Twenty-nine
Chiara
Bethany hooks her arm through mine as we cut across the lobby. “I’m telling you, he ordered for me.” She flicks her hair back over her shoulder. “Didn’t ask, didn’t pause, and just told the server I’d have the salmon.”
Janet snorts, shifting her tote higher on her shoulder as she keeps pace. “You let him? That’s on you.”
“I was curious,” Bethany says. “I wanted to see how far he’d take it.”
George nudges the glass door open with his shoulder. “So how far did it go?”
I open my mouth, already turning toward him—and then I see her.
She walks toward the exit with Victor’s hand at her elbow, angled just enough to guide her without making a scene. As they pass, her eyes move over my face and keep going.
My foot hits the floor and stops there. The rest of me carries forward a fraction too long before I force the next step so I don’t break formation.
Bethany keeps talking, squeezing my arm when I lag. “Don’t bail on me now,” she says, tugging me forward. “You didn’t even react to the ankle monitor.”
“I’m reacting.” I shift my bag higher on my shoulder so it shields my side. “I’m deciding if you’re making this up.”
“I’m not. He asked if I wanted to see it up close.”
I look back, and Alyssa is walking through the front door of the building. She turns left, and Victor watches her go. Every part of me locks down, but the thought still punches through. What the fuck.
The elevator doors open, and I follow everyone in, turning just enough to keep the lobby in my periphery as the doors start to slide.
The doors slide shut behind us, sealing in the noise from the lobby.
Janet tilts her head, one hand flattening against the control panel. “You went quiet,” she says, tapping the button for our floor harder than needed. “What’s up?”
“I’m fine. I just remembered something I missed this morning for Heather.”
Bethany lets out a short laugh, folding her arms like she’s settling in. “Heather’s always undone. That’s not new information.”
Janet moves closer, her shoulder brushing mine as the elevator jolts upward. “So fix it.”
The elevator hums as it climbs, the numbers ticking up one by one. I hold still, shoulders set, the strap cutting into my palm while the space tightens around us.
I step out of the elevator with the others, matching their pace across the bullpen while my focus stays a step behind.
I pull my chair out with my knee and set my bag down harder than I intend. “I need five minutes without interruption.” I pull my phone from my bag to text Ciro.
Me: Why was Alyssa here?
I hit send before I can adjust it.
The message sits there.
Delivered but no response.
Janet’s chair creaks as she leans back again. “If you need me to stall Heather,” she says, turning halfway toward me, “say it now.”
“I don’t.” I tap the edge of my phone against the desk, willing Ciro to respond. “I’m almost done.”
The phone vibrates against the desk, sharp and quick.
Ciro: Come up.
I stare at the message for a beat and then push my chair back, the legs scraping louder than the room can absorb.
Janet looks up immediately, her fingers pausing over her keyboard. “That was fast,” she says, turning fully toward me. “Crisis already?”
“I’ll be right back,” I say reaching for a pad of paper and my favorite pen. I cross the bullpen toward the elevators. The call button lights under my thumb, and I press it again, harder, like speed will come from force.
The doors slide open.
I step inside and turn, my hand already moving to the panel. Suddenly, a hand cuts through the gap, stopping them.
Heather steps in before they can close, her heels clicking once against the floor as she claims the space beside me. She doesn’t look at the panel. She looks at me.
“You’re in a hurry,” she says, setting her tablet against her hip and angling her body to block half the door.
“HR called me up because of a problem with my direct deposit information.” I shift a half step to the side so I can reach the panel again. “It won’t take long.”
“Don’t take all day. If you’re ready for more work, I have it.”
The HR floor lights up, and the doors slide open.
I step out before she can say anything else, my shoulder brushing past hers just enough to break the line she’s holding. “I’ll be back in five,” I say, already moving into the hallway. “You’ll have everything you need.”
“Make it three,” she says behind me, her voice carrying through the open doors.
The doors close on her.
I don’t slow. I cut down the hallway, and then pivot at the corner and double back to the elevators, pressing the call button with the side of my hand.
The second set of elevator doors open almost immediately.
I step in alone and turn, my finger landing on the executive floor without hesitation.
As it rises to the forty-eighth floor, my mind is racing. Why would Alyssa be here? Does she know I’m here? Crap.
The elevator opens onto the executive floor, and he’s already there.
Ciro stands just off to the side of the doors, jacket unbuttoned, one hand braced on the glass wall like he’s been waiting longer than he wants to admit. His eyes go straight to me.
“You took your time,” he says, pushing off the glass and stepping in before the doors fully open.
“You told me to come up,” I say, stepping past him into the hallway without slowing. “I’m here. Why was Alyssa in the building?”
He doesn’t answer. “Inside,” he says, low, controlled. “Not out here.”
I stop just inside the doorway. “Victor was escorting her out. Why?”
“Chiara,” he says, closing the door behind us with a firm push, cutting off the floor. “Sit.”
