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I glance at the video of a limping man—the lone survivor to walk away after attacking me—clutching his shoulder on the laptop Valentino gifted me. As much as I appreciate the tablet from Tácito, there are certain things only a laptop will do.
The hobbled man still wore his balaclava, making it impossible for me to identify him. Bitter guilt rises in my throat, but I swallow it. So what if I’d lied to Valentino and Tácito?
If I admit the truth to Valentino, my sloppiness will be yet another piece of proof for Giulio to hang over my head as he murders me for the crime of being Valentino’s friend and risking the future he’d planned for his son. Sacrificing my life for Valentino has never been an issue. I’d lay my life down for him if I knew death at Giulio’s hands wouldn’t fuck him up more or if doing so would give him the happiness he deserves.
But if there is one thing I can do, it’s to not be the second woman that man takes away from Valentino. I doubt he would survive my loss since his inner circle includes a handful of people. In order to keep Giulio off my back and Valentino’s emotional state steady, I have to locate the men out for my blood.
I replay the security footage from a convenience store four blocks from where my attackers nearly ended my life. I was lucky to glimpse the camera on the satellite feed for the area. My contact, Roland, sometimes works as a freelancer for me. He quickly hacked the store’s Wi-Fi and sent me the video besides the footage from the surrounding area. With all the footage at my disposal, I still lose sight of my attacker.
In every video, even after taking off his mask, the man hides his face from the cameras. The man’s hair is cut in a fade, but his light complexion makes determining his background difficult.
“Show me something, you bastard,” I whisper fiercely, causing Cielo to open her eyes and yawn before sleepily bathing herself.
I rub my tired eyes, about to give up for the day, when the man turns his head. The angle shows a blurry partial profile, but the dark area on the side of his neck arrests my attention. Like his face, I can’t make the shape out, but I have one more piece of information than a week ago.
I screenshot the image and send it to Roland in hopes he can magically un-pixelate the image or find someone who can. Despite knowing I’ve hit a roadblock until Roland responds, I hit the play button again. A knock on my door interrupts my study and preempts the pulsing on my wrist. I tap an okay into the device.
Tácito enters with a tray of food. His eyes lock on my laptop, reminding me of the information I’m keeping from him. A speculative gleam enters his gaze.
I slam the lid shut. “Feeding me won’t make me any more amenable to this prison.”
He sets the food down on a rolling table. If he is curious about what he saw, he gives no indication. He busies himself with setting the table with flutes of sparkling cider and a small floral centerpiece. Korean honey butter fried chicken and thick buttermilk Belgian waffles fill two plates.
I inhale the scents and my belly rumbles. “Mmm, breakfast for dinner… Wait, is this from Kori’s truck?” I ask, unable to disguise the hope in my voice.
Tácito smiles and nods.
“You don’t play fair.” I stab a boneless wing and pop the morsel in my mouth. Flavor bursts on my tongue, prompting my taste buds to salivate. “Mmm, Kori knows what she’s doing.” I eye Tácito and place my fork on the plate.
“Are you gearing up to lecture me?”
“I’m hoping you’ll hear me out and be reasonable. Something Valentino seems allergic to at the moment.”
Tácito relaxes into his chair, folds his arms, and quirks his brow.
“I think I have a semi-decent solution. It won’t solve everything, but if we discuss it, we can tweak it until all of us are happy.”
Silence surrounds us for long seconds.
Except for the muscle rhythmically clenching in Tácito’s jaw, he gives no indication to his thoughts. “I’ll listen to your idea.”
“What about instead of getting married, we try what normal people do and date? We’re used to being friends. We aren’t used to the other relationship stuff that comes with marriage. I mean, for this to work, we’ll have to live together. Suppose by the end of one week, we’re barely standing because we’ve tried to kill each other every day? Let’s just…you know, see how we fit first.”
Tácito unfolds his arms and stares at me while he taps the table with a finger.
Tap…Tap…Tap.
As the sound echoes between us without him uttering a word, tension rises inside me.
“Tácito?”
Tap…Tap…Tap.
“Say something!”
Tap…Tap…Ta—
“It’s a really dick move to leave me hanging like this.”
