12. Griselda
Life had a funny way of playing tricks on me as if it had declared open season on my peace of mind. Not only had I recently been suspended from my job, but now my trusty car, my faithful Nissan Altima, had decided to join the rebellion against me.
The darn thing had been working perfectly fine yesterday, so why in the world was it refusing to start today?
I stood there, staring at my car in frustration. It was a reasonable car, not a luxury, but reliable. It had been my faithful companion for years, yet here it was, betraying me when I needed it most.
My mother, bless her heart, lived nearly two hours away from me. Why couldn”t she move closer? But, no, she was as stubborn as they come, insisting on staying in her little haven. I sighed at the added inconvenience.
I contemplated calling the mechanics later, but that wouldn”t help me right now. I glanced at my phone, weighing my options. Taking the bus to the next city was the most practical choice at this point. The last time I”d set foot on a bus seemed like a different decade. My car had made me feel independent, and I had come to rely on it more than I”d realized.
Rescheduling my meetup with my mother was not an option. We had already postponed countless plans while I was knee-deep in the Johnson case. She had been so patient with my hectic work schedule that I couldn”t let her down now.
Sighing once more, I hailed a taxi that quickly whisked me to the nearest bus station.
The station was crowded with people bustling in all directions. I bought a ticket, found my seat and settled in, leaning back and closing my eyes briefly. I had hoped to collect my thoughts somewhat during the drive to my mom’s place. Now, the bus ride would grant me some reprieve, a chance to sort my scattered ideas.
I sat near the back, looking out the window at the passing scenery. The gentle hum of the engine and the rhythmic motion of the bus lulled my mind into wandering, and it inevitably drifted to Emilio. I cursed silently, frustrated that even when I hadn”t seen him for a couple of days, I couldn”t stop thinking about him. His image, it seemed, had been etched into every corner of my mind.
I remembered the night at the hotel and the intense connection between us. But then, my thoughts veered to the scars I had glimpsed on his body. Scars that told a story of pain and struggle, scars I had chosen to ignore in the fervor of the moment.
My mind tagged this as another clue. What was Emilio involved in? What kind of life did he lead? My thoughts started to dance around the possibilities. My legal mind couldn”t help considering different crimes he might be a part of – drug trafficking? Extortion? – and the consequences that could follow based on my knowledge of the law.
But why would he be in the midst of such things? The man I had met didn”t seem to fit the stereotype of a criminal mastermind. My thoughts raced, painting a picture of a complex man caught in a web of dangerous dealings. But my imagination could only go so far; I needed answers, real ones.
Despite my apprehensions, my thoughts couldn”t help but linger on him. His sincerity when he apologized, the fact he didn’t play up his position at Royalty Rentals, his kisses…
I blushed at the thought, my core tingling. There was no denying the magnetic pull that seemed to draw me closer to a man whose life and secrets remained shrouded in darkness. The scars, both seen and unseen, seemed to tell a tale that begged to be unraveled.
As the bus rumbled on, the landscape outside shifting, I continued to scroll mindlessly on my phone.
Taking a taxi, I finally arrived at my mother”s house. It was a charming standalone house with a quaint garden at the front. The garden was adorned with vibrant flowers, a testament to my mother”s fondness for gardening.
I could see geraniums, daisies, and a few sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze. Her herbs in flowerpots grew opulently on the porch.
I skipped up the three steps and found myself standing in front of the familiar door. I knocked, and it soon swung open, revealing my mother. She was shorter than me, a few gray strands gracing her braided hair, which she wore behind her back.
A wide smile brightened her face as she stepped forward to engulf me in a warm hug. Her embrace was comforting, and being here made me realize how much I had missed it.
”Griselda, it”s so wonderful to see you,” she greeted me with affection.
I felt a surge of warmth and reciprocated the hug. ”It”s great to see you too, Mom.”
She ushered me inside, and I followed her to the kitchen. The enticing aroma of homemade lasagna filled the air, making my stomach growl in response. She began setting the table, and I made my way to the sink to wash my hands.
”Where”s your car, dear?” she asked with concern.
”It decided not to start this morning,” I replied, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into my voice.
”Really? Is it not a good car? Do you need to change it?” she inquired, trying to make sense of the situation.
