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That missing laptop could be the ruin of us both.
I need to find out who did this and quickly.
Chapter 24
Carina
Twenty-Three Years Old
DearDiary,
I never had the slightest intention of raising dogs or kids. Not after Luca abandoned me, anyway.
This dog, though…
I’m so glad I snatched the little dude from beneath that truck. Even if Fiorelli’s guys are being dicks about it and won’t shut up.
Pussy.
Soft-hearted bitch.
That’s all right. I have a feeling about the pup. He’s nothing more than a cute little ball of fluff right now, but I’ve seen these animals before. If I’m right—and let’s face it, I usually am—he’s going to grow into a machine. An intelligent, fear-inspiring machine that’ll be damned near impossible to take down.
And loyal…Christ, are they loyal. Already he’s mine. I’ve had him a day, and he’s thirty pounds soaking wet, and I bet I could get him to eat someone’s face. Earlier, Ronaldo walked in without knocking, and the little bugger jumped up and growled. I love it.
They’re gonna have to get used to each other, though. Sal’s man will be helping me until I heal up, which means taking the puppy for walks and being a general dog dad. I’m sure he’s thrilled. They’ll be best friends in no time, though.
Right now, Baccio is lying across my feet, right where we settled after I got back from getting that stupid bullet extracted, and he hasn’t moved. It’s like he knows I was hurt.
I can’t imagine being without him.
He’s such a good boy.
It’sabittersweetironythat the one place Luca thought I’d be safe has been so cruelly violated before I’ve ever stepped foot inside.
Even desecrated, Luca’s apartment tells me more about the man than all the days I’ve spent in his company. He acquired it after our time together, so this is the first time I’ve been in it, the first glimpse I have into this aspect of his personality. I hate that I’m getting it like this.
I look around as Luca and the cops catalog missing and damaged items, Baccio snuffling about nearby. Snapping my fingers, I call him to me, not wanting him to cut his nose on anything broken. I’m possibly being overprotective, but I’ve been that way ever since he was shot.
Beneath the mess, the furnishings are tasteful and spare mid-century mod décor. The few scattered accent pieces scream wealth—like the heavy bronze equine bookends tossed on the floor and the Sputnik-style chandelier that thankfully looks to have missed the burglar’s notice.
A window in the kitchen has a glass shelving unit designed in front of it with a built-in herb garden. Half of the terra-cotta pots have been removed and shattered on the black tiled floor.
Luca nudges one of the plants with his toe. “I’m so sorry, Luca.”
“I can repot the damn plants,” he says. “It’s the computer.” With a grim expression, he walks out of the kitchen.
“Stay, Kiss-Kiss.” I find Baccio a relatively undisturbed spot where he won’t injure himself on cut glass and wander after Luca, taking in each piece of the destruction along the way.
Luca is standing at the sink in his bathroom, palms flat on the granite counter as he stares into the mirror as if asking himself for help. His face is reflected back, distorted into multiple versions of himself by the broken glass.
I lean cautiously against the doorjamb. “Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question. I know he’s not okay.
He shakes his head, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “That laptop…”
Most of the things destroyed in the apartment look to be replaceable. It’ll be aggravating, but Luca will file a police report and a claim with his insurance. The damages will be repaired, and physical items stolen or injured beyond repair will be replaced.
The more cherished, personal mementos will be a loss, but in our business, that’s something we always know to be possible. We shore up those memories for the possibility of such losses and ensure we’re always equipped to exchange their loss for flesh.
