Page 32 of Salvatore

Check your emails. You’re welcome, asshole.

I sit back up, scrub a hand over my face, and navigate to my inbox.

The latest email comes from a name I’m not familiar with, the details not forwarded from Bishop but delivered directly from his contact.

Attached is the more detailed information as requested.

The initial background check was standard protocol. There was no way to have known the contradicting history that was hidden.

If any further insight is needed, let me know.

I shove to my feet.

Contradicting history?

I stride for my office, wanting to read whatever he’s referring to on something other than a three-inch screen, and sink behind my mahogany desk to open my laptop.

The file starts out the same way it had before. Word for word.

Name: Ivy Rosa Diaz.

Address. Cell number. Work details.

It’s the sad story of a basic life. Deceased parents. No siblings.

It isn’t until I reach the third page with anUpdated Informationheading, that anticipation grabs me by the throat.

Name change. Emancipation. Homelessness.

A grin pulls at my lips. This woman is a fucking goody bag of surprises.

No wonder she transformed from a tempting seductress to a livid hellcat the moment she turned to face me on that dance floor.

It’s because Ivy isn’t Ivy Diaz at all.

Nor is she the only child of deceased parents.

The reality is far better than that. Not only has she been living a double life, she’s also just become someone far more interesting to fuck with.

8

IVY

I fightsleep as I wait for my coffee to be made at my neighborhood cafe, my eyelids heavy enough to take down a linebacker.

Fear for Liv’s safety kept me going through the midnight hours, well past the point where I quit listening to Salvatore’s warning not to go to the cops. Complete and utter rage helped me chug through the morning, after I was turned away from the police station, my concerns for Liv ignored.

“It’s too early to file a report.”

“I’m sure your friend is fine.”

“She’ll show up once she’s had time to process the loss of her father.”

Each placation notched my fury up another rung, and that searing animosity is what’s keeping me standing even though my body wants to collapse from lack of sleep.

The last week has been a spin cycle of insomnia. Carlo’s death, Liv’s inability to grieve, and my own heartache have made for unending sleepless nights. But I have to keep shuffling. I can’t stop until Olivia is safe.

I’ve driven past her house five times in the past twelve hours. I’ve called her phone incessantly. There’s been no word from her. No sign of life. No online activity.

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