“No,” I say, keeping my hand on the back of the chair instead of taking it. “What did she want? I didn’t see Massimo. Was he here too?”
He exhales through his nose, sliding a hand down the front of his shirt like he’s buying a second. “You’re not standing for this.” He steps closer and guides me sideways with a hand at my elbow. “Sit down.”
I look at him not sure what to do.
“Sit,” he says again, firmer this time.
I lean forward immediately, bracing my elbows on my knees so I can hold his line. “Why was she here? Don’t deflect.”
He turns instead, crossing to his desk and reaching for something just out of my view. His back stays to me a second too long.
“Stop stalling,” I say, straightening as he comes in close. “You think I didn’t see her? You think I don’t know what that means?”
He holds my gaze for a beat and then drops it, sliding something from his hand to mine instead of answering.
“Look,” he says, quieter now, his fingers closing around my wrist to keep me from pulling back. “Just—look at it.”
I try to pull my hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough that I have to take it.
It’s a photo.
I glance down at it without meaning to, my thumb catching the edge as I turn it.
A woman on a sidewalk, mid-step, and her head turned slightly like someone just called her name. Hair pulled back. Same line of her jaw. Same shape I’ve been carrying in my head for years without anything to anchor it.
I lift my eyes back to him, the photo still caught between my fingers. “This isn’t funny,” I say, my voice sharpening as I push it back toward him. “Don’t do this.”
“This is why she was here.”
A sigh of frustration escapes.
“Alyssa came to deliver a message,” he says. “Your mother is alive, and they’ve located generally where she lives.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head once as I look down again and then back up. “No. She’s dead. That’s not—”
“According to her, she’s alive and in hiding.”
I stare at him, the room tightening around the edges while I try to keep my footing. “You’re telling me she’s been alive this entire time?” I step back. “And this is how I find out.”
“I’m telling you what was delivered.” He closes the distance I put between us. “We don’t even know if it’s true.”
I shake my head as I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. “How could she just leave us? Leave me?”
“I’ve already been in touch with Jim. His team is working on it. There are enough markers in the picture to believe she’s in the Santa Monica area.”
“I want to know everything. Because I’m not waiting while they decide how to use her.”
He tells me that Alyssa arrived without an appointment and gave him this picture. And explained that my mother is a Gamblé and Palo isn’t, making my union to Palo more important than ever.
“You walk out now,” he says, lowering his voice as he leans in, “you do exactly what they want.”
I hold there, the photo cutting into my palm.
“I’m going to Los Angeles.” I stand. “Right now. I’m not waiting on your team.”
“You’re not getting on a plane blind,” Ciro says, stepping in front of me. “Stop.”
I push past him a step before he blocks me again. “She’s there. I’m going.”
“You don’t know where ‘there’ is,” he says, planting his hand flat against the door behind him. “You’re reacting to a threat. We don’t even know if any of what they said was true. This could all be a ruse to flush you out.”
That stops me cold. Telling me my mother is alive would be the lowest of the lowest.
“Jim has a team in LA ready to get to her and protect her. He’s trying to find her. But we don’t have her name and Los Angeles is a big city. At least we know they don’t have that either.” He holds my gaze. “That may take time.”
“You don’t know that,” I say, pulling my arm free and pacing harder. “You don’t know anything about where she’s been or who she’s with or why—”
I break off, my hand coming up to cover my mouth for a second before I drop it.
“Why she left,” I say, the words pushing out as I turn on him again. “Why she didn’t come back. Why she let me think she was dead.”
He wraps his arms around me, and I feel safe.
“You handed me a picture and told me everything I know is wrong. What part of that is real?”
“The part where you don’t make yourself a target,” he says, stepping closer so I can’t move past him. “That part stays.”
“They already made me one,” I say, dropping my gaze to the photo still crushed in my other hand. “That didn’t just happen today.”
“You need to stay here until we have something solid,” he says, sliding his hand to my shoulder and stopping me mid-step. “You won’t get to her faster than Massimo will.”
“I have to try,” I say, pushing against his hand, the resistance building instead of breaking. “I can’t sit here and wait for updates.”
“We’ll get to her,” he says, quieter now, his thumb pressing once like he’s grounding the statement. “But you don’t get there by running blind. It’s only an hour flight. Once they locate her, we can book a plane and go.”
I shake my head, the motion small but sharp, my grip on the photo tightening again. “She saw me.”
His brow furrows.
“Alyssa looked straight at me and did—nothing. She didn’t recognize me. My best friend.”
“She didn’t recognize you. That’s good.”
“I don’t know how to stand still when she’s out there.”
“Then don’t,” he says, drawing me in before I can argue. “Use me.”
My grip on the photo loosens as I press into him, the edges cutting into my palm before they slip.
His arm comes around me, firm and steady, locking me in place as the room finally tilts.