8. Reaching Out
eight
Reaching Out
Mikey stopped by Dante and Iris’s home that evening at his brother’s request. He’d had a fairly busy afternoon, bouncing between one work mode and the other, and he was ready to be home. Maybe even to look at something that wasn’t a computer screen for at least an hour.
If that something was Brandi’s bright, blushing face while the softness of her skin warmed his palm, all the better.
Mikey pushed the distracting thought as far down as he could and dropped his knuckles against the doorframe to his brother’s home office. “You called?”
“Come in.”
He stepped inside, eased the door shut, and made his way to the sofa where he usually sat. “This about Vegas?” Unless something noteworthy had happened and he for once hadn’t been looped in to coordinate any part of it, he couldn’t think of what else it might be.
Dante walked around his desk and lowered into his preferred chair. “Do you have names for candidates to send on a road trip? Preferably not Ryōma. A little too close to California for anyone’s comfort.”
“I considered that,” Mikey said with an incline of his head. It was a shame, because aside from Cris, Ryōma was their next most qualified. “I came up with a couple, but I was actually thinking we should send Alessa. Maybe giving her a change of scenery and something new to focus on will help her.”
Dante’s brow pinched for a second and he leaned back. “I heard she’s not been herself since she came back to field work last month.”
Mikey shrugged. “It’s hard to blame her.” They’d be hypocrites to tell anyone not to grieve a family member’s death after only three months.
“Al was a good kid.” Dante slipped his phone from his pocket. “Before we make that decision, let’s make a call and see if it’s necessary.”
Mikey watched silently as his brother tapped on an icon and set the phone on his knee.
On the third ring, an older male voice answered. “Mr. De Salvo, what an unexpected surprise! What can I do for you?”
“You sound well, Rocco. I’m glad to hear it.” Dante didn’t pause to let the conversation fall into idle chatter. “I’m having a particular problem, and our research indicates the source of this problem is your backyard.”
On the line, the boss of the Cavallo family drew an audible breath. “Mr. De Salvo, you have my word, I’ve not sent anyone even remotely close to New Jersey. If I’d had cause, I would have reached out.”
“I believe you, Rocco,” Dante said calmly. “The man making a mess up here has made it obvious he doesn’t know who he’s fucking with. The problem is that he’s made repeated claims of being here on business, and if he’s telling the truth, his employer may just be determined enough to send a second and a third once we deal with this one. All of which I’d rather avoid.”
Rocco made a sound of distaste. “How can I help?”
“Mikey’s going to send you an image of a man named Ralph George,” Dante said. “George is the one we’re dealing with currently. I need to know if you recognize him, or if any of your men do. It would be easier for all of us if I don’t have to get too involved in the Las Vegas side of things, but I won’t turn a blind eye on this issue. Is that clear?”
Mikey lifted his own phone while Dante spoke and quickly forwarded the image he’d received hours earlier from Miguel to the secure email contact he had for Rocco Cavallo. Then he gave his brother a single, distinct nod to indicate the job was done.
“You should see the email momentarily.”
“Ah, of course, let me just— There it is, there it is.” Rocco fell quiet for a moment. “He sure is a pleasant looking fellow.”
“Rocco.”
“My apologies, Mr. De Salvo,” Rocco continued quickly. “I would certainly remember that face. But I’m happy to ask my son and the men if they recognize him. How soon do you need the information?”
Dante met Mikey’s gaze, the subtlest change in his brow indicative of the question.
Mikey nodded.
Dante said, “George has stalked and assaulted my future sister-in-law. I need everything, immediately.”
Rocco muttered something in Italian that didn’t quite carry. “I’ll get back to you before the night is through.” The line clicked and Dante tapped his fingers on his phone.
Mikey blew out a breath. “Doesn’t really sound promising.”
“No. But it’s a start.” Dante tucked his phone away. “Let’s assume we’re briefing Alessa tomorrow. Brandi should be part of that. Is she still uncomfortable leaving the house?”
“For another day at least.”
Dante hummed. “I suppose that gives Cris and Felicity time to get home.” He stood and motioned for Mikey to do the same. “Mother says she wants to meet her, and if Brandi’s not comfortable coming to dinner tomorrow she would like to stop by on Saturday.”
