2. Isabella
two
Isabella
“This is what I found.”
I pass my boss the USB stick full of pictures and documents I collected from investigating for the last couple of months.
“It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.” I smile at him.
Donovan Hall is CEO of Hall Media, a small media house. Mr. Hall never expanded, staying local, but most importantly, his company always searches for the truth, no matter the consequences. That’s the reason I like working for him.
He narrows his eyes at me, a wary look in his gaze. “And you are sure you’re not in any kind of trouble? No one is going to follow you home like last time?” he asks, reminding me of my previous field job.
I investigated a story about a senator who was accused of raping a young woman who worked for him as an intern. When she came forward, she was accused of seducing him and the blame was put on her. She ended up in a rehab clinic. I came across the story by accident and knew something was off. Why would she have a breakdown if she was lying? After visiting her and hearing her side of the story, I could see the injustice, so I took on the challenge and discovered more than twenty women over the last decade had been in the same position as her. Some of them didn’t want to speak, but many did. After a few months, the senator was exposed live on our channel and arrested the same day, as soon as we delivered the evidence and statements from the women to the authorities.
I, on the other hand, was attacked at my home by someone saying I destroyed the future of the good people of America.
I don’t think people need a rapist for a politician.
“I’m sure. And if so, I know how to defend myself, and I installed a better security system and cameras at my house,” I say, shrugging.
“That’s not what I meant.” He twirls the USB stick between his fingers. “These people are not the same as a rapist politician. They are killers and very dangerous men.”
“I know. That’s why I went undercover. Don’t worry. You wouldn’t even have known me if you saw me.”
I wouldn’t have known me.
Sighing, he plugs the stick into his computer, and I use this as an excuse to leave his office. Saying goodbye, I walk out, closing the door behind me, and I head toward my desk in the open area. Firing up my own computer, I search for my next victim.
At eight p.m., I sit on my couch in my apartment with a glass of wine in my hand and watch my handiwork on my laptop. I worked long months undercover, wearing a blond wig and serving men of Camorra drinks. Luckily, they all are getting arrested tonight, and I won’t be linked to their arrests. I did, however, have an advantage while investigating; I understand how they think. My former life has yet again come to use.
Live images of the police raiding the Camorra family boss’s villa fill my screen. He is arrested with tens of other men. This will cause chaos between the crime families; I know that in my heart. It will cause commotion in the Commission and its members. They will point fingers and search for the rat amongst them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they kill each other. I didn’t find any proof of the existence of the Commission, however, I know that they exist. Once, I overheard someone speaking about them. Unfortunately, I was at the end of my investigation and couldn’t risk all my work for another. Better one bastard in prison than none at all.
I put my glass on the coffee table and turn the news off, standing and walking toward the window of my apartment that overlooks Manhattan. City lights illuminate the buildings in front of me. The buzz of the traffic and the vibrant dynamic of the city make me feel alive. There is no darkness, no distant sounds of the wilderness.
I love living here. My two-bedroom apartment is one of my favorite places in the world. I worked hard to be where I am today. So different from the place I grew up in, and so different from the place I found my solitude. This place is mine. It’s my safe place. It has been for a while now.
There is no going back to my previous life, to the place I grew up in and loved so much until I discovered the true price of being there.
Sometimes, I feel lost. Sometimes, I feel nostalgic. Mostly, my vision blurs and the heat overwhelms me when anger takes over. Anger that I couldn’t save her, sadness that she couldn’t get out. Anger that I ran away and couldn’t fight. But it was the only way for me to survive, to not end up like her .
The walk from my childhood house and through the small walkway between the trees of the vineyard and to our destination wasn’t long, but when we arrived at the place where the car was hidden under a tree, our momentary relief was taken away the instant the car door swung open and we were met with the angry face of my father. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were black and hard.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His nostrils flared as his voice seemed to cut through me. My mother’s hand trembled in mine, and I squeezed hers, trying and failing to take some strength from her.
“Let us leave. I can’t do this anymore, Domenico. You have changed. You broke your promise to me.”
My father gripped her biceps and pulled her toward him, my mother’s hand leaving mine. As I stared, fearing for her, a hand grabbed my arm, taking me away from my mother. I wanted to fight, but I relaxed when I saw my friend. A boy I grew up with, Pino. His chocolate eyes pleaded with me not to. And I didn’t.
As he steered me away from my parents, I heard my father’s menacing voice. “There is no way out of this, and you know that. You are not leaving me. I will never allow it.”
As Pino and I disappeared into the night toward the house, I listened to my mother’s cries until I couldn’t hear them anymore.
Until all I heard in the darkness was a distant gunshot.
It has been a month since my last field job, the adrenaline high long faded, and my body and my mind are searching for a new one.
As I read the lifestyle column in a magazine, an article comes to my attention.
CEO of Lotus Group opens his doors for the first time in five years.
Salvatore Catalano is opening his doors for only the second time in the last five years. An auction will be held, where money raised will be given to the charity Mr. Catalano and his unnamed associates founded over ten years ago. The charity helps troubled teens and runaways who have had no luck in America’s foster system.
What will be auctioned is still not known. However, that doesn’t seem to bother the wealthy in high society. Just another normal day for 1% of the world’s population.
