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“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Why?”
“I think someone broke in last night.”
“What?! Did you report it? What did they take?”
“Ahem. They didn’t take anything.” I bend to inspect the contents of the shelves, blinking several times to be certain I’m not imagining things. “They’ve... stocked my fridge.”
“I’m not following.”
“Someone broke in, filled my fridge with vegetables, a ton of meat, milk, eggs, and”—I reach for the plastic container on the middle shelf and lift the lid—“home-cooked soup.”
I’m greeted with silence on the other end of the line, then the sound of giggling. “Yeah, must be little home elves. You’re funny.”
“I’m serious. I haven’t seen a fridge this full since I left home.”
“You probably stocked it yesterday and forgot. Fridges don’t miraculously fill themselves.”
“I’m sleep-deprived, not demented, for God’s sake. I’d remember going to a store and spending half my monthly paycheck on food.” I reach out to take a block of cheese from the middle shelf and turn it to get a better view. It’s one of those fancy, moldy varieties. “There’s even a huge package of Gorgonzola there. Posh burglars.”
“You’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.” I throw the cheese back on the shelf and slam the fridge closed. “I’m calling the police.”
“To tell them what?”
Shit. She has a point, they’d only laugh. “Do you think it was David?”
“Your ex? I thought he left for India with his yoga group when you two broke up. Man, that guy was super strange,and obsessed with food. I can totally imagine him sneaking into your place.”
“Jesus. I was certain I got the extra keys back.” I sigh and squeeze my nape. “I’m going to crash, but I’m messaging David when I wake up, and I’m changing the locks first thing tomorrow.”
I cut the call and head to bed. A stray thought passes through my mind as I’m falling asleep—wasn’t David a vegan?
Tilting my head to the side, I watch Milene as she gets ready for work. She brushes her hair in front of the mirror, then gathers it near the crown of her head in a high ponytail. I prefer when she wears it down. I turn my phone face down and focus on the two capos across from my desk, Cosimo and Rocco, who are arguing about hiring yet another construction company.
“Atticus works on government projects, as well,” Cosimo snaps. “They have strict internal and external audits. What if someone decides to check out all the companies they work for and combs through our documents?”
“All our contracts are solid. They won’t find anything suspicious.” Rocco shrugs.
“Oh? And if they dig deeper?” I ask. “Checking up on our investors, for example? Did you think of that, Rocco?”
“Shit,” he mumbles.
“Exactly. We’re not doing any business with Atticus.” I nod toward the door of my office. “We’re done for today.”
When they leave, I return my attention to my phone, and switch on the second camera feed. Milene is filling her lunch box with some meat she obviously grilled herself because half of it appears to be charred. I’ll need to tell Ada to get more groceries and send Alessandro to fill her fridge again next week. She changed the locks, but locked doors have never posed a problem for Alessandro. The moment she leaves her place, I power off my laptop and head to the garage.
I drive forty minutes to reach the hospital where Milene works. Parking close to the entrance, I lean back in my seat and wait. Sometime later, she comes around the corner, and I follow her with my eyes until she disappears through the wide sliding doors. I turn on the ignition, reverse, and leave the parking lot.
This obsession I have with the girl hasn’t waned like I expected it to. In fact, it’s only intensified. At some point in the last couple of days, I’ve switched from checking the camera feed a few times per day to leaving it on constantly, except for when I’m in meetings. Even then, if the conversation goes on for more than three hours, I’ll pull it up and have a quick glance. It’s barely enough to alleviate the anxiety that builds whenever I’m unaware of her location for an extended period. Milene Scardoni, for whatever reason, has become a drug coursing through my veins. The more I get, the more I want. I need to see her again, in person. It won’t be today, but soon.
I stop at a red light a few blocks from home and check the rearview mirror. A familiar black car has been following me for the past fifteen minutes, staying in the same lane and a few vehicles back. Looks like the wife of the Boston don has sent another one of her pets to follow me. She needs to have her men trained better, because disposing of her incompetentspies is becoming bothersome. After the traffic light switches to green, I turn right and drive for half an hour until I reach a half-constructed office building. I make another right and head into the underground garage, which should have been finished last week. Based on the boxes, painting supplies, and rolls of electric cables strewn along the walls, the completion is way behind schedule.
After parking next to the service door leading to the stairwell, I take my gun from below the seat, and leave the car. I pass a concrete pillar on my way to the stairs and enter the building, leaving the door ajar.
