too unattractive to look at.”

Oh great. He didn’t know anything, he was just hitting on me and being really misogynistic.

I glanced down toward the printer, seeing the screen lit up bright red. The last paper was jammed, stuck halfway through the process. I looked away, back toward the men and shifted my weight. I was nervous and doing a poor job at hiding it.

I didn’t need the paper—I had all the important information already saved on the flash drive—but I couldn’t just leave it there for them to read and discover I’d been looking at files I shouldn’t. In a moment of divine intervention, the front door of the office opened and a man entered, distracting Carlo and Angelo.

He was ridiculously tall—well over six feet—with an athletic build and well-defined muscles. He was broad without being bulky, the type ofstrongthat has a person working really hard to achieve. He dressed simply in jeans and a plain heather gray t-shirt, his only decoration a basic black watch. His dark hair fell unevenly across his forehead, an olive complexion warming his stark roman features.

But it was his eyes that held me: they were the deepest, most intense blue I’d ever seen in real life.

Who was he? A current client or a potential one? Someone wandering off the street to ask directions to the nearest McDonald’s?

Was he one ofthem, or a good person?

When he met my eyes he stilled as well, but a quick blink and shake of the head brought him back to reality. He turned his attention to the brothers, saying he needed to talk to them in private. The confidence in his voice told me all I needed to know: he knew these people. He was just another criminal.

As the men steadily met his eyes, I took the opportunity to yank at that last paper stuck in the printer, freeing it and adjusting the waistline of my skirt in an attempt to hide the paper in the back of my waistband.

I caught the man’s eye one last time when all three men went into the back offices, Angelo actually closing the door behind them for once. The mystery man looked grim, his eyes dark and mouth set in a hard line as I lost sight of him.

With the door closed I didn’t have to debate the stupidity of staying to eavesdrop or not; I’d never hear what they’d say anyway. I just took the opportunity and fled.

I felt the paranoia hit me as I hurried down the street, glancing frantically behind me every couple steps. I made it to the BART station just in time to catch a train to the Embarcadero, kismet working in my favor at last.

The fear stayed with me through our departure, reemerged with every stop the train made, held me in its grasp as I finallyclimbed back up to street level, and weighed down on me until I made it through the doors of the police precinct.

“How can I help you?” an eager young officer asked when I hesitated approaching the desk.

“I think I need to talk to a Detective or someone in charge of…organized crime? Is that a department?”

“Maybe.” He smiled condescendingly at me. “Are you reporting a crime?”

Something about the sudden alert look in his eyes held me back. How far did Mr. Morelli’s reach go? I had a list in my bag with dozens of “consultants” from all over the city. Did any of them work in law enforcement?

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