The Lotus Hotel was formerly the Grand Palace, which was owned by the Russell family. After Gerald Russell’s death almost ten years ago, his son William was declared CEO of Russell Enterprise. Fortunately for Mr. Catalano, young William Russell quickly drove his family empire into the ground.
After the takeover, Mr. Catalano, who is also the owner of one of the most exclusive clubs in the city, Twenty-Seven, took it upon himself to turn the hotel into a more profitable business than before.
Elusive Mr. Catalano is an investor in various other businesses, such as restaurants, construction companies, online businesses, and the list goes on.
Will this event be more gracious? Maybe. Or maybe not.
But we know the city’s most important people will be there. What we also know and are disappointed about is the event is not permitting media coverage.
But nothing stays away from our eyes and ears.
I lean back in my office chair, the buzz of people around me coming back as I take a deep breath. Why does that name sound familiar? I go back to the article. Pictures of the Lotus Hotel and other establishments allegedly owned by Catalano are under the article. None of the man himself. I type his name in a search bar, and I keep scrolling until I find a few, but none with his face clearly visible. Each one looks old, and he is with a different woman in every one. With a few clicks, I find they are all dated over five years ago and on different dates.
After deeper research, I find a blog with an article that was dismissed by the media and a newspaper written by Jeremy Foster, an independent journalist and author of bestselling science fiction novels.
“Is the CEO of Lotus Group a big bad don of La Cosa Nostra?”
I read the article twice before I dive into research, and my adrenaline spikes again.
There is a new puzzle to solve. After all, this is what I’m good at, not to mention, I know how both sides of this world work.
Before I can change my mind, I call Cece, my dearest friend, and ask her to meet me for a drink after work.
That leads to us sitting in a rooftop lounge with a view of Manhattan, having cocktails and snacks. I needed a break after all I read and not getting closer to the answer I searched for.
There have been rumors that Salvatore Catalano is the new don of the Cosa Nostra for years. While it has never been officially verified, there were also rumors suggesting his father was engaged in shady dealings.
Arturo Catalano owned two construction companies, and it was never confirmed that he had anything to do with a crime family, according to the blogger, who had dozens of articles that included various criminal organizations since the seventies and since the Rico Law came into action. Cosa Nostra worked hard to keep their bosses under the radar. There were assumptions, since Salvatore’s father, Arturo, was married to a mafia princess. Arturo was a child of hard-working immigrants who had no ties to Cosa Nostra.
Same for his son, Salvatore Catalano, who has more impressive achievements.
But I know men like them. I lived with one. If anyone can find something, it’s me. I just need an opportunity that will lead me toward one piece of the puzzle at a time.
“I may need to leave for a case.” Cece’s voice pulls my attention back to her. “I don’t know when or how long I’ll be away. I just wanted you to know in case I don’t answer your calls and messages.”
“Can you at least tell me where you’re going?” I take a bite of my truffle fries.
“Maybe soon. There are still too many things about this case that don’t make sense.” She puts her drink on the table and, with a broad smile, turns her attention to the man who now stands beside us.
Handsome and flirtatious Ethan Caine. A fine specimen, tall with wide shoulders and gray eyes that have a playful streak in them. He has a firm jaw and a smile that brings women to their knees, and black hair in a style that must have cost hundreds of dollars.
He and Cece see each other off and on, but neither has any interest in commitment. They just enjoy their time together.
Cece, a badass lawyer, is a feminist to her bones. She doesn’t want to commit to a man or have kids. She wants to live her life the way she wants. I want a man who will love me, and to eventually have kids of my own. Maybe that’s because of my Catholic upbringing; the life I lived before I came here. I don’t know, maybe I will figure it out someday. But not today or anytime soon, because now my attention is focused on the conversation between Cece and Ethan. Apparently, he is in desperate need of a date to take to an event he is required to attend.
This is my opportunity, my way in.
I clear my throat before batting my eyelashes at Ethan, and with a sweet voice, I say, “I’ll go with you!”
Ethan looks at me, raising an eyebrow. I look between him and Cece, pleading with her with my eyes to take the hint.
“Will you now?” He chuckles.
“Yes. Cece obviously isn’t up for it, and I have a beautiful dress that I want to show off on this hot body,” I say. Which is a lie. I don’t have a dress, nor do I use my body to get what I want, but he doesn’t know that.
“You do? May I remind you we had an agreement to stay friends?” he asks.
We do have an agreement. After he tried to get me into bed, I told him I’m looking for marriage, and since he isn’t, staying friends is better.
He adds, “What do you really want? Who is the poor guy you’re chasing? Is there a story?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you only chase stories. Bad guys who have wronged someone, and you want to make them pay.”
I look at him for a moment before I sigh. “Fine. I have a story, and this is my way to track the guy. Don’t ask who because I can’t tell you. “
He stays quiet for a moment, but Cece speaks up. “Take her. I can’t go with you. I have something work-related.” She smiles, taking a sip of her drink.
Ethan looks from me to Cece before he rolls his eyes, exhaling defeatedly. “Fine, but you owe me one.”
I will gladly owe him more than one.
This will be perfect. And there is no better man to go with.