Page 23 of The Mafia King's Baby

The most obvious explanation is that Aleks returned for something he’d forgotten, something important enough to risk coming back despite leaving so abruptly this morning. The notebook clearly belonged to him rather than being left accidentally and retrieving it would explain both the careful entry and the precision of what was taken.

Why not knock on the front door like a normal person? Why sneak in through the back and leave without saying anything? Unless he was worried about explaining what those encrypted records actually documented? Was he worried about questions I might ask after having time to examine the contents more closely?

Or am I just losing my mind?

I close the drawer and stand up, pacing the small room while anxiety builds in my chest. The rational part of my brain insists this is simple. Aleks came back for his property, took only what belonged to him, and left everything else undisturbed. No harm done, so no reason for concern.

The suspicious part of me doesn’t like this one bit. Why would someone need to keep financial records in code? And why does the whole situation feel like I’ve stumbled into something far more complicated than a simple case of mixed-up possessions?

I spend the next hour triple-checking every lock in the house and wondering if it would even matter when someone could toss a brick through one of my many windows instead.

I wish I had a gun. It’s the first time I’ve wanted one as an adult, but I’m familiar with shooting. I went a few times with my dad.

Overall, the house feels different now, less like a refuge and more like a space that’s been compromised by unknown intentions, so a way to defend myself might counter some of that.

Sleep comes fitfully that night, interrupted by every sound the house makes as it settles around me. I wake repeatedly to check the time, listen for unfamiliar noises, and wonder whether I should call the police about what might be nothing more than a former guest retrieving his belongings.

By morning, I’ve almost convinced myself I’m overreacting to a perfectly reasonable situation. Aleks needed his notebook back, took it quietly to avoid bothering me, and left everything else exactly as he found it. The fact that his business records were encrypted doesn’t necessarily mean anything sinister, just that he values privacy in professional matters. I have no glibexplanation for why he didn’t just knock and ask for it back, but maybe he didn’t want the hassle of awkward post-one-night-stand interactions? If so, his actions are cowardly but not necessarily nefarious.

Since I won’t get any answers, I eventually have to let go of it all and move on. I have three bookings coming up and no time to focus on useless mysteries.

The weekthat follows passes without incident, each day making the break-in seem less significant and more explainable. I focus on job applications and hosting preparations, trying to get more bookings through the app while maintaining the house for future guests. My three bookings come and go in a span of three days, and the process is smooth. The routine of ordinary life gradually erases the anxiety I felt that night, replacing suspicion with the practical concerns of unemployment and mortgage payments.

Mrs. Patterson’s call on Thursday morning provides a welcome distraction from my own problems. She needs someone to watch Sariah while she has a minor outpatient procedure at the hospital on Friday morning.

“Nothing serious,” she assures me over the phone. “Just a follow-up on the hip replacement, but they want to do it under light sedation and I can’t drive afterward. My daughter’s taking me, but she can’t stay long because of work commitments, and Sariah hates to be alone.”

“Of course, I’ll watch Sariah. Should I come over there or bring her to my house?”

“Would you mind staying at my place? She gets anxious in unfamiliar environments, and I’d feel better knowing she’s in her own space with her toys and routine.”

I arrive at Mrs. Patterson’s house Friday morning with a book and enough coffee to last several hours. Sariah greets me with her usual enthusiasm, tail wagging and entire body wiggling with the joy of unexpected company. Mrs. Patterson’s daughter, Janine, arrives shortly after to collect her mother, and Mrs. Patterson reminds me of the location of emergency vet information before Janine hustles her out.

The morning passes peacefully with Sariah content to nap in her favorite sunny spot while I read and occasionally throw tennis balls for her entertainment. I bake some cookies to welcome Mrs. Patterson home and sneak Sariah a couple of bites of peanut butter dough. The house feels cozy and lived-in, filled with family photos and comfortable furniture that speaks of decades of happy memories.

The doorbell rings just after noon, sharp and insistent in a way that makes Sariah immediately alert. She jumps up from her nap and begins growling, a low rumbling sound I’ve never heard from her before. Usually, she greets visitors with excited barking and tail wagging, eager to make new friends and demand attention from anyone willing to provide it.

This reaction is completely out of character for a dog who considers every human a potential source of treats and belly rubs.

I approach the front door cautiously, Sariah’s continued growling making me hesitate before opening it. Through the peephole, I see a man in a dark suit standing on the porch, holding what appears to be a leather wallet or badge case. Helooks official and professional, like the kind of person who might be conducting some kind of government business.

“Can I help you?” I call through the door, unwilling to open it completely until I understand what he wants.

“Ma’am, I’m Agent Marcus Lang with the FBI.” His voice carries a mix of authority and friendliness. “I’d like to speak with you about a matter of federal interest.”

Sariah’s growling intensifies, and she positions herself between me and the door as if preparing to defend against a threat. Her hackles are raised, body tense with aggression I didn’t know she possessed. The sweet, goofy dog who brings me sticks during hikes has transformed into someone protective and suspicious.

I open the door partway, keeping the chain lock engaged while Agent Lang displays his badge for inspection. The identification looks official enough, though I have no expertise in distinguishing real federal credentials from convincing fakes.

“What kind of federal matter?” I ask, maintaining distance while Sariah continues her low growling.

“May I come in? This would be easier to discuss privately.” He glances down at Sariah with obvious annoyance, and I catch something cold in his expression that doesn’t match his friendly tone.

“This isn’t my house, and I’m comfortable talking here. What did you need to discuss?”

His smile becomes more strained, professional courtesy wearing thin at my refusal to invite him inside. “We’re investigating criminal activities in this area, specifically involving individuals who may have used local accommodations for illegal purposes.”He gestures to my house across the street. “You do live there, don’t you, Ms. Bourn?”

I nod as the words hit me like ice water in the face. He’s talking about the hosting business and guests who’ve stayed in my house. He’s talking about Aleks. I’m sure of it. “I run a legitimate short-term rental through QwikRent,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart has started racing. “All my guests book through the app, and I follow all local regulations.”

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