Page 72 of Crazed

We make our way into the building. I use the key Papà gave me, opening the front entrance. When we get inside, Tristano locks the door.

I creep up the staircase and slowly turn the knob. I glance at my brother, but his face is covered as much as mine. He points for me to go in, and I cautiously open the door.

Everything seems clear. I nod for him to follow, slip through the main room, and follow the sound of loud snores. I peek into the bedroom and happily find that Papà assumed correctly. Spread out over the mattress is Agent Dominico's large body. He must have been so drunk, he didn't even get under the covers or take his clothes off.

I swiftly cross the room, stab the needle in his arm, and his eyes fly open. He tries to reach for me, but Tristano pins his arms above his head.

Agent Dominico's limbs flail in the air, but not for long. The drug works quickly, and he soon turns limp.

"That's a good fat fucker," Tristano taunts, but in a quiet voice.

"Let's go," I order, not wanting to stick around. Who knows if anyone else is coming to visit. I glance at the desk with papers, a computer, and camera on it. Then I stare at another camera that's sitting on a tripod near the window. The hairs on my arms rise and I walk over to it. I shove my fingers through the blind slats, hit the "on" button, then swallow hard when Katiya's unit appears.

"What are you doing?" Tristano asks.

"Seeing what he was up to," I declare as thoughts race through my head. My gut dives further, and my mouth turns dry.Was he watching her?

"Time to go. Clean up isn't our job. I'm sure Papà will send in the cleanup crew," my brother claims.

I grab the camera off the tripod and pull the memory card out.

"What are you doing?" Tristano asks.

I sniff hard, spin, and reply, "I want to see what he knows. Time to go." I point to Dominico. "Should we flip?"

"All you. I got last time," Tristano scoffs, then walks toward the door.

I groan. My brother always seems to get the easy way out. The guy he had to carry was the size of a peanut. Agent Dominico has at least fifty pounds of excess fat on his stomach alone.

But there's no time to argue. I unzip my suit and shove the tiny card in my pocket. I refasten my suit, heave Dominico over my shoulder, then carry him out of the room. I'm about to make my way down the stairs when a photo grabs my attention.

It's my beautiful dolce, gagged and restrained. The slats of the blinds are only partially open, but it's her. And in the corner of the photo is me.

My heart races faster. I try not to breathe in the stale stench of the room. There's no doubt our intel was correct; he's been partying for several days.

I release Dominico, and a loud thud echoes in the room from his body hitting the floor. I tab through the other photos, pulling out a dozen more of Katiya. Some I'm in, some I'm not. Each one I find makes my pulse beat so hard, I wonder if my veins are going to explode.

I grab the photos then shove them in the back of his pants so the pictures aren't visible. I meet Tristano at the bottom of the stairs. I toss Dominico into the bin. Tristano puts a sheet over him, and we wheel him out. When we get to the street, whoever drove the identical van several houses away is also putting their bin back inside.

I ignore them. We get ours in the back and then I jump in and shut the doors. As soon as I sit on the bench, I remove the photos.

Tristano slides into the driver's side, starts the van, and pulls away from the curb. I handcuff Dominico to the rod and sit on the other side of the van, studying all the photos.

Why does he have so many of Katiya?

I'm in several, but I'm not the main focus in any. It's very clear that she's the one who caught his interest.

It doesn't take long before Dominico's body slams against the wall of the van, just like we predicted. In some ways, I have to give Tully credit. He always knows how to add extra injuries to victims.

I remove my face shield and mask. Then I regret it when Dominico's stale alcohol and sweat stench flares in my nostrils. I close my eyes, put my head against the metal, and try to relax during the drive to Papà's.

Yet I can't. Rage stews in my veins, growing hotter each second. There's only one question I need him to answer.

Why was he surveilling her?

When the van's engine finally turns off, I get out, breathing in fresh oxygen. Tristano jumps in and holds a solution-soaked handkerchief over Dominico's mouth and nose.

He opens his eyes, coughing, and then barks, "What the fuck?" He yanks on the rod, but the handcuffs stop him from going anywhere. He attempts to kick us, but Tristano and I both cross our arms and watch him.

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