Chapter 19
ALESSIA
To snowball: to grow or become larger, greater, more intense, etc., at an accelerating rate.
The term is not innately good or bad. Sometimes, ‘snowball’ can be used to describe a series of fortunate events, such as ‘the young actor’s career snowballed after his appearance in an Oscar-winning film.
’ Other times, the term can imply a much more catastrophic unraveling of events.
In these instances, the term might conjure the image of an avalanche, rather than the friendly snowman it might otherwise invoke.
The tiny bits of snow at the top of a mountain peaceably tumble until they gather enough steam and become an unstoppable force of nature.
For the innocent victim in its path, there is no escape.
The only hope for survival is luck.
As the ground shakes and the massive white cloud comes barreling down the mountainside, those in its path can only brace themselves and hope it will be enough.
The tricky thing about an avalanche—you never know when one might strike.
One minute, you’re sampling the fresh mountain air, enjoying the view, and the next, you’re buried six feet under, unable to breathe from the suffocating weight of all the tiny snowflakes.
If ever there was a perfect day for an avalanche, it would be a Monday.
I had dreaded that first day back at work but was armed with a plan, so my nerves were contained within reason.
Before I went to my office, I rode the elevator directly to the ninth floor and marched to the HR suite.
The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, but a peek around the corner told me the employees were gathered in a circle in a small breakroom, raptly discussing something.
“I’m sorry to interrupt—I was hoping someone could help me with a private matter.”
“Not a problem, dear,” said the older woman who worked at the front desk. “We were just talking about what happened over the weekend—so tragic!”
“What happened?” Had I missed a terrorist attack or some other news event? I’d been too busy wrapped in my problems to notice the world around me.
“Roger Coleman was—”
“Beth, he was her boss,” cut in one of the others.
“Oh,” she gasped, her eyes going soft. “I’m so sorry to break this to you, dear, but Mr. Coleman was killed on Saturday. It was on all the local news stations; I’m surprised you didn’t see.” All six pairs of pitying eyes fixed on me, waiting intently for my reaction.
Roger was dead.
Not just dead, killed.
I was in shock—unable to react because I couldn’t process the unexpected news.
Instead, I nodded and stumbled from the office.
I couldn’t go upstairs; I needed somewhere private to think.
I found myself back at the elevator, next to which was a maintenance room.
Hurrying inside, I closed the door behind me and dropped down to sit on a large cardboard box.
The source of my torment for a solid year was dead.
I was free.
The relief I experienced was so great, I felt physically lighter, almost dizzy.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if it was wrong that I was glad a man had died.
Trailing behind that thought was image after image of Roger’s snide face as he commented about my legs or ogled my chest. I could still feel his unwelcome hardness pressed against my backside from days earlier when he very likely would have raped me had Luca not arrived.
No, I had every right to rejoice.
Roger was a disgusting human being, and the world was a better place without him.
How had he died? I hadn’t even thought to ask. They said he was killed—did that mean he was murdered? Or had they meant he died in a car crash or other accident? I pulled out my phone and Googled Roger Coleman.
New York businessman, Roger Coleman, found dead early Sunday morning. Coleman received numerous stab wounds in what appears to be a surprisingly brutal attack of gang violence.
Gang violence? Holy shit!
Aside from being a pervert, Roger seemed strait-laced, as far as I could tell.
My reeling mind focused as confusion set in.
How on Earth had he wound up being murdered by a gang?
It could have been a chance encounter, but a stabbing with numerous wounds sounded rather intentional—not like the stray bullet that had killed Luca’s mom.
Luca—could he have had something to do with this?
Looking back, I was somewhat surprised he never lifted a finger when he caught Roger assaulting me.
He wasn’t exactly the type to turn the other cheek.
He hardly even spoke about the incident when we got to his place.
I knew it had affected him; he’d been practically vibrating with anger.
An ominous chill settled over me, causing goosebumps to perch on my arms and legs.
Had Luca used his mafia connections to have Roger killed?
What were the chances Roger’s death was a coincidence?
