37. Alina
37
ALINA
F rom the moment I walked into a martial arts class for the first time and found structure and discipline there, I’ve wanted to run my own gym. It’s stressful running a small business, and it’s a lot of work. But every time I walk into Groff’s—I really need to change that name—it’s felt like home.
Until today.
Tomas wasn’t lying; his fellow mafia henchman Omar is staffing the lobby. A young woman I don’t recognize is at the smoothie stand, whipping up protein-infused smoothies for the gym goers with a cheerful smile on her face.
Tomas strikes again. Any other day, I’d be tempted to pull out my phone and text him with a snide reminder that, according to the contract, he can’t make hires without consulting me. But today, my new phone is another reminder of the events of last night. Another reminder that the men who threw my phone in the canal are now dead.
Men who were trying to abduct you. If Tomas hadn’t intervened, what do you think would have happened? Where do you think you would have woken up this morning?
I’m not saying I’m not grateful, okay? I am very grateful for Tomas’s help. I owe him my life. But I’m in shock. Tomas told me he was part of the mafia, and I should have taken that as a sign that I needed to keep my distance from him. Instead, I let his calm, even-tempered demeanor obscure the fact that he’s a killer.
A killer who saved your life.
Luke gives me a friendly grin when he spots me. “Hey, Ali,” he says cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
For one hysterical second, I wonder what his reaction would be if I answered with the truth. Let’s see, Luke, I imagine myself saying. I had the hottest sex of my life with a man who turned out to be a killer. Oh, he also owns half the gym, and one of his mafia enforcer buddies is at the front desk. For all I know, the perky blonde making smoothies is an assassin.
“I’m good,” I say instead. “Thanks for covering my class this morning. Sorry about the late notice.”
“No worries,” he says. “I was happy to help. I forgot how much I enjoy teaching. Like I told your boyfriend?—”
My what? I almost blurt out, and then I remember my petty display of jealousy in front of Sara earlier this week. Of course, the news has spread. If there’s one thing my members like more than protein shakes, it’s gossip. I brought this upon myself.
Luke is still talking, saying something about how he’s ready to take on more classes and would I also be interested in hiring one of his friends? I promise to look at her resume, excuse myself, and approach Omar. “Hey,” I say cautiously. “Thank you for opening this morning.”
“Of course, signorina,” he replies with a smile. “I did what I could, but some members asked me questions I couldn’t answer. I took down their information and told them you’d be in touch.” He hands me a notepad. I scan it quickly, and as I suspected, most of the questions are about the email I sent out about the double-billing issue. Thank you, Simon.
I have a ton of work to do. There are classes to teach, bills to pay, emails to write. Member questions to answer. But I can’t focus on any of it. The events of last night loom large. If Tomas was telling the truth, someone tried to abduct me. But why? I’m neither rich nor famous. I’m just an ordinary person.
The application form. “Has Gemma come in?” I ask, rummaging through the paperwork to find her membership application.
Omar’s expression turns grim. “No,” he says. “She has not.”
I’m half-expecting a blank form, but it turns out that Gemma did fill it out. I pull out my new phone and dial her number, the one she listed in her application, but the call doesn’t connect. “This number is not in service,” an automated message says. “Please check the number and try again.”
According to the application, her last name is Ridolfi. I google Gemma Ridolfi, and an Instagram profile comes up. I scroll through her posts, growing steadily colder as I read. All the details match what Gemma told me about herself. Her favorite city is Paris. Her mother died four years ago. She works out at MMA Roma, and is considering a transfer to Venice, but wonders if there are too many tourists in the city.
But when I look at her selfies, they’re of a completely different woman.
Everything ‘Gemma’ told me about herself is a lie. Every single thing.
“Omar, can you cover the front desk for another hour and a half?”
“Certainly,” he replies agreeably. “Get some rest, signorina. Take all the time you need.”
He thinks I’m going to take a nap, and I don’t bother correcting him. Instead, I turn around and head back out the door. I’m going to return to the scene of the crime. I need answers, desperately, and that’s where I’m going to find them.
The osteria is gone.
I stare at the empty storefront with a tattered For Rent sign stuck on the dusty window. I was here yesterday—I swear it. I sat in that far corner and ate bad pizza with Gemma. We talked about travel, her desire to blend in, and her attempts to learn to speak Venetian. I liked her. I thought she could be a friend.
But there’s no furniture inside the storefront. Nothing to show that I had dinner here. The battered wooden tables, the rickety chairs, the photo of James Gandolfini on the wall—all of it is gone. It’s like yesterday never happened.
I fight the urge to burst into tears.