Mikey stuck his hands in his pockets. “Am I gonna have to beg to keep her from smacking me in front of my fiancée?”
“I’m not getting in the middle of that. That’s on you.” Dante settled a hand on Mikey’s back. “Your announcement was a surprise, little brother, but what you’re doing is honorable. Just be gentle with Mother while she comes around.” He paused, his hand fell away, and he added, “I would like to see you find a happiness of your own. It might surprise you how much that will improve your life.”
Mikey leaned away from his brother. “I thought the female was the one who went through the hormonal changes during pregnancy?”
A familiar glare settled on Dante’s face.
“Thank fuck. You are still in there.”
“Go home, Michele.” Dante turned to walk down the hall where it veered toward another sitting room. “And if I hear you got married without allowing your blood to serve as your witnesses, I’ll deck you.”
Mikey rolled his eyes. “With the weekend coming up, we went ahead and booked an appointment for Tuesday. She should be mostly recovered by then.” He watched his brother pause and glance over his shoulder. “I can email the details to everyone, but we’re not having a big ceremony.”
“Do that.”
Mikey let himself out without drawing out the conversation any further. From the driveway he sent the promised information and then he aimed himself in the direction of his not-so-empty home. It made sense his mother wanted to meet her. If he’d had more time to simply think, he’d have been more prepared for that. It made at least as much sense that his siblings wanted to weasel their way in to somehow celebrating what they surely perceived as his big day. He'd need to brace Brandi for that.
Would she want her father invited?
He snorted at the thought. If she were comfortable with her father, she would have called him for help when she’d been stranded. She would have gone to him after she’d been attacked. No, if her father showed up, it was because he had connections in the courthouse system that tipped him off to her name in a marriage appointment. And that was unlikely.
Mikey drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. There was one other reason they’d pushed the appointment past the weekend. Even courthouse weddings needed some forethought. He would have to remember to do a little shopping in the next day or two.
She had more texts waiting from Mikey when she rolled out of bed in the morning. The first was essentially a greeting, and she caught herself smiling at the notion of him thinking to send it. Then her eyes drifted to the second message. She hadn’t slept as late, a direct result of not being as sleep-deprived and feeling better rested, so she’d only missed it by about half an hour.
Mikey: Do not check your email this morning. I’ll be home for lunch.
The warm feeling drained from her chest and anxiety twisted her stomach as she read his words. Then re-read them. She tapped the button to reply, but stopped herself. She didn’t need to ask why. Obviously, her stalker had emailed her again and whatever it was, Mikey was trying to shield her from it. Whether that was because it was terrible or because he’d seen nothing but Brandi-the-victim for most of the week, she didn’t know.
Indignation ignited inside her, overwriting the anxiety, and Brandi rushed through her morning routine to hurry downstairs. Fuck that. She was not cowing for some nutjob. And yes, literally, she could admit she needed protection—like it or not—but she was not so sensitive that she needed to be sheltered.
“What’ll it be for breakfast this morning, hun?” Daria asked, already stirring a cup of delicious-smelling coffee.
Brandi managed a smile for the fifty-something woman. “Could you make me another omelet? I’ve never had one so good.”
Daria handed over the coffee with a laugh. “Happy to.”
“Thanks so much. I’m just going to mess around on my laptop in the den until you’re done.” She sipped the coffee and groaned. “You’re a goddess, Daria,” she added as she turned to scurry to where she’d left her laptop. She wouldn’t have long, and she knew it was risky to open the email without the protection of Mikey’s encrypted setup, but if her system blew, she could just use that as an excuse to put something nicer in her office. She’d been nursing some serious envy since she’d laid eyes on Mikey’s setup the day before, anyway.
Brandi knocked back half her cup of coffee before pulling the laptop close and navigating straight to her email. And there was what she was afraid of—another message from RG, bearing another attachment icon. This time the subject line was a little more daunting.
That wasn’t so sweet.
She hesitated a beat, then made herself click on it. Mikey had said they were going to stake out her condo again. But if RG was emailing her, she had to assume he’d somehow dodged whoever the De Salvos had put in place.
There was no content message. Just two more photos. She moved her cursor over the first one, reminded herself that Mikey hadn’t found any sort of virus or malware attached to the last set, and opened it. Her stomach lurched immediately.
