Chapter 8
Eight
Bristol
After throwing the file across the room, nausea sweeps over me.
I’m flooded with anger, embarrassment, humiliation.
I was starting to catch feelings for Liam Moretti, which I knew was a mistake. He’s an asshole with a cocky smile, and I’d bet my life on it, he has a micro-penis.
Yep, that’s what I keep telling myself, to remind me that I hate him and should never catch feelings for that jerkwad.
The problem is that kiss has been impossible to get out of my head.
Had it never happened, I’d never thought twice about him. He’s usually the farthest thing from my mind. Easy when we don’t go to the same school and the chance of running into him is almost zilch.
I mean, his sister attends Great Falls, but it’s not like we’re best friends. That ship sailed when she fucked me over freshman year in high school.
I tend to hold grudges.
The wooden door swings open, and Ariella glances at me, her brow pinched. “Everything all right in here? I heard you scream.”
I wipe the stray tear that I didn’t realize started to fall.
“Everything is fine.”
I lie.
But I don’t feel okay.
My bottom lip trembles, and her brow pinches as she bends down to gather the file, perhaps recognizing the name.
“Sometimes we see things we might not want to with this job.” Ariella’s voice is calm, and her tone comforting. She offers me a hand, and I take it, standing.
“Ashleigh was my birth mom.” The words spill out before I realize what I’ve said and wince.
Ariella nods slowly. “It’s a small town. People trust us with their secrets. You’re going to see a lot of things that need to be kept private. Do you understand?”
“Of course.” I nod vigorously. “I won’t say anything.”
As she shuffles the file together, she pauses and glances at me. “Emerson should talk with you about Ashleigh. She’s the one who requested this file.”
My stomach bottoms out. “You’re going to tell my mom about this?”
My head swims, and I shut my eyes, my heart palpitating in my chest. I feel like I’m on the edge of a panic attack.
Ariella rests a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to give you a few minutes? I can grab you a glass of water, or there’s some orange juice in the office fridge if you prefer?”
“Orange juice sounds really good.”
Anything to make Ariella take longer.
“Just stay put, okay?” She takes the file with her and heads out of the filing room.
I force a smile. “Of course.”
So much for reading the rest of that dossier on Ashleigh Russo. I was hoping I might have even been able to make a copy of her picture.
It’s nearly lunch, and I’ve spent most of the morning filing, although Ariella insisted that I take a break, drink the entire orange juice, and sit at my desk and do more sorting.
While I appreciated her input, I ignored her suggestion, at least the bit about sitting at my desk.
I needed to get the filing done. I’d already sorted yesterday afternoon. I filed in the morning. That was my routine.
The front door swings open; there’s chatter in the front entrance. I can’t make out what’s being said, and I reach behind myself, shutting the file room door.
I prefer peace and quiet to eavesdropping around here.
I could use my earbuds, but I’m not in a very listening to music mood.
Right now, I’m enjoying the sanctity of silence.
I glance at my watch. In a bit, I’ll leave for lunch. I don’t have a specifically scheduled hour, it’s more like when I have time and can break, do it.
I want to get all the filing done, then have lunch, so I can sort after.
I’m all about routines.
While this job is boring as sin, at least it’s predictable.
There’s a knock behind me on the filing room door, and I glance over my shoulder as it opens. “Hey, Bristol.” Emerson smiles at me, but there’s something else I sense.
Ariella told her I was snooping.
“Let’s grab lunch together.”
“Can you give me ten minutes? I’m almost done.”
Mom nods. “Of course. I’ll be out here. Come find me when you’re ready.”
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m finally done, and I wander out of the filing room. Ariella and Em are chatting briskly until I stalk over. “Don’t stop on my account.” As long as they’re not talking about me, I’m happy.
“We’ll be back in a bit,” Emerson says to Ariella. Mom leads me outside, and I’m waiting to get scolded.
Just because she’s not technically my biological mother, the woman still can give a tongue-lashing as good as my dad.
She unlocks the Subaru, and I climb into the passenger seat.
“Where do you want to go for lunch?” she asks.
“Lumberjack Shack?” I love their food, and the fact Mom is buying makes it extra special.
As it turns out, just because your father is a billionaire doesn’t mean you’re rolling in dough. Dad made it clear that his money is his. Well, his and Mom’s. I have to earn my own way.
That’s not to say that he doesn’t pay for my tuition, housing, and all the required school stuff, but he’s not giving me an allowance if I want to buy stuff. That was cut off at eighteen, and my allowance wasn’t more than a few dollars a week for doing chores.
He wanted me to live a normal life.
Sucks for me.
It’s why I took the internship while going to school. It’s part-time, a few hours a week until the end of summer. The pay is absolute shit, and the commute by bus sucks, but I’m not working someplace greasy, flipping burgers.
“How are you liking your new job?” Mom asks.
I glance at her as she focuses on the road. “It’s good. I mean, filing is boring, but at least I know I’ll be employed forever, at the rate you guys keep leaving stacks of papers on the counter and my desk to get filed.”
Mom laughs. “As you get older, there are other, more enjoyable aspects of the job. But you’re still young. You have plenty of time for that.”
I’m not quite sure what she means. “And there’s always time for filing, right?”
“On to a more serious note, we should talk about what you saw this morning. The file on your biological mother.” Em’s tone is serious, and I roll my lips together, waiting for her to scold me or yell at me for snooping.
“I want you to know the reason I had the background check run.”
I shift in my seat, surprised she’s not screaming at me.
Her tone is much more reserved, calm, composed. Like she’s already practiced this conversation a thousand times in her head.
