Page 43 of Deception

Would she want me to finally move on?

More importantly, can I allow myself the idea of such a thing when my family comes first? And when death follows me wherever I go, waiting to take everything away before finally taking me.

9

ISABELLA

Itug my brush through my hair, pulling a little too hard.

Pent up energy, frustration of two very different flavors, has me wound up tight. Stupid girly crap. Stupid buff, god-bodied, strong-jawedstronzo! Stupid movies and stupid romantic lodge!

First off, I shouldn’t be fraternizing so openly with my enemy. I shouldn’t like him as much as I do.

He’s becoming too real, too human.

And too irresistible.

The more time we spend together, the more likable he is, more charming. It’s completely unfair.

Making it all too difficult to keep focusing on the fact that I am here to take him down. And confusing, because it gets harder to reconcile the man I am getting to know with someone who could have killed my brother.

Not to mention, from what little I’ve dug up, the time frames don’t necessarily line up. It’s becoming apparent that there’s almost no way to know for sure if Alessandro was in Italy when Gio was killed.

They keep some records, but clearly he has people clean up after him.

I got a brief peek of his laptop when I was certain that he and Adriano were occupied—a rare occurrence that both of them would be showering around the same time. But all I've turned up is a handful of paperwork, some snapshots of dummy corporations, and possible money laundering.

I need more time to look, and better places to look in.

Alessandro’s desk drawers are still an option, as well as the east wing, where I am sure Adriano has to have some files or a computer I can get something from.

Or I could just ask Alessandro.

Yeah. Right.

So I wait for a phone call to the land line, the phones I was able to bug. Not a single call has come through in my stay here, so far.

And Adriano is really tight-lipped even when they talk. Listening through conversations I’ve recorded between them in the gym, the office, and the study, have turned up very little.

It helps me contextualize their lives and puts perspective on some of my research.

But that’s a far cry from incriminating evidence.

So, leaving my room, I time my venture down to the landing with Alessandro’s morning run, checking to see that Adriano isn’t around, and head to the office.

It’s horribly dangerous, trying this during the day.

The drawers are unlocked, and I quickly rifle through the files, papers, assorted junk.

Everything is relatively organized, leading me to a series of files folders with a few documents.

And one photo.

It immediately grabs my attention because Alessandro doesn’t have a single picture of anyone in the house. No family. No friends. Almost nothing to show that he has any close relationship with anybody.

But this photo, it seems to be some sort of inner circle, Alessandro and Adriano maybe a few years younger. I easily pick out the twins, although they look fairly different from one another, the family resemblance to the older two is uncanny.

With no other findings, I snap a shot with my phone and sneak back to my room, letting my heart rate drop.

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