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The small cement steps led up towards a plain wooden door, exactly the same as the townhouse beside it and the one beside that. The brownstones were nothing special and a little worn down. It was hard to believe that one of the nicer parts of town was just across the intersection. Marco’s house, in particular, looked abandoned. Which it was.
Because I’d killed him just a few weeks ago.
Dante stood on the stoop, his eyes darting up and down the street before trying the handle. I stood just behind him, dread creeping along my spine. The report had said nothing we didn’t already know, except one thing. Marco’s DNA had been found beneath my father’s fingernails. As if he’d tried to fight someone off. But that someone was supposed to be dead.
It didn’t make any sense. We’d killed Marco days before my father was found dead in his safe house, and my father had gone underground before we’d tracked Marco down. There was no clear explanation as to why a dead man’s DNA had been scraped from beneath my father’s nails.
Dante was still jiggling the handle. “Maybe Marco is still alive somehow?”
My head snapped towards him. “There’s no fucking way. You were there. You heard his neck snap.”
He didn’t even wince, didn’t hesitate. “Well, nothing about this whole situation is exactly normal,” he pointed out.
“So, what? You think Marco is somehow a vampire? A zombie?” I scoffed.
“Or maybe someone found him and got him to the hospital in time.”
“You should know better,” I snapped. “His neck was snapped in half. There’s no coming back from that no matter how fast someone drove to the ER.” He just shrugged, an annoyed look on his face.
“Excuse me?” A woman’s voice interrupted our little lover’s quarrel.
We turned, finding an older woman standing just at the edge of the sidewalk. Her gray hair was curled perfectly at the nape of her neck, large glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked like someone’s grandmother. Still, looks could be deceiving.
“Are you looking for Marco?” she asked, voice wobbly.
Dante’s earlier expression vanished, replaced with the most disgustingly charming grin I’d ever seen. “Why, yes, we are. Is he in?”
The old woman blinked rapidly, her hands twisting together. “Oh, no. He hasn’t been home for a while.” Glancing around, she shuffled closer, her voice lowering. “He’s missing.”
Dante gasped. I wanted to elbow him. “You don’t say? How long?”
“Well, his family reported him missing a few weeks now. But the NYPD has no leads. It’s like he just up and disappeared.” The old lady seemed way too earnest to deliver such bad news.
Dante swept past me, helping the old lady up the curb.
“Thank you, dear. I’m Judith.”
“It’s my pleasure, Judith. I’m Dante, and this is my lovely new wife, Sienna.” Dante spared me a quick, loving glance that made me want to punch him. “You said the police have no leads? They came by?” His hand was still cradling her elbow, another flat against her back.
“Of course they were. Though, I guess I should be surprised they did come. Marco was known for hanging out with…unsavory people.”
My eyes narrowed as Dante’s grin widened. “Oh no. That sounds absolutely terrible. What sort of unsavory people?”
“You know,” she looked lost for a moment before bouncing right back, “I’m not exactly sure. But there were scary men here a week before he vanished. I happened to overhear their argument before they left. Something about failing a job, though from what I know, Marco never was employed.”
Dante’s eyes caught mine over Judith’s wispy hair. “Then how did he pay for this townhouse?”
“That’s the real secret here, isn’t it?” Judith glanced between us excitedly. “I always wondered how he was able to pay for this place. His parents aren’t the type to just hand over what little money they have. And they’ve rarely been in his life. Them callin’ the police is probably the first parental thing they’ve done since that kid moved out so many years ago.”
“Well, it was very thoughtful of them to call the police,” Dante said amicably. Judith patted the hand still supporting her arm.
“Not that they found anything. There weren’t even signs of a forced break-in. I really do hope poor Marco is alright,” she said wistfully.
“I’m sure he is.” How Dante could lie so smoothly while still looking like an angel was beyond my understanding. “Do you need any assistance in getting back to your home?”
“Oh no, dear. But thank you.” She patted his hand before shuffling back across the street.
Dante's grin dropped as soon as little old Judith was safely back in her own brownstone. “Someone found Marco after we killed him.”
