50. Seraphina
50
Seraphina
All eyes move to me, Lincoln’s fury flames in his green irises, while Maroaka’s hold a gleam of satisfaction, one that causes shivers to run down my spine.
“Detective Porter, please get the camera. Ms. Gregori, are you comfortable providing a recorded witness statement?”
“I—uh,” I stumble, furrowing my brows before looking at my parents while the detective leaves the room. My dad narrows his eyes on Maroaka, his face transforming to contemplative.
“What are you looking to gain from this, Sergeant?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Gregori, I’m looking to uphold the law. If that’s an issue for you, I recommend leaving this precinct and getting your priorities together. Now, I’ll ask Ms. Gregori again, are you willing to fill a witness statement to walk us through the events the night of the fire, and any details of Mitchell Abernathy and Christopher Kopicki that seem pertinent to this investigation.”
I look to my dad again and wait until I see his nod before answering. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Should I be offended that I’m not being asked for a statement?” Bianca asks, a note of dejection in her voice.
“Can someone please escort the other Ms. Gregori out of this conference room. Preferably out of this building?” Maroaka scowls, not even looking in Bianca’s direction.
“Wait a damn minute—”
“Ms. Gregori, that’s enough. Gregori, please escort your sister out.”
“Are you kidding me?” Bianca asks under her breath, shooting daggers at Maroaka’s face.
“Bianca, go with your brother. Please,” my mom whispers, her voice strained.
With a huff, Bianca shoves her chair back and stands, her face set in a furious frown. Not sparing another word, she storms around the table and wrenches the door open. Detective Porter returns as Bianca leaves.
“Okay, Ms. Gregori,” Detective Porter smiles at me, placing a camera and tripod on the table. “I’m going to ask you a few questions; I’d like you to answer each one as completely as you can. Any detail you can think of is important and we can sift through everything once we have your statement, okay?”
I nod my head at her. “Can they stay?” I tilt my head toward my parents and Lincoln, grabbing his hand to silently tell him I need him here.
Detective Porter doesn’t answer, instead looking over at Maroaka. He clenches his jaw, but sighs. “Fine.”
I release a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and sit back in my chair, bringing Lincoln’s hand with me. Long moments pass as Detective Porter sets up the camera, verifies the angle, and then presses play. With a raised brow, she silently asks if I’m ready.
I nod slightly, just enough to give her the consent to begin.
“Please state your full name,” she begins, asking me to provide my personal information before she dives into the heavier questions. “Can you please tell us where you were when the fire broke out last night?”
Clearing my throat, I look directly into the camera. “I was in the shower. My sister came in and made sure I made it out of the building.” Lincoln’s hand squeezes mine at my words. I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s pissed about the danger that we found ourselves in.
“And can you describe what happened when you exited the building?” I lick my lips going into detail on how Bianca believed she was pushed down the stairs, leading to the both of us stumbling.
“And do you recognize the man in the video who appears behind you and Ms. Bianca Gregori?”
I shake my head this time. “I don’t know. I can’t see his face, but I recognize the bracelet on his wrist.”
“And could you describe that bracelet, Ms. Gregori?”
“Yeah,” I croak, pausing to cough. “Yes. It’s a thick gold link bracelet with two lion heads eating a snake. There are small diamonds in the eyes of each lion. Mitchell Abernathy and Christopher Kopicki each wear this bracelet, though I’m not sure if there are any others out there.”
Detective Porter gives me an encouraging nod. “Can you please describe your relationship with Mitchell Abernathy.”
“There’s no fucking relationship,” Lincoln grinds out beside me, causing all of our heads to whip toward him.
Detective Porter’s face settles into a frown. “Please, no commentary from the emotional support in the room.” Looking back at me, she asks her question again. “Can you please describe your relationship with Mitchell Abernathy?”
Squeezing Lincoln’s hand again, I open my mouth and dive back into the waters of high school, recounting our relationship, our breakups, and the way Mitchell held information over my head to get what he wanted. I don’t hold back on detailing the night of Chris’s party, trying to remember every detail from that night all those years ago.