“It said something about Antonio Moretti.”
Mom nods. “Yes. Do you remember when we first met?” She pulls off the main drag, up the mountain pass, and to the log cabin restaurant. The place had some renovations and has grown over the years, but their food is still dynamite.
Parking the car, we both step out and head inside. We grab a booth and are given menus. It’s not like I need mine, I know exactly what I’m going to order.
Their Brunswick stew is to die for.
Plus, I absolutely love the chips they give me to dip in their stew. It’s the best part.
After we give the waitress our drink and food order, Mom is staring at me, concern etched on her brow. “Do you remember when we first met, Bristol?” she asks me again.
“I was six,” I say, trying to think back to the time that I first laid eyes on her. “Not really. I remember that you were my nanny for a short time before you started dating my dad, then you guys hired Lia to look after me.”
A wry smile crosses Mom’s face. “We didn’t want to tell you, but your father hired me as your bodyguard.”
A huge grin covers my face. “No way.” I mean, I know she’s done that kind of work for other people, but she was my bodyguard?
I’m staring at her, my jaw practically on the floor. “How did I not know?”
“Your dad didn’t want me to tell you. Actually, you came running into the room asking if I was your nanny, and your dad went along with it.”
“So, you guys lied to me?” I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head at Mom. “And why the hell would a six-year-old need a bodyguard? Was the boogeyman chasing me?”
The smile on Mom’s lips slowly begins to vanish. “Your father had concerns about the Italian mafia coming after you.”
“Right. Come on, what was the real reason, Em?”
I know she doesn’t like when I call her that, but I’ve made it clear I’m not calling her Mom at work. And this feels like a very work-esque conversation.
She ignores my use of her name, not the least bit bothered by it. I usually call her Mom, but for the longest time, she was Em to me and M&M to my dad. He still gives her that nickname, which makes me want to puke. The flirting with those two never ceases to end. Gross!
“Your biological mother, Ashleigh, had a sibling who was kidnapped before Ashleigh was born. They never found him.”
My eyes widen. “No way. Not even Eagle Tactical could find him?”
“Eagle Tactical wasn’t around when he was taken, sweetheart.”
Right. Silly me. “Okay, so Antonio Moretti is my … uncle?” I guess, having already put the pieces together. I’m super grossed out by the news, mostly because it puts an instant end to any thought of Liam and me together.
Bummer.
“Yes, and no. Ashleigh had run one of those ancestry DNA tests. She wanted to find out if her brother was still alive. The results came back that she had a family member named Antonio Moretti.”
“Where’s the yes and no part? That sounds like a solid yes to me.” I fold my arms across my chest. “My Uncle Antonio is what, that Italian mafia?” I’m joking, only because she mentioned the mafia earlier, but he’s not mafia.
I mean, does the mafia even still exist today?
“Antonio Moretti is involved in organized crime,” Mom says, with a straight face, “but there is more than one Antonio Moretti in New York City. The background check let me narrow it down by date of birth, not just year. Which means there are twenty men named Antonio Moretti in New York City, not to mention New Jersey and other states where your biological uncle may have been relocated as a child or moved to as an adult.”
I stare at Mom blankly.
What the hell is she getting at?
“Your uncle isn’t involved in the Italian mafia. He was kidnapped as a child, rehomed, and currently lives in Connecticut.”
I’m staring at her, dumbfounded.
“I’m not related to the Antonio Moretti whose son I went to school with?”
Mom smiles. “You remember Liam and Sophia’s dad? We invited them over for dinner once, interesting night.”
That had been the only time I recall meeting his father. His mom had brought Sophia over to the ice rink for us to go skating after that, the two of us becoming fairly close.
I don’t remember much from that night. I was young and hated Liam. I punched him in first grade after he harassed me tirelessly. The teacher wouldn’t put an end to it, so I did.
“So, I’m not related to that pompous asshole?”
Mom’s gaze tightens. “Language, Bristol. But no, you are not related to any of them. Does that make you feel better?” she asks, perhaps sensing my discomfort. Of course, she doesn’t know why.
“Yes.”
Our food gets brought to the table, and I hungrily enjoy the chips, dipping that into the stew.
“So, do you promise no more snooping at the office?”
“I wasn’t snooping!”
Okay, maybe I was, but it was, after all, my bio mom’s file. What was I supposed to do, ignore it? Fat chance in hell.
Work is boring as hell, but Mom isn’t in the office the rest of the afternoon.
I jam the copier, making sure to really screw it up. Just as it goes to copy, I force-feed it several extra sheets, and it makes a ton of obnoxious sounds, like it’s being eaten alive by wolves.
“Ariella!” I grumble and hope my trick works.
“Oh, shit. Not again.” She jumps up from her desk, her heels clicking.
“I need to use the washroom. Can you try to fix this monstrosity?” I brush past her, toward the washroom and then sneak through a hallway, back to her desk.
Jackpot!
She finally left her computer unlocked.
Don’t ask how many times in the past several weeks I’ve tried this trick.
It always works, but the unlocking of her desktop, I haven’t been as lucky.
I quickly open up the page for our background checks and type in Liam Moretti.
I’m not looking for any prior arrests. I don’t think he has any, at least I hope not. What I do want is his contact information.
I get an address and scribble it down on a scrap piece of paper, shove it in my pocket, before closing the window on her computer and hurrying back.
“Got it!” Ariella yanks the pages free, her hands grimy from the ink. “This old thing. I keep telling Jaxson he needs to bring someone in to look at it. Funny how it only acts up for you.”
I laugh. “Yeah, craziest thing.”