Page 8 of The Boss

I reach the kitchen, and that’s when I see her. She’s in front of the stove, the smell of frying oil and potatoes filling the air.

She claims to be a bad cook, but her husband gloats otherwise.

Being in her presence is nerve-wracking, knowing I have nothing to give her.

I haven’t had anything to tell her since I told her his husband was missing.

“Hey, Vanessa,” I call out again, my voice more level.

Before she turns to look at me, I notice how empty our surroundings are.

Didn’t Kevin say he was over?

Then she turns to face me. Her red hair flows down her back, and she’s wearing a simple outfit—black leggings and a matching T-shirt.

“Hey, Gino,” she says, giving me a soft smile.

“Hey, is Kevin here?” I ask.

“Yeah, he’s probably in the bathroom. Are you hungry?”

“I just ate, but thank you.”

She turns back to the stove to turn off the burner before spinning back around to pile some eggs, potatoes, and peppers onto two plates. I guess the second is for Kevin.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asks.

“No, I'm okay.”

“Gino, what’s going on?” She looks at me with soft eyes that hold her frustration.

I sigh.

How do I tell her I have nothing, again?

“I want to talk something over with Kevin; it’s nothing bad, I promise.”

She exhales deeply before walking out of the kitchen and into the breakfast nook. I watch her, but don’t follow, remaining frozen in place.

Once I hear her and Kevin talking, I wander out of the kitchen and around the first floor.

Their house is straight out of a magazine. Their walls are lined with photos of them. Their wedding was in my backyard after knowing each other for two weeks. So a lot of these photos were taken after their wedding. They look happy and very much in love, which I wasn’t expecting to happen so fast, considering their arranged marriage. They work well together. They’ll be great parents to their children.

But I have to get him back for that to happen.

“Gino, what did you want to speak about? Kevin asks as he walks out of the kitchen.

I pivot around on my heels. “Can we talk in private?”

“Sure, let's go in here.” He points to one of the guest rooms on the first floor.

I walk in first with him closely behind, and the door closes behind us.

He doesn’t speak; he looks at me, waiting for me to start.

“I need help,” I admit. “I have looked everywhere I can think of and can’t find him. I’ve reached out to contacts I know, and they have nothing. I don’t know what to do. All I have so far is that Lorenzo did this. That’s it. It looks like Anthony had nothing to do with this, or he didn’t know the extent of Lorenzo’s plan.”

“Why do you say that?” he queries.