Page 94 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“Fuck,” August hissed, moving away from me to open the back door to let in Aurelio.

“What’s go… oh,” Aurelio said, seeing the mess.

“Is that blood?” I asked, pointing toward the edge of the counter.

August stooped to look.

He didn’t spare me from the truth.

I appreciated that.

“Yes.”

“There’s some drops here,” Aurelio said, pointing toward the path he’d just walked in from the back door.

“Do you know if you can access the security system here?” August asked. “There’s cameras everywhere.”

There was.

There always had been.

Even if I wanted to, I never would’ve been able to get away with anything as a kid.

“Maybe,” I said, walking on numb legs toward the study at the front of the house.

No bookshelves to get dusty.

Just a desk and chair.

There was a all-in-one computer on the desk, a cup with exactly three pens, and a picture of me.

But not one from when I was a little girl.

No.

This was from the opening of my shop.

I hadn’t been aware of him taking it.

It was of me smiling up at my sign before I officially opened my doors ten seconds later.

It wasn’t until I was looking at that picture that I realized I hadn’t felt that way—blissfully happy—about my life in a long time.

The closest I had gotten lately was when I was playing house with August at the hotel.

I shook those thoughts away as I moved behind the desk, powering up the laptop, and trying a couple passwords before I finally got it.

My birthdate.

In reverse.

My father could be such a cold, detached man. But I was seeing more and more that there was a lot of love buried deep in there.

Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to try to repair things.

I doubted we’d ever be the kind of family that August and Aurelio got to have. But we could be better than we were.

If he was still alive.

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