Page 117 of The Protégé

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“He’s cute.” Melissa pursed her lips. “Does he have any siblings?”

I laughed and told them no. We chatted for a few more minutes, then I excused myself to get ingredients. It felt good to declare I was with Orion.

Rushing back home, I made rice, prepared the ingredients, and stir-fried the strips of beef and pork sirloin and vegetables. The house smelled delicious. Then I cleaned up some more.

I needed to remodel this home when I had more time and money. A bigger office space, expand the back deck to include an indoor greenhouse so I could cultivate dandelions all year round. I could even start a section about gardening for healthy living on Musepaper. Ideas popped into my head, making me smile.One thing at a time, Elena.

I’d need an interior designer to help me make this home more suitable for work and living. The girls could give me a recommendation.

Elena:Hey, do you have an interior designer you can recommend?

Audri:I have a couple. Sending their links to your email.

Michelle:I’ve used Audri’s interior designer too.

Kiera:How’s the mission going?

I beamed and shared the good news.

Bursting with pride and joy, I got out supplies to make something special for Orion. I giggled like a foolish girl in love as I wrote on the tiny strips of paper and folded them.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

ORION

I metwith an acquaintance at the Providence Police Precinct to gather some details about Samuel Donatello. I didn’t trust my acquaintance, but he was useful. Now that his bank account was a few thousand dollars richer, I could see Sam’s dead body. It had contusions around his neck and wrists. He was hanged to death, his body tossed into the river.

I got to my car and reviewed the file Ralph had sent me. Then I opened the recordings I’d initiated on the day I broke into Sam’s house and saved those two girls. The girls had moved to another state with a nice settlement. I wondered if the settlement had escalated Sam’s death. The asshole should’ve been in jail, but I supposed this outcome was karmic enough.

I had planted a tiny camera on the cat’s collar. It was just intuition that had me wondering what Sam knew.

I searched for a clip where I could see Carlos in Sam’s home. Most of the recordings picked up strange sounds and voices. But there was a recording where the cat jumped on the couch and captured Carlos clearly. I didn’t need to know what he talked about. All I needed was a clip as proof of what I planned to do.

I drove to a convenience store just outside of Providence. The shop was a front for drugs and money laundering. On a late Friday afternoon, Carlos occupied a joint he owned and ran. The shop was financed through Stockholm Bank, which Elena discovered to be connected.

I parked my black SUV a block away in the parking lot of a plaza with a family restaurant, laundromat, and a hair salon. I walked to the convenience store and entered. A woman was at the register paying for bread and milk. Three men sitting at the table in the far corner stopped chatting when they saw me.

A man with long dark hair wearing a black shirt and dark pants strode up to me. Up close, I saw a tattoo of a cross on his neck and wondered if he had that to protect himself from all the sins he’d committed?

“How can I help you,amigo?” He smirked, sizing me up.

I wore a dark suit made of Kevlar materials. At a glance it looked like a regular Armani suit. My closet was filled with a variety of Kevlar apparel. I had a team developing a more advanced version that incorporated elasticity within the fabric for better ease and movement. During a battle, those qualities secured safety and victory.

“I’m here to see Carlos. We have business to discuss. Tell him The Condor is here with a proposal.”

“He didn’t tell us he was expecting anyone,” said Cross Tattoo.

“Are you his wife? Does he always share his agenda with you?” I asked with a straight face.

He dismissed me with a laugh, and his two buddies approached.

The bald guy wearing a T-shirt promoting an alcohol brand stepped up to me. “If you want bread or milk, go down the street. We’re closed for business.”

Then he placed his hand on my arm, trying to nudge me out. I gripped his wrist and twisted it, cracking bones.

“Don’t put your dirty hands on my expensive suit unless you can afford two hundred thousand dollars. Got that?” I seethed and released him, adjusting my suit. Then I looked up at the camera perched in the top corner of the room.

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