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Butch does a double-take. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, she’s in a restaurant with her ex, and I’m sitting here by myself. Read that however the fuck you want,” I husk.
“There has to be a reasonable explanation, Chase. Simone loves you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, the way she gravitates toward you, like you’re the sun in her orbit.”
My head falls into my hands. “She told me to stop when I begged her not to leave with Trent. It’s pretty difficult to misconstrue her words, dude.”
Butch falls silent. He waits for me to get ahold of myself before asking, “What do you need, Chase? Whatever it is, I’ll help.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes, my heart blown to smithereens. “I need to get the fuck out of here, put some distance between myself and her.”
Butch lays a supportive hand on my shoulder. “Then let’s ride out.”
CHAPTERFIFTY-THREE
SIMONE
The moment I saw Trent standing on the threshold of our hotel suite, Cynthia’s words hit me like a sucker punch to my solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of me.
Trent. Oldani. Sto.
All this time, I assumed Cynthia hadn’t finished her last word. It made no sense, but it was clear for someone struggling for precious oxygen to fill her shredded lungs. I assumed her gurgling was only gurgling when she was actually struggling to form syllables.
“Sto” meant “stole.”
Trent stole the Oldani funds, not Cynthia. She was guilty of stealing everything else, but she wasn’t responsible for the missing mob money. Her dying breath was used to implicate Trent.
My mind races, trying to recall what she said in the heat of the moment before the bullets flew. The only thing that stands out in my head is her asking Trent if he led the authorities right to her. I assumed at the time she was referring to Trent guiding the SWAT team to the fourth floor. Never did I think she was accusing him of leading the investigation toward her guilt. It would mean he was aware she was the thief all along.
My God, did he kill Cynthia to save me or shut her up, using a moment of chaos to cover his tracks by removing her from the equation?
I never thought Cynthia had the skills to pull off this operation, and I was right, since she didn’t get away with it. But Trent…he’s brilliant, not Chase-level brilliant, but a genius in his own right. He had the means and knowledge to carry out this crime.
Could Trent have orchestrated this whole fiasco to pull off the ultimate heist, walking away with Bianchi’s millions while pinning the blame on Cynthia and taking the heat off himself?
I take less than a second to pass judgment. Watching Trent walk away scot-free isn’t an option.
However, it damn near killed me to walk out of the hotel room, leaving Chase to assume the worst. But I had no way of informing him of Trent’s guilt when the prick was in the room with us.
Chase will understand when I nail my ex to the wall. I just need proof. And there’s no better proof than a confession.
While Trent orders our drinks and some appetizers from the hotel restaurant, I dig through my purse, retrieving the FBI agent’s business card. I fumble with my phone under the table, punching in the agent’s number, then turn down the volume on my speaker. With my plan in motion, I set my cell facedown on the table and pray for the best.
Trent finishes ordering and turns a beaming smile on me when the server leaves for the kitchen. He reaches across the table for my hand. I reluctantly place mine in his, praying my clammy skin doesn’t give away my nerves.
“I can’t believe I finally can talk with you.” He laughs timidly. “After all this time and all the hell we’ve gone through, it’s surreal to be sitting across from you, like old times.”
“But it’s not like old times, is it?” I challenge him. “A lot has changed.”
Trent drops his gaze to our hands, unable to look me in the eye. “Yes, it has.” His eyes drift back to mine expectantly. “But change brings fresh starts.”
I take back my hand, folding my arms over my chest. “There’s no new start for us unless you come clean. I won’t accept lies, Trent. You need to tell me everything.”
Our server returns with our drinks before disappearing again. Trent’s jaw tics back and forth, possibly contemplating how honest he should be.
Uncrossing my arms, I lean across the table to take his hand in mine again, probing him in the right direction. “How can I trust you again when you shut me out?”
Trent huffs. “Can’t we enjoy this reunion without hashing everything out this instant?”