”It”s perfectly fine,” I responded, my frustration growing. ”I don”t understand what happened this morning. It was working perfectly yesterday.”
I sat down at the table, taking in the fragrance of the lasagna. It looked just as delicious as I remembered, with layers of pasta, rich tomato sauce, fresh herbs from her flowerpots, and gooey melted cheese. The aroma alone was enough to make my mouth water.
My mother joined me at the table, setting a plate of lasagna in front of me. It was piping hot, the steam still rising from it, and the cheese on top was perfectly golden. I couldn”t help but appreciate the effort and love she put into her cooking.
”Have you taken the car to the mechanic?” she inquired.
“Not yet. I didn’t want to be late, so I’ll take it later.” I replied as I picked up my fork, unable to resist the temptation any longer.
I took a bite of the lasagna, and it was as heavenly as I remembered. The pasta layers were tender, the tomato sauce had a delightful tang, and the cheese... oh, the cheese melted on my tongue, releasing its creamy, savory goodness.
I couldn”t help but moan in delight. ”Mom, this is incredible. I”ve missed your cooking so much.”
She smiled warmly, clearly pleased with my reaction. ”I”m glad you like it, dear. It”s been a while since you”ve been able to visit.”
I nodded between bites, savoring every mouthful. ”Yeah, work had been keeping me busy. Speaking of which, I got suspended recently.”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she accidentally dropped her fork, the clatter of metal against porcelain echoing through the room.
”Suspended? What happened?” Her concern was palpable.
I sighed, attempting to condense the tangled mess into an understandable story. ”It”s a long story, Mom. But it”s a bit of a mess right now.”
My mother leaned forward, her gaze intense. ”Start talking. The sooner you do, the sooner you”ll finish.”
And so, I began to narrate the entire ordeal. With every word, I felt a mix of frustration and relief, frustration at the situation but relief at finally sharing the burden with my mother.
By the time I finished, I had already polished off my food and was on to my second serving. I watched as my mother”s expression shifted from shock to anger and finally to disapproval. It was satisfying to see her react this way. It made me feel like I wasn’t overreacting.
”Those people,” she muttered, shaking her head. ”Such disgusting actions, and Mr. Gilbert... he should be ashamed of himself.”
I chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation. ”Tell me about it.”
”Why are you still working there?” she asked with her brows furrowed.
I sighed, considering the question carefully.
”Actually, Mr. Gilbert wasn”t my boss before. It was Mr. Adams, but I don”t know what happened. Suddenly, Mr. Gilbert became the CEO of the law firm. I”ve been thinking of leaving for a while, especially after what happened, but I wanted to finish the Johnson case. It”s a massive case, and I wanted to see it through. But now...” I trailed off, shrugging helplessly as I took another bite of lasagna.
My mother frowned, reaching across the table to gently pat my hand. ”You”ve worked hard, Griselda. Sometimes, it”s necessary to take a step back and reevaluate things.”
”I know,” I admitted, offering a weak smile. ”I just needed to get this off my chest.”
Before the mood could sour, my mother smiled and placed a hand over mine. She leaned in, her tone sneakily playful. ”Hurry up, dear. I”ve also made your favorite dessert.”
My eyes widened in pleasant surprise. ”No way!”
She chuckled, nodding her head mischievously. ”Yes, way.”
With an excited gasp, I couldn”t help but feel a surge of happiness. My mom always knew how to lighten the mood and bring a smile to my face.
As she stood up and made her way to the fridge, I couldn”t wait to find out what she had prepared. I watched eagerly as she retrieved a dish and brought it to the table. It was tiramisu, the classic Italian dessert that she always made perfectly.
The tiramisu looked divine. The layers of creamy mascarpone cheese, coffee-soaked ladyfingers, and a dusting of cocoa powder created an irresistible visual, making my mouth water.
She placed a generous portion in front of me, and I couldn”t wait to dig in. It was heavenly, and with every bite, I felt the stress of the day fade away.
As we enjoyed the dessert, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, and for a moment, everything felt normal. Time seemed to slip by until it was finally time to leave. My mom packed some tiramisu for me to enjoy at home, and as we stood by the door, she offered to drive me back. Although I was grateful, I declined, not wanting to tire her, especially when she would be driving all the way back on her own.