Sucking in a breath, I pause before detailing the more recent encounters. “I saw Chris after I interviewed at the library; I noticed his bracelet—the lion one—when he grabbed my shoulder to turn me around. I didn’t realize he also had that bracelet until that day. I saw him a few times after that, as well, all in the library. I know that I already reported that black car that seemed to appear out of nowhere,” I pause, sucking in a breath before continuing. “And then, I saw Mitch.”
I swallow the bile in my throat at the memory of his hands around my neck. “It’s okay, cierń,”Lincoln whispers, “I’m right here, baby.” He’s calm right now, though he doesn’t know all the details.
Closing my eyes, I detail his surprise appearance in the library. “After one of my shifts in the library, Mitch cornered me in the parking lot. He made sure I didn’t see or hear him before he pinned me against the door and put his hand around my neck. H-he threatened me and told me that I would pay for ruining his life.”
“And did you file a police report?”
I shake my head, looking down at mine and Lincoln’s joined hands. “No. My parents called the officer who filed my original report and alerted them to Mitch’s reappearance. I have a restraining order against him. But my roommate has also had dealings with Mitch and Chris.” I bite down on my lip, feeling both guilty and nervous in bringing up Olivia’s history.
Detective Porter’s eyebrows rise at my explanation, but she keeps going. We sit in the room for an hour, trading questions and answers like jacks, until finally, she stops the recording. “Thank you, Seraphina. if you see Ms. Bowman, please give her notice that we will be reaching out to her, as well. For now, I’ll get this transcribed and entered into the system. Sargeant, if you don’t mind?”
Maroaka nods at Detective Porter, dismissing her without a word. As soon as the door shuts behind her, he turns to us. “Thank you for consenting to this recording, Ms. Gregori. Please know that we will do everything to keep you and the rest of residents in your building safe. This is an ongoing investigation, so I ask that you do not divulge any information to anyone—friends, family, media outlets. The more we are able to keep this contained, the more efficient we will be in closing this.”
I nod. “Of course. Can I ask what happens next?”
“We’re going to follow all leads. What you’ve given us provides us with a starting point. But,” he pauses, his face breaking out into a smirk that shows a deep dimple in his left cheek. “Off the record, we’re going to get these bastards and make sure they rot in a cell for as long as the law will allow.”
—
I move in a daze, walking down the steps of the precinct after enduring almost two hours with the police. “Come here, cierń.” Lincoln opens his arms, beckoning me into them. I don’t hesitate and collapse against him.
“They said he was away.”
“He was.”
“Then how did he get back?” I pull back, lifting my head from his chest.
“Because he—they—had this planned, cierń. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but holy fuck. They saw an opportunity to get rid of their three problems: you, Bianca, and Olivia. They’re not going to stop until they’re arrested, dead, or they succeed in their plan, which won’t fucking happen.”
I shudder at the thought, burrowing back into Lincoln.
“Ser?” I turn my head in the direction of my brother’s voice. I’m surprised to find his phone outstretched. “Liv needs to speak to you.”
Lifting my head, I reach forward, grabbing the phone and bringing it to my ear. “Livvy?”
“Hey, Ser.” She sighs, and I can picture her running a hand through her dark hair. “I’m leaving for a bit, okay?”
“Wait, what?”
“I need to go home to take care of a few things, okay? I’ll call you when I know when I’ll be back, but I need to do this.”
I shake my head, immediately rejecting her plan. “Your life is here, Liv. And you hate going home. Is everything okay?”
“You mean my life pouring beers at a college bar? That’s not what I want for my life, not anymore. I need to do this, okay? I promise everything will be fine.” I don’t miss how she says everything will be fine, not everything is fine. “You’re my best friend, Ser. I love you, okay? I promise I’ll be back.”
“Olivia—”
“Shit, I need to go. Text me when you get your phone back.” She hangs up, ending our conversation. I pull the phone from my ear and stare dumbfounded at the screen.
I look at Rafe and see the anger swirling in his eyes. He must already know. “She’s leaving.”
He nods. “I know.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head, reaching for his phone. “I don’t know.”
My shoulders drop, and I sag into Lincoln. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve lost my apartment, my best friend, and all semblance of safety. “Will she be back?”