The picture was of her Uber driver again. The man was still bound to the chair, but this time his throat had been slit and deep red soaked his torso as his head hung unnaturally back and to one side. Brandi closed out of it as quickly as her suddenly uncoordinated self could manage. It took her several seconds of sucking in gasps of air before she could make herself open the other picture. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea.
Don’t let him win.
There was no dead body in the second picture. Arguably, that made it better. But Brandi was not the kind of woman who enjoyed an unsolicited dick pic on a good day, and this was definitely not an exception. She would in fact have preferred to never see this particular appendage under any circumstance, because she knew who it belonged to. She was sure the hand holding a thin strap of cloth sloppily around it was the same hand that had helped deliver her current set of bruises. She had nearly clicked out of the disgusting picture before she realized she recognized one other thing—the strap of cloth. That was one of her pairs of panties that she’d been sure she’d lost in the wash the previous weekend.
Before she’d ever officially laid eyes on her stalker.
Brandi snapped the lid of her laptop shut and tossed it to the other side of the sofa, pressing a hand to her abdomen in an effort to contain her nausea. Don’t let him win.
“Breakfast’s ready!”
She wasn’t hungry anymore. Again. But that also felt like letting the bastard win, dammit.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming call and she saw Mikey’s name come up on the screen. Guilt flared in her chest. “Can you keep it warm, Daria? Mikey’s calling,” she said, preferring a lecture to wasting what she knew was good food. If it was possible. She scooped up the phone and hoped her voice didn’t give her away terribly. “Morning.”
“I fucking told you not to look.”
“Well you could have fucking told me why. Or deleted them.”
“Believe it or not I’m juggling like three things this morning. Deleting those comes after I add them to the list of evidence I’m hoping to trace.” Mikey drew a breath. “I thought if I told you specifics, you’d get upset.”
“Like I wouldn’t anyway?”
“More upset.”
Brandi opened her mouth to snap back, to point out that she was, in fact, quite upset, but she caught the words. It was her own fault. She’d purposely done what he’d told her not to do. She groaned at her own stubbornness, lifted the coffee, and started toward the dining room. “You probably can’t put words like ‘pictures of dead people’ in a text, anyway.”
“Next time I’ll say ‘more PDP.’”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, entirely ignoring the upward twitch of her lips.
“More or less than you going out of your way to look at something you knew you wouldn’t like?”
“Fair.” Brandi settled herself carefully at the same seat she’d claimed for every other meal so far and smiled in silent gratitude to Daria as her breakfast was set before her. “You’ll be back for lunch?”
“That’s the plan. I’ll text you some things to keep you busy so you don’t self-sabotage in the meantime.”
“Hilarious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Mikey paused. “And good morning.” Then he hung up, leaving her weirdly flustered.
The rest of the day rolled by in relative peace. Brandi learned that someone—presumably George— had come by her condo the night before, but the man on duty inside had jumped the gun trying to capture him. George had gotten away. Of course, they both knew what he’d done after that. The new information had been the push she needed, she realized, and by the time Mikey was done with his work day she’d come to the decision it was time to let the condo go. It wasn’t like she’d been planning to see it again when she’d fled on Wednesday.
That would be a process, and take time, but she knew it was the right call. Even if George disappeared in every way, she couldn’t go back to that space. She certainly wasn’t going to hold on to it for fifty-three weeks while she waited out the minimum length of her still-pending marriage.
Nor could she afford to be dwelling on the fate of the condominium she’d once been so proud of herself for acquiring. It was Saturday, and Mikey’s mother was coming. Brandi wanted to put her best foot forward, if that was even still possible. She hadn’t met her soon-to-be mother-in-law, and already she felt like she was coming from behind. What did I expect? It wasn’t like Mikey had fallen wildly in love with her and had gushed about all her wonderful qualities to his family. It wasn’t like they had been quietly dating behind the scenes. She may as well have been invading their family.
Brandi clutched at the towel around herself. Her gaze drifted to the bathroom mirror and she pulled her lips between her teeth. She’d been avoiding it, but if she was going to be judged in a couple of hours, it was best to be prepared for the critiques. She remembered all the dark and swollen blotches. She remembered the angry red skin. She needed to see how much had healed since those early hours on Wednesday. So she let the towel fall to the floor.
