Page 38 of The Mafia's Property

“Think of Zoe,” he replied.

“We get this. You get revenge for Zoe. Think how sweet it would be to punish them.”

Zoe. I had to remember her. She was the reason I was doing all this. The reason I was knee deep in a Mafia family embroiled in a Jewel-stealing saga. But the more I thought I about it, the more I was beginning to doubt if what I was doing would bring about the vengeance I desired. Everything so far felt convoluted. “If I do this, will it end them?” After witnessing all the wealth the Morelli family had, I couldn’t imagine the theft of that jewel bankrupting them. “It won’t end them, but it will weaken them,” he responded. “There are plenty of people who want to see the Morelli empire fall. This would help in doing that.”

“It won’t bring back Zoe,” I typed and almost wanted to take back the words. Too late, he had already seen them.

He responded. “Zoe mattered to me as well, remember?” How can I forget? She had not stopped talking about him from the moment they started dating. Even when they had disagreements, I knew they would get back together, because they couldn’t keep away from each other. He sent another text. “I care about her, just as much as you do, if not more.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I replied.

“For Zoe,” he wrote.

For Zoe.

Rico

I OPENED THE file titled Zoe Sanders. A twenty-two-year-old girl who worked for one of our clubs in this city and died tragically last year of a drug overdose. No close relatives came from the foster system and, like so many women in this city, were probably working to fund a habit. So this was Freya’s friend. More like sister if the file was anything to go by. Zoe listed Freya as her next of kin, and they shared the same address, indicating that they either lived together or Freya’s place served as the recipient of Zoe’s letters. Something told me it was the former rather than the latter. Their stories were too similar and way too many things lined up for them not to be close friends.

Besides the drug overdose at the end of her file, Zoe had been a good worker. She was a bartender for most of her career and had nothing but good performance reviews from her managers. Nothing here said she was an addict and would end up found dead in the Nevada desert after she went missing. Something was missing in her file. Some missing link that would glue all these scattered pieces. I flipped through the file again, looking for a clue and I was about to give up when I noticed something. Her record wasn’t always clean. She had missed a few days of work and was almost fired until an assistant manager at the club had vouched for her. She was instead given a written warning. I looked up the manager’s name. Derreck Garcia. The name rang a few bells. He was part of the family at one time until he did something that had Nico kicking him out. I scratched my brain to think what it was, but couldn’t. The bad thing about the criminal part of the business was that you couldn’t keep records when it came to those guys. It would be manna for the prosecutors.

I wondered what Derreck meant to this Zoe Sanders. Was he her boyfriend or was it some guy who was into a cute girl and felt the need to help her out? I closed the file, feeling a headache coming on. Looking into him would be going down another rabbit hole like I did with this Zoe Sanders. My mission was to learn more about Freya and her potential links to Volkov, but all I could find were dead friends and a patchy family history. My detective, whom I had sent down that path, had come back with nothing so far. I hope he finds nothing, a stray thought said.

Ever since we slept together, I’ve been having more of those thoughts. Thoughts of an innocent Freya who did nothing wrong locked in a passionate embrace with her as we explored each other’s bodies. Desire should dissipate after sleeping with someone, not rage on. She was in my office for a couple of minutes a few hours ago, and yet I could still smell her scent. I’m sure it’s long gone now, and what lingers is an imprint on my mind I could not let go.

I wondered what she had done with the card I gave her. I was sure I would get a lot of messages informing me of all the frivolous purchases she made, instead I got nothing. I even checked my account to see if she was spending any money. She wasn’t, or at least she hadn’t. Maybe the prospect of organizing a party intimidated her. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. Morelli wealth could be overpowering. I had experienced it as a kid first-hand the first time they brought me into the fold. Mother had seen me a few times at the orphanage and I initially thought she was just a lovely rich lady who liked children. When the principal of the orphanage told me I was getting adopted, I didn’t expect it to be Mother as lovely as she was. To me and to the rest of the children, she was like an angel sent to bless us from time to time.

Getting to live with her was too good to be true. I was what people referred to as a lost boy when I was adopted. Too old to be taken in and also too young to live out on my own, and what I expected to get was a family of modest means with a humble home, not the mansion I was to live in. But even the house was grander than I imagined. Imposing and intimidating. If my new brothers Dante and Gio weren’t good people who embraced me, I might have ran away.

But their love while good wasn’t enough for a young boy like me looking for companionship. Then I met Nico. He came to the house soon after I did and was a good friend of mine from then on. We were almost inseparable. First out of necessity, we were each other’s safety blanket in this new and big word. Then later, out of understanding. He was like a missing piece in my life and I had finally found another part that fit. Nico felt the same, but he had a second theory. He always said that we should be three and not two. We needed another. A woman. I didn’t think so. Nico and I were good the way we were. To be fair, I have always felt like I needed someone to share my bed, but that was as far as it went.

I should have told Nico, I thought. I should have let him know what I did, and he might have forgiven me. He might have not thought it was a big deal and all this turmoil I was feeling would be all for naught. But what was sad was how much I couldn’t get her out of my head. The more I thought I about her, the more I wanted her and the less work I got done. By the end of the day, I was ready to give up on the pretense of work and got out of the office.

My first instinct was to head back home until I realized the mistake I would be making. She would probably be there right now and with Nico. I don’t think I could handle seeing the two of them together. I could barely handle seeing them kissing this morning. I had to rush out of the apartment before I tore them apart so I can have her to myself.

I needed to be as far away as possible from the two of them until I put my feelings back in order. “Skits. Take me to the Venom.” The bar was the last place Zoe worked at and, thankfully, it was situated not too far from the casino. It was not as exclusive as the flagship club, but closer to the top. The club was empty when I entered. The staff was bustling around polishing the surfaces and setting up chairs and stools indicating they were about to open.

“It’s not open yet.” It was the bartender. His pitch was high and his tone was abrupt, as if he was a little pissed at my entrance, but he kept his best customer facing an expressionless mask on.

“I’m here on business. I’m looking for the manager here.” The bartender looked me up and down, assessing if he should take my request seriously or ask more questions. After a couple of seconds, he shrugged and pointed to a guy sitting at one of the tables at the back. “Over there,” the man said and continued on with his task. The staff barely acknowledged me and went about their business, and as they were working, I wondered if they knew who I was or whether they cared.

The man he referred me to had his back to the bar and was typing something into an excel sheet he hunched over. He looked to be about in his mid-forties, judging from the graying at the ends of his hair and the way his skin pulled against the muscles of his cheek. He was a little muscular and wore a shiny black shirt that reeked of old but wanna be hip syndrome.

“Joey?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure it was him.

“Go bother Liz with your concerns. I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“I would if I knew who Liz is,” I said.

He swiveled so sharply, his hair danced. He looked displeased, but that soon disappeared to be replaced with suspicion, recognition, and then surprise. “Mr. Morelli!” Joey jolted up from his seat, flashed me surgically enhanced white teeth, and shook my hand. “I didn’t know—to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Calm down.” I shook his clammy hand and took the only other chair on the small round table. “I’m not here to audit you.”

His mouth wobbled as he smiled. “I am happy to be audited at any time sir.”

Oh, god. One of those. I hate people pleasers. They would do or say anything to get on your good side, but I guess he would help me in this case. “And don’t call me sir. I’m a lot younger than you.”

His mouth twitched into a faltering smile. He closed the laptop and clasped his hands on top. “Can I get you anything?” He raised his hand and waved over the bartender as he spoke. “A drink? Water?”

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