“I don’t know,” Rafe repeats, his voice sounding almost as broken as mine.
“Come on, cierń.” Lincoln interrupts the moment. “Let’s get you home.” He bends down and picks me up, cradling me to his chest.
“My parents are still here.” I look over his shoulder at where my parents are walking down the steps of the precinct. “You should put me down.”
“Okay.” He hugs me tighter and continues the walk to his car.
—
“Are you going to make this a habit, carrying me everywhere?” I ask, once again suspended in Lincoln’s arms.
“That an issue for you?”
“Only fundamentally and logically, yes.”
“That it?” he muses, kicking his front door behind him. “Are you hungry?”
“No, not even a little.”
Lincoln looks down at me, frowning. “You need to eat.”
“I will, but the thought of food makes me want to throw up. And I’d prefer not to do that right now.” He stares at me a moment before nodding and walking through his living room and into the bedroom. He doesn’t stop moving until he’s placing me gently on the bed.
I look at Lincoln’s handsome face, his light, vibrant eyes set against his dark skin, the swirls and intricacies of tattoos, and the love that shines from his gaze every time he looks at me.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, fear and confusion warring with excitement.
His hands move to my face, cradling my jaw as though I’m the most precious gift he’s ever received. “We go to sleep, wake up, and start another day. We deal with this shit—together—and we figure out how the fuck all your shit will fit in my apartment.”
I laugh at his assessment, stunned by both the simplicity and his apparent way of asking me to move in. “I’m not moving in with you.”
“Yet.”
“Lincoln.” I shake my head, unable to keep the smile from my face. “We just started dating.”
“What does that have to do with anything?
I raise a brow at him. “I have an apartment…”
“That’s currently being investigated due to arson. My point exactly.”
I sigh, shaking my head against his palms. “Can we revisit this later? I don’t feel like fighting.”
“It wouldn’t be a fight if you just said yes.”
“Lincoln,” I growl, adopting one of his signature tones.
“Fine.” He bends down, giving me a chaste kiss before straightening. “I’m going to make us some tea. Peppermint?”
I nod, biting down on my lip. With a final look, he disappears through the bedroom door, and I wait on the bed of the man who’s helped to both heal and protect me.
—
“There’s no shot in hell that SVU is better than Criminal Intent ,” Lincoln scoffs, pulling me closer to him in bed.
“Are you delusional? SVU has been on for like twenty years. Of course it’s better. Plus, wasn’t Criminal Intent canceled in 2011? It’s practically ancient.” There’s something darkly humorous about debating the merits of different Law & Order series when our lives have devolved into a plot on one of these very shows.
“The network didn’t get the ratings, not the show. Show some respect, cierń.”
“Yeah, I’m sure—” I’m cut off by the ringing of Lincoln’s phone on the nightstand. Leaning over, he grabs the phone and shows me my brother’s name on the caller ID before answering it and putting him on speaker.
“Rafe?”
“I need you to come back down to the precinct,” my brother says in greeting.
“What?” I sag against the bed, feeling a strange mix of anxiety and fear at his words. “Why?”
“We need you to identify Mitch from a lineup.”
My eyes widen. “They have him in custody already?”
My brother snorts. “The moron was trying to pawn that bracelet you identified. We alerted all shops in the area to call us if someone came in with a piece matching your description of the bracelet. Sera, I need you here as soon as possible, okay?”
I nod my head. “We’ll be there in an hour. What about Chris?”
My brother pauses, which can only mean one thing: they didn’t get him. My anxiety claws its way back up my esophagus. Clearing his throat, he speaks the words I anticipate. “His apartment was wrecked, and we think he’s behind the gates of the club’s compound. For now, you’re safe. But for you and Bianca, it’s not smart for either of you to return to your apartment. They know exactly where you live, and if anyone wanted to take you out, the two of you living alone together is a prime target.” My heart breaks at the reminder that the third one, Olivia, isn’t part of the equation, at least not at the moment.
I glance up at Lincoln, an expectant look on his face at my brother’s statement. “Shut up, Lincoln.”
“I didn’t say anything. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have enough closet space for when you move in. Now get your ass ready, we have an asshole to arrest.”