Rolling waves of nausea caused my stomach to surge into my throat as I faced what was most likely the ugly truth.
Luca had Roger killed.
Or had it been even worse? Had Luca done it himself?
Fighting off the insistent need to vomit, I lowered my head to my knees and took shaky, deep breaths. Luca wasn’t the type of man to let Roger’s crimes go unpunished. The simplest solution was most likely the right one.
Luca was a criminal. Luca was angry at Roger. Roger was killed. Luca killed Roger.
I should have known Luca let the incident go too easily. I should have followed my gut instinct and ended it the minute I discovered his mafia connection. I hated Roger, but I didn’t want him dead because of me. Beating up someone was one thing—murder was entirely different.
A cloud of emotions swarmed me like angry wasps.
Attempting to free myself from their suffocating grasp, I stood and began to pace the small room.
I needed help, but I was more scared than ever to bring anyone else into this mess.
Before I fell into a total panic, I needed to know the truth.
I needed to confront Luca. As much as I wanted to run and never look back, I’d promised him I’d come to him with my problems, and he was the only one who could confirm my suspicions.
Not giving myself a chance to chicken out, I dialed Luca’s number with shaky fingers. I was petrified and furious at the same time, perched on the precipice of a point of no return.
“Alessia, is everything okay?”
I took in a shaky breath to calm my nerves. “Did you kill my boss?” Jerky and no louder than a whisper, the words punctuated the deafening silence in my small hideout.
“I’ll be at your building in ten. Meet me outside.”
The line clicked dead, and with it, a stabbing pain wrenched through my chest.
He didn’t deny it.
He knew exactly what I was talking about and didn’t deny it.
I could feel myself falling apart like a sheet of glass splintering until it was webbed with cracks. All it would take was the right touch, and I would come apart, a jigsaw of pieces scattered across the floor.
I tried to take a deep, calming breath, but my lungs wouldn’t cooperate.
They convulsed with each attempt, making the air draw in and out in shaky puffs.
Tears burned in the back of my throat, and I felt the intense pressure of the walls closing in around me.
Unable to bear the crushing strain any longer, I burst from the room and came face-to-face with two coworkers.
They gaped at me, eyes rounded as they both took in my disheveled appearance and tear-filled eyes.
The moment it registered who I was and that I was likely upset after finding out my boss had been killed, their brows lifted in pity, and their lips thinned in awkward smiles.
If only they knew—my problems were far more extensive than mourning my deceased boss.
I jumped when the elevator dinged behind me, glancing back as the doors opened.
“You go ahead, hun. We can catch the next one.”
I wasn’t sure which one of them had spoken; I couldn’t even recall any of their names.
I nodded wordlessly and drifted into the waiting car.
The elevator ride and walk through the lobby were a blur.
The possibility Luca might harm me never even entered my mind.
All I could think was I needed to hear him say the words, then I was done.
I would walk away for good.
Whether it was the distress of suspecting he was a killer or the apprehension of leaving him, I wasn’t sure, but something had caused my brain to overheat and shut down. I walked numbly past the security desk and outside where I found a seat on one of the raised flowerbeds and waited.
The new spring leaves in the trees above me fluttered in the wind, and the constant stream of people on the sidewalk coasted past me.
Life went on, even when I felt like my world was crumbling down around me.
The reminder helped me pull back the reins of my chaotic emotions, so I was somewhat coherent by the time Luca arrived.
My eyes stared directly ahead, unseeing as he approached and joined me where I sat.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take a drive with me so we can discuss this more privately.”
I shook my head, just a hint of movement, but it was enough.
He exhaled a resigned sigh. “Alessia, he hurt you. I couldn’t stand by and let that go.” He spoke softly, an attempt to keep our conversation private on the busy sidewalk.
“People will hurt me—that’s just life. It happens. You can’t go killing someone just for upsetting me.”
“I can and will if I decide it’s necessary—if someone touches what’s mine. Plus, that man was scum. He deserved what he got and worse. You think you were the only woman he assaulted?” he spat angrily.