Page 23 of Corrupted Deception

My brother poured two glasses of grappa, but he’d only just set down the bottle when another knock sounded on the door, this one was firmer, more certain than Alice’s timid knock.

“Come in,” Deo called.

The door opened, and Vito walked in, the light above shining down on his bald head and casting shadows in the deep furrow between his brows.

“We looked into the name ‘Cade Finley’ like you asked,signor,” he said, his gaze swinging back and forth between Deo and I, “but the man doesn’t exist, not in any database we can access, no government records, no bank accounts, nothing.”

“I’ve got information about the warehouse you mentioned, though,” Vito went on and held out a folder.

I took it and opened it up, scanning the file inside.

“The warehouse is owned by Precision Textile Group,” I said aloud for Deo’s benefit. “Charlotte’s name isn’t here anywhere.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t any better news,signor,” Vito said, handing me a second folder as the furrow between his brows deepened. “I’m not sure Felipe Espinosa is the man you’re looking for.”

Inside the second folder was a picture of a man in his late forties with dark hair, heavily streaked with gray, and a beard that matched. There was a birth certificate, various news clippings labeling the man a middling cartelcapoin Ecuador.

And a death certificate.

Vito cleared his throat. “Felipe Espinosa died three years ago.”

“She lied,” I said, my jaw clenched tight.

Deo laughed.

“Something funny,fratellone?”

“I’m just not used to seeing anything ruffle your feathers, that’s all.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “My feathers aren’t ruffled.”

I placed the folders down on the desk and stood up.

“I’ll be back in a while,” I said, my voice cold and calm. “I’d appreciate it if you’d continue looking into Espinosa,” I told Vito.

“Of course,signor,” he said, his brow still furrowed like he wasn’t quite sure of the point.

“It’s unlikely the name popped into her head out of nowhere,” I explained. “She knew this man somehow. And I have no doubt, she’d known he was dead.”

“Sì, signor.”

I nodded to Deo and walked out of the house with single-minded purpose.

She’d lied to me. Another betrayal that clung to me like a second skin.

The engine of my Aston Martin roared to life and the headlights lit up the dark landscape as I left the sprawling estate, its gates fading in the rearview mirror. As I drove, the transition to the city’s bustling streets was palpable. My fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel, my foot pressed firmly on the gas pedal.

By the time the warehouse loomed in the distance, my grip on the steering wheel had tightened, knuckles white with suppressed anger, perhaps as much for me as for Charlotte. She’d fooled me, and I was not a man easily fooled.

The gravel lot was empty as I turned into it. Her car was gone. There were no security lights blazing from the far side of the property or dim lights shining down from the building’s fascia.

I got out of the car and knocked on the building’s door. A deep, cavernous bark sounded through it, but after seeing the animal’s behavior yesterday, it was clear the beast was all bark, no bite.

After a moment, I took a step back and considered my options.

It was possible she was hiding inside with the dog, but that didn’t feel right. Even afraid, I couldn’t imagine Charlotte Santoro cowering away. She did run, though. History had proven that.

I wondered as I looked over the big, dark building. Had she upped and disappeared again, leaving the dog alone to fend for itself? Suddenly, I felt a great deal of empathy for the barking, cowardly beast inside.

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