We embraced one last time, her hug lingering for a moment longer.
Stepping down the small set of stairs, I turned back with an afterthought - Fiore, Emilio”s last name..
”Do you know anyone with the last name Fiore?” I asked.
The reaction was immediate - a frozen expression, widened eyes, and a smile that faltered. Something was off. The response came too quickly, too neatly, and the denial too strong—a reaction I had seen on so many clients.
”No,” she replied, her smile returning, a bit too forced, ”I don”t know anyone with that surname.”
Before I could push further, she turned back inside, an uncharacteristic haste in her movements. The door closed with a noticeable bang, and I was left standing outside by myself.
What the fuck?
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as I processed the strange encounter. It was obvious that she was lying, but why? Why did she have such a reaction? Looking at the closed door, I knew there was no point in trying to pry the answers from her.
I stepped onto the pavement and hailed a taxi. It pulled over, and I got in, stealing one last glance at my mom”s house. There was a lingering worry in my mind.
”Bus stop,” I told the driver, who responded with a nonchalant hum.
Something caught my eye in the rearview mirror. The driver was wearing sunglasses. It was strange, but I brushed off the oddity, assuming he had his reasons.
As we drove through the city, my attention shifted between my phone and the passing scenes outside. Thoughts danced between my mother”s peculiar reaction and Emilio”s mysterious life. However, my concern flared up when I noticed we”d been driving much longer than expected.
I looked out the window and realized we were on the highway. Panic surged, and I turned to the driver. ”Excuse me, this isn”t the way to the bus stop. Where are you going?”
The driver remained silent, unmoved by my question. My heart pounded, the unease growing. ”Hey, this is not the way to the bus stop. Where are you taking me?”
But he drove on as if he couldn”t hear me. Anxiety knotted my stomach. What was going on?
I fumbled for my phone, intent on calling the police. But before my trembling fingers could dial the emergency number, the driver calmly pressed a button near the radio, and my phone abruptly powered down. It was as if he had some control over it.
My breath caught, and I felt an icy stab of fear. What the hell was happening?
”What did you do?” I demanded, my voice shaking with both anger and fear. ”Why did you turn off my phone?”
He stayed silent, and his eyes focused on the road ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was apologetic, almost sympathetic. ”I”m sorry. Please, try to stay calm.”
Stay calm? How the fuck was I supposed to stay calm when I was being kidnapped? I wanted to scream. The doors were locked, and the windows looked impenetrable.
I was trapped.
My heart was racing, thudding against my chest like a panicked animal trying to escape.
”Let me go!” I yelled, my voice rising almost to a shriek. ”Where are you taking me?”
Removing his sunglasses revealing a face that did not fit the current circumstance, he spoke almost apologetically, ”I”m Enzo.” I had an incredulous look on my face. Was that name supposed to mean something to me?
I looked at him more carefully. He was a handsome man with short black hair and warm, gray eyes. But I was fairly certain that I hadn’t met him before.
He cleared his throat, attempting a reassuring tone. ”I”m a close friend of Emilio”s, and I”m taking you to him.”
Emilio!
Well, that name I knew, but why was Emilio orchestrating all this? Why this elaborate charade of a taxi ride? Why didn”t he reach out directly? If he could send a taxi straight to my mother’s one town over from where we met, surely he could get his hands on my phone number?
I shook my head in disbelief. More and more questions kept piling up around this disconcerting man. I needed answers, and this Enzo guy apparently held the key to unlocking at least some of this unnerving mystery.
”Emilio?” I repeated, the name rolling off my tongue with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.
“Sì. (Yes.)” Enzo confirmed in a calm voice.
”And who are you to Emilio?” I pressed, my voice tinged with both frustration and genuine curiosity. ”Why couldn”t he just talk to me directly?”
Enzo offered a wry smile as if understanding my confusion and frustration. ”Emilio believes you wouldn”t listen to him if he approached you directly. This... unconventional approach was his idea.”
I was torn between anger and a strange sense of curiosity. Emilio had gone to such lengths to speak to me? It was baffling and infuriating at the same time. My emotions were in a mess, and I didn”t know what to make of it.
All I knew was that I needed answers, and I was about to get them, one way or another.