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I would have told him I heard him but in that moment, hearing someone else speaking Italian, something clicked at the back of my mind. I turned back to look at the glass, pyramid-shaped building.
“Marco, what is his last name?” I asked when Toby took his seat behind the wheel.
He grabbed his phone, scrolling, “Marco Forte. His mother died when he was young and his father, Joe, was injured during the bombing. But he’s going to be alright, the kid’s probably—”
“What does his father do? Does he work for us?”
He sighed, twisting his jaw to the side, “No. He’s just a plumber.”
“Find out how life has been going for Joe just-a-plumber.”
“Alright, what am I looking for?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered mostly to myself, not able to get this nagging feeling out of my head. “Drive.”
“Where to Ms. Callahan?” Toby questioned. When I didn’t reply, he called again, “Dona—”
“Anywhere. I need to think.”
Something felt off here, but I wasn’t sure what.
TWO
“The sun watches what I do
but the moon knows all my secrets.”
~ J.M. Wonderland
DONATELLA - 24 DAYS AGO
The handcrafted yew-wood table was centered between the double doors where I stood with the large bay windows at the back. The chandelier, forged from iron and glass, was long, stretching almost the length of the table, but due to all the natural sunlight coming through the large bay windows, wasn’t switched on. The chairs were like elegant wooden thrones and the china set in front them changed depending on the seasons. It was always, without exception, set for fifteen. With no else here but me, the dining room looked like it belonged on the cover of a luxury home and style magazine.
Everyone had their respective seats. Even myself…always on the left, one seat down from the head of the family, once my father, but now my brother, Ethan. Directly across from me sat my twin brother, Wyatt.
Order.
We all had our place and unless some died, there wasn’t any reason to deviate from it. I walked directly to Ethan’s seat.
“Good morning, Miss,” O’Phelan, who had been the head butler of our little Chicago castle for the last seventeen years, greeted me as he came from the side door to fill my glass of water. “I wasn’t aware you wished to eat in the dining room today. I had your breakfast sent to your room.”
“I’m eating here today,” I said, running my hands over the groves of the first chair, walking around it once before taking a seat comfortably on it.
“Would you like the same breakfast I sent up—”
“No. Fresh fruit, vanilla yogurt, a croissant, and a deviled egg with a glass of grape juice,” I told him, rolling my neck. He nodded, walking away for a minute only to return with a few documents, a tablet, and pen for me.
“Your publicist left a message saying they’ve pushed back the release of your next novel until Christmas.”
Before I could reply, the doors at the other end of the room open and in walked Toby, dressed head-to-toe in black and wearing an expression befitting of Severus Snape.
“Good morning…”
“What’s the matter today?” I asked, reaching for my water.
“Marco Forte…”
“How many times has he called that number already?” I couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking my head at thought of the little punk.