Her focus stayed on her face at first, studying the state of recovery that was most obvious. She still had some bruising under her eyes, but nearly all of the swelling had subsided. Even the bruises at the back of her jaw were subtle and would easily disappear with makeup. She reached up, gingerly prodding the bridge of her nose, and exhaled with relief when the touch didn’t hurt. It had never been broken, but that first day she’d had doubts.
Okay, so I don’t look like an actual zombie. Not everything’s going wrong, then.
Her eyes followed the downward motion of her arm and she examined her wrists next. The worst of the two bruises there was still fairly visible, which was incredibly frustrating. At least the other was less so. Again, she trailed her fingers over the skin, and even the more discolored wrist failed to do more than twinge.
She dragged her gaze back up to the mirror, skimming over the plump rolls she knew she’d find and looking for what didn’t belong. She remembered her ribs hurting from the first night’s assault and watched herself reach up, feeling along her torso for tenderness. There was one spot, left of center, that still made her wince. But even that wasn’t too bad.
Her hands briefly clutched at the excess skin around her belly and hips, a frown bending her lips. “I need to exercise more…” Most of the time she didn’t have an issue with her body, or care what other people said, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew she wasn’t conventionally attractive. And she knew that putting herself—a clinically overweight female—next to a wealthy, gorgeous man who had also been the last eligible bachelor of his family was going to earn her undeserved criticism. It was just something she was going to have to endure.
Brandi released her skin and shoved the thought aside as she angled her head to get a better look at the wound she’d unbandaged in order to take her shower that morning. It looked so much better than the last time she’d seen it. The skin was no longer an aggressive, puffy red and the slice mark was so thin it actually looked as though it had started to heal up. She knew from her shower that it was still a bit sore to the touch, but that was okay. She’d wear something long enough to shield it, and maybe get more help with another thorough bandage job.
Not that it mattered if it scarred, even. She was about to be married, and then who would ever see her body, anyway?
Her gaze dragged back up the mirror. Would my husband even want to— Brandi gave herself a hard shake before she could finish the thought. She was plenty capable of taking care of her own needs for the next year.
More importantly, she had to figure out a way to twist around and crane her neck in order to see what had become of the bruise on her back. It had been unbearably tender on Wednesday, that was the real reason she’d worn a full dress. She also knew some of that might have been psychological. But contorting herself enough to see what might remain of the boot-print bruise proved harder than expected, and the third time Brandi nearly fell on her ass, she finally gave up. It would hurt or it wouldn’t, and eventually it would heal. It was just a bruise.
“Brandi?” Mikey’s voice called from beyond the bathroom.
She shrieked, startled, and had to catch herself on the vanity counter to keep from crashing. Again.
His voice was closer this time, and warmed with something like amusement. “Bad time?”
“Is there a good time for giving someone a heart attack?” She sucked in a breath, scrunched up her nose at the crumpled-up mess she’d managed to make of her shower towel, and glanced around the room. “What is it?” Robe! She hurried to snatch up the soft, fluffy thing that felt like it belonged in a luxury hotel and wrap it around herself.
“Daria said to tell you breakfast’s in ten minutes. Thought I should make sure you’d make it in time.”
Finally adequately covered, Brandi held the top of the robe closed for an extra buffer and unlocked the door. She cracked it open, somehow still startled to find her fiancé leaning against the wall not a foot away.
In jeans. Casual, faded, black jeans accompanied by a surely more expensive button-up with sleeves he’d already shoved to his elbows. Also black. Who was he trying to impress?
She nearly missed the way his own eyes roved over her.
“You okay?” The teasing amusement was gone from his voice, but the question was far from cold.
Brandi swallowed a very different kind of nerves. “I was just taking stock,” she said.
Mikey straightened, stepped directly in front of her, and curled his fingers around the inside of the door in a way that would prevent her from moving it at all. He reached up with his other hand and gently stroked the tips of his fingers over the shoulder of her robe. “The only thing you need to worry about,” he said, “is what might happen if you ever open the door to me like this again.”
The breath rushed from her lungs at his rumbled words, and the next thing she knew, he’d swept his hand up to curve around the back of her neck and tug her forward. His lips crashed over hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth. The kiss was intense, demanding and relentless, and then it was over.
By the time Brandi blinked her eyes open, her mind still completely scrambled, Mikey had left the room.
What … the hell just happened?