Page 82 of Corrupted Deception

“Suit yourself,” Greta replied, unfazed and unaffected.

“If you’re looking to get in on the action,” Deo said, drawing her attention, “there’s plenty to be had tonight,amica.”

“You know me; I’m down for anything,” she said, nodding.

I doubt she was exaggerating.

“I’m going to do some research on Mendoza and his estate,” I said as I stood up and glanced at my watch.

Usually, a quiet hit like this took even more time and preparation than a full-on assault, but time was of the essence here. Even if I could postpone it, there was no way I was giving Mendoza the chance to make another play for Charlotte—not that he could reach her all the way up there on her high horse.

“Grazie, Cielo,” my father said with a nod.

“Scusi, per favore, Signor,” Aurelio said to my father as I left the room, and his footsteps sounded behind me, following me out.

As he closed the office door behind us, I took a deep breath and turned to face him. He was concerned; it was etched across his face.

"Charlotte, she’s all right,Signor?" he inquired.

I couldn't help but chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "She's fine, Aurelio. Her claws are sharpened and ready. No doubt, she’s already planning more stupid shit, and all the power to her. Why do you ask?"

His brow furrowed, a hint of hesitation in his expression. "She seemed to have it under control for the most part," he replied, skirting around my question.

My curiosity was piqued. "Have what under control?" I inquired as I stopped outside the empty kitchen.

He started to speak but then closed his mouth and shook his head, leaving me in the dark. An uneasy feeling settled over me.

"What is it, Aurelio?"

“She’s a fine, young woman,Signor,but she’s going through a difficult time, more so than it would be for most people,” he said.

I was taken aback. “How would you know that?” I asked.

His contemplative gaze met mine. This wasn’t a general inquiry into Charlotte’s wellbeing. This conversation was leading somewhere.

“Your father has always been a cautious man,Signor,” he said, choosing his words carefully so that they came more slowly than usual.“When you were in school, he had me… look into anyone of particular interest to you—as he did with the rest of your siblings.”

“And?” I asked while a prickling foreboding ghosted across the back of my neck.

He sighed. “Her medical records,Signor.They painted a very vivid picture.”

Christ. Indignation crawled through my veins. “You looked through her medical files?”

“I did,” he admitted without equivocation. “Your father was concerned—the fights she got into at her previous schools, her poor grades.”

“And what ‘very vivid picture’ did snooping through her medical records paint?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet, my carefully controlled temper simmering beneath the surface.

“The labels on the cupboards and the checklists throughout her home?” he said, his eyebrows raising. “The impulsive behavior and grounding techniques?”

“What about them?” I asked, fighting the urge to snap at him. It could have been because he was pissing me off. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that with a few words, he was putting together more pieces of Charlotte’s puzzle than I’d ever managed on my own. Hell, he was throwing down puzzle pieces I’d never even fucking seen.

“I don’t believe they are random ‘quirks’. She was born with FASD,Signor.”

It took me a moment to make sense of what he wassaying, but when I did his words hit me like a ton of bricks.

FASD? Fetal alcohol spectrum disorder? The words echoed in my head, and I took a step back, disbelief and frustration knotting my chest. The impact of those three simple letters weighed on me like a boulder.

“Are you sure?” I asked, a note of denial creeping into my voice. It couldn’t be true.

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