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“Desmond?” I call out, my voice quivering as I stand at the threshold of the kitchen. He’s behind the island once more, his face concealed by the professional façade he wears. “Did I put a woman in danger by calling the cops?”
For a long moment, his dark eyes remain on mine. He hides his expression behind the professional mask he wears. “Yes,” he finally answers honestly, causing my stomach to bottom out. “Charlotte, we were running out of time.”
His cryptic answer sends shivers down my spine, and I can’t help but lick my lips nervously, the taste of split skin a reminder of my anxiety. “Desmond, what does that mean?”
“It means little girls shouldn’t ask questions when they aren’t ready for the answer,” he cautions. It’s an argument he’s used before.
This time, though, I’m not buying his warning, a familiar refrain meant to dissuade me. “Tell me,” I demand, determination replacing my fear.
“If I tell you, then you can never leave, Charlotte,” he declares, his voice laced with an undeniable sense of finality. Desmond’s response sends a chill down my spine, and my brow furrows even more as I grapple with the gravity of his statement.
It’s not just a warning, it’s a binding agreement, an unspoken pact that seals my fate. The implications of his words weigh on me like a lead anchor, tethering me to a dangerous truth that I can never escape. In this moment, I realize the irrevocable path I’ve chosen to tread.
The room seems to close in around us, and I can’t help but feel trapped in this dark, menacing world that Desmond inhabits. Questions and doubts swirl in my mind, but crossing this threshold means there’s no turning back. This enigmatic man holds the key to secrets that could change everything, and I must decide if I’m willing to pay the price for the truth.
Do I take the chance?
“Tell me,” I repeat.
“It means that there are shadows that move even when the sun uncovers all secrets. Family blood debts always emerge. You just sped it up,” he explains, his flour-covered hands falling to his sides.
My gaze drifts to the spot on the floor where Sal met his tragic end. “And Sal?” I ask, my voice quivering.
“Sal,” Desmond begins, his tone tinged with regret, “died because when my mother denied his advances and threatened his manhood, he ran back to his family. He thought if he waited around long enough, she’d come around.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “My mother hated him. He should have known she wouldn’t fall for his bullshit.”
A soft, “Oh,” escapes my lips as the pieces fall into place. Desmond’s revelation confirms what Matty suspected all along. Sal loved the missing woman, which means Desmond is the missing woman’s child.
Desmond’s voice breaks the silence, his tone laced with intrigue. “I adore watching you piece parts together, Charlotte. Have you figured it all out yet?”
“No, not all of it,” I admit, my curiosity piqued and my heart racing. I glance at the door, aware that our time together is slipping away, but a part of me doesn’t want this moment to end. I want to know more. “Not yet,” I whisper as I step away from his view to prepare the coffee.
“Tell me what you know,” he urges from the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to lay out what I’ve gathered so far. “I know why Sal died,” I confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You had him killed because he betrayed your mom.”
“Fact,” Desmond confirms, appearing far too close, nearly startling me. He leans against the bar, wiping his hands on a towel, and I can’t help but wonder what other dark secrets he’s holding back.
As I set the coffee to brew and move over to prepare the decaf, I continue to talk, my voice steady, despite the weight of the conversation. Desmond’s hawk-like eyes follow my every move, and I can sense his guarded interest as I piece together the puzzle in my mind.
“Your mom was supposed to marry Sal but ended up pregnant,” I say, my thoughts racing as I connect the dots. “He helped her escape the mafia, and they settled here.”
Desmond licks his lips, his eyes hooded as he watches me closely, giving me a curt nod of confirmation. “Sal was feeding information to his father in Arizona,” he elaborates, his voice low and measured. “Lyric followed him on his last run to the farmer’s market due east of here.” He lets the information hang in the air, and I realize the implications of what he’s saying—the same farmer’s market where Matty glimpsed his brother loading chicks into a truck.
“That was a year ago.” I frown, trying to reconcile the timeline.
“Kitten, we do a market run once a month,” Desmond replies, attempting to soften the impact of his correction. “Yes, we knew what he was doing a year ago, but I didn’t want to take him out until I knew everything he fed his father. At first, he contacted him just to reconnect after so many years.”
I busy myself by pulling chairs down from the tables, trying to process the information. “And what happened with that first conversation?” I inquire.
Desmond sighs, his expression troubled. “Nothing, aside from him just talking to his father. His dad retired to Arizona, intent on just living out his life, but knowledge is power in this world, and his father traced the call.”
My heart sinks as I realize the extent of the danger they were all in. “You knew,” I state with a sense of resignation.
Desmond nods slowly. “His dad sent scouts. I sent Lyric.”
I resist the urge to ask more about Lyric, knowing there will be time for that later. “You had the scout killed,” I assert, my voice steady.
Again, Desmond nods. “He gave his father breadcrumbs, not once leading them back to Lenora until my mother put her foot down and told him she’d never love him the way he wants. Two weeks ago, he drove to the market, to the only phone booth left standing, and told his father that he was ready to tell him everything.”
