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"Good," the detective replied. "That's the smartest move you could make. If you need help untangling yourself from this mess, give me a call. But make no mistake—these people don't play around. You did the right thing by reaching out."
When I hung up, I could barely think straight. How had Robert not seen this coming? Or had he known all along?
Later that day, I confronted him. When I told him I was pulling the plug, he didn't fight me like I expected. Instead, he just... went quiet.
"Why?" Robert asked, his voice subdued.
I told him what I had discovered; about the syndicate, about the police. The mention of law enforcement made him stiffen, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw real fear in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I'll make it up to you someday."
He never called or showed up at the office again. Just like that, Robert vanished from my life.
And to this day, I've always wondered what happened to him. Whether the mafia caught up with him... or if he found another way out. Either way, I never heard from him again. And a part of me feared that one day, it would happen to me too.
The threats started small—a voicemail, a note on my car. Each one referenced the deal Robert nearly pulled us into, demanding I make good on a promise I never made. I tried to ignore it, but it kept escalating. I had no idea what Robert had promised, and with him gone, I was left holding the bag.
That's when I called the detective again, and I was introduced to Mike. He showed me the truth about Robert—a career criminal who had lied to me from the beginning. The realization hit hard, but Mike took control of the situation. With one conversation, the threats disappeared, and I could breathe again.
Robert never resurfaced. No apology, no explanation, nothing. It left a scar, one that still aches every time I think about it. Now, with Nicole gone, the same sense of betrayal lingers, and I can't shake the feeling that history might be repeating itself.
I push thoughts of Robert to the back of my mind again. Just as I reach for the handle to get out of the car, my phone rings. It's Mike's number. I answer immediately.
"Hello?" I say, feeling my pulse quicken.
"Shane, you sitting down, buddy?" Mike's voice has that tone—the one that tells me I'm not going to like what's coming next.
I lean back in the driver's seat. "Yeah, lay it on me."
"I did some digging, and Nicole... she's part of an active investigation. Now, she's not a suspect in any crime, but we think she's mixed up with some pretty serious people. You need to stay away from her."
"What is she involved with?" My throat tightens, dread settling in.
"Between us—this is confidential—it could be anything, possibly trafficking, drugs... we're not sure. But here's where you come in: Some of these organizations are the same ones that came up with Robert. Now, we don't know her exact connection, or yours, but—"
"Wait,myconnections? Are you trying to say I'm a suspect?" I cut him off, my voice sharper than intended.
"No, Shane, we're not saying that. What's more likely is that you're a target again. But we can't overlook this as a coincidence right now. For now, you're involved, and I'm suggesting you keep your distance. Let me know if she contacts you."
"Yeah, sure," I reply.
"Shane..." Mike starts, but I hang up before he can finish.
Serpenti. The word she muttered in her sleep flashes back to me. It was all connected somehow. I need more answers, and I know there's one place I haven't searched yet. I reach into the backseat and pull out something personal, something I've avoided touching until now: the small blue diary Nicole had left under her pillow. Why would she leave something so intimate behind? Was it on purpose? None of that matters now. I have to read it. Maybe this will finally give me the answers everyone else is refusing to.
I head into the diner, slide into a booth, and open the diary. Flipping through the pages, I take pictures with my phone, then use a translation app to make sense of the Italian entries. Bythe time I'm halfway through, my eyes are blurry with tears, not from any revelations, but from her words about me and Jaime. Every entry is filled with memories of how beautiful her time with us was. How much it meant to her.
Chapter 26
Nicole
I don't know how long I've been down here. The bright lights are always on, messing with my sense of time. No windows, no way to see if it's day or night. I sleep when my body forces me to, and I eat when they remember to feed me, though it feels like it's been hours since the last meal—a cold cheeseburger and some soggy fries tossed in a plastic bowl like I'm some stray dog. They leave me with a bottle of water, a thin sleeping bag, and a bucket for everything else. The toilet paper? One roll, used sparingly.
I'm alone most of the time, the silence heavy in this bare room. But the walls are thin, and voices drift through from upstairs. His men argue constantly, their doubt in Raffaele growing louder. I can hear the cracks forming in his plan, and despite my own situation, it brings a slight sense of satisfaction. But withit comes the worry—Raffaele's losing control, and when people like him lose power, they get desperate. He's already mentioned trouble with Obsidian's higher-ups, and from what I've overheard, he's planning something reckless—an assassination.
The door creaks open upstairs. I hear Raffaele's boots descending the steps, their weight unmistakable. I tense, knowing he's here for me.
"Nicola," he calls out, his voice laced with forced calm. "This could all be over if you just cooperate. You could be upstairs, enjoying a proper meal. Fredo made Bolognese tonight. It's a shame you can't have any."