“Ali,” a warm, kind voice says. Tomas puts his arm around my waist. “It’s going to be okay, dolcezza. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”
He killed the men who tried to abduct me. I should be intimidated by the way he took the law into his own hands and terrified by his remarkable lack of remorse. But right now, when the very foundations of my world are dissolving, Tomas is here, his arm around me, offering me the support I desperately need.
“It was here,” I whisper. “The osteria I ate at last night. It was in this empty storefront. I swear it was. Am I losing my mind, Tomas?”
“No,” he says. “Joao ran the fingerprints of the dead men. They’re career criminals from Rome, available for hire to the highest bidder. They’ve both served time for assault. One of them had twenty thousand euros on his person. We think it’s the down payment for your abduction.” He clenches his right hand into a fist. “Your friend Gemma was smart enough to pay them in cash. There’s no paper trail for Valentina to follow, nothing to help us understand why. ”
I stare at him helplessly.
“I checked the security cameras at the gym,” he continues. “Gemma was there twice, but both times, she kept her head down and her face obscured. She knew where the cameras were, and she took care to stay concealed. And Matteo called me ten minutes ago to confirm that you were drugged. Your urine sample had GHB in it. This wasn’t random. This was the work of professionals.” He guides me to a bench and makes me sit down. “Why would anyone go after you?”
“I don’t know,” I burst out. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’m nobody.”
He laughs softly. “Ah, Alina,” he says, turning into me and cupping my chin with his callused hand. “You are a firecracker. A meteor blazing across the night sky. A tempest, wild and powerful. You are many beautiful things, dolcezza, but the last thing you are is nobody. ”
I stare at him in disbelief. Those words… No man has ever seen me the way Tomas does. No man has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me now, as if I’m the most important person in his world.
And I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to process any of it. The last twenty-four hours have been too tumultuous. I feel achy and needy and deeply unsettled.
I wet my lip with my tongue. I need to focus on the abduction. Not on Tomas or the way he’s looking at me. I need to stop remembering how amazing this morning was. I need to ignore the ache in my core, the hunger in my blood. “Could it be Simon?” I don’t know why my former partner might want to kidnap me. None of this makes any sense. “Or Ciro del Barba? Maybe he was angry that you bet on me?”
“Antonio talked to del Barba this morning,” Tomas responds. He’s still cupping my chin. I want to close the distance between us. Stand on my tiptoes and kiss his lips. “It wasn’t him. As for Groff, Leo has him under observation. He’s currently doing his best to seduce a Russian heiress, but he doesn’t realize she’s also a con artist. It’s not him either.” He drops his hand, and I feel its absence like a loss. “Think, Ali. Has anything changed in your life in the last couple of weeks? Anything at all, no matter how unimportant.”
“You bought Simon’s share of the gym.”
“My enemies, such as they are, wouldn’t target you. That’s not how these things are done.”
“Wait, you have enemies?”
He shrugs. “Not really. My former boss, Alonzo d’Este, wasn’t happy when I announced my intention to leave Valencia, but he’s retired now. His son Gabriel is in charge, and I don’t think we’re enemies. In any case, abductions aren’t his style. If Gabriel wanted to target me, he would ruin me financially.”
There’s so much to digest there that I don’t even try.
“I don’t know what else is new. Lidya got me into del Barba’s underground fight, but you’ve already dismissed him from the list of suspects. The only other thing that’s happened is…” My voice trails off. It’s not that, is it? It can’t be.
Tomas’s expression sharpens. “The only other thing that’s happened is… what?”
“I heard from my father.” Every nerve in my body is on edge. “My mother never told me anything about him, but two weeks ago, I got a letter from him.” A letter that was hand-delivered to my gym. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it. But now… “He enclosed a photo of him and my mother, taken more than twenty-five years ago. He said he wanted to get to know me better, and he invited me to visit him in Palermo.” Disbelief wars with suspicion, and disbelief wins. Of course it’s not my father. All my life, I’ve dreamed about him finding me. Telling me he loves me. Telling me he wishes he could have been around while I was growing up, but he’s going to make up for all his years of absence. All my life, I’ve wandered around with a tear in my heart, one waiting to be healed by his love. “He can’t have anything to do with this. He just cannot. That makes no sense.”
“What’s his name?”
“Vidone Laurenti.”
Tomas’s shoulders stiffen, and his face wipes free of expression. “Vidone Laurenti,” he repeats flatly. “Alina, Vidone Laurenti is part of the mafia. He’s the underboss of VDL, a mafia organization in Sicily.” He takes a deep breath. “I think you’d better come with me.”