Chapter 21
my true motivation
Brooklyn
Marco had told me he had to extend his trip to Boca Raton.
Apparently, Babe wasn’t budging, but I sincerely didn’t comprehend what he thought more time with her was going to change.
It was obvious she was no use to us in this particular predicament.
Yes, I said us. For good reason too. Santo didn’t get to do the things he did and act the way he did, especially with me and the people I cared about, and get away with it.
So, if Marco was struggling to get the job done, then I would make it easier for him.
A man’s office was basically like a vault, where they felt the safest, the most secure. They let their guard down in their offices, had affairs with receptionists in their offices, and they harbored their best-kept secrets in their offices.
All of that to say, I was entering Santo’s inner sanctum. Not that I was necessarily breaking in. Unlike what he did at my apartment with zero remorse. I’d taken Marco’s key card to the offices at Deluca Industries.
Getting in took no effort at all. It was as though I was the sun, and the locks were mounds of snow that melted simply because of my existence. There certainly was poetic justice to it all after his interference with my apartment.
Laser-focused, I pushed up the sleeves on my black long-sleeve shirt and looked around.
There was a minimalist vibe going on with a bookshelf, a sitting area, bar, and a desk.
Of course, his precious chessboard couldn’t be forgotten.
The ridiculous thing had its own setup on a table with chairs off to the side.
His obsession with the game was all-consuming, and I didn’t think it was motivated by anything besides his ego-driven need to exert his power and influence over others.
Walking over, I looked at the board, my eyes zeroing in on all of the pawns. I picked one up from where it sat discarded off to the side. I rolled it around my palm, keenly aware that was how he saw me. Worse, that was how he saw his son.
I didn’t know much about the game, but I did know one very important rule.
What was interesting to me, though, was that for as smart as he was, Santo seemed to forget it.
Pawns could advance to become a bishop, rook, or knight.
The most basic principle of the pawn was its strength following strategy.
Bringing the piece to my lips, I closed my eyes. “This is also for you, Marco,” I said, acknowledging my true motivation for this adventure before setting it back down.
Turning, I meandered to the bookcase where I found nothing but old leather-bound classics like William Shakespeare’s Macbeth.
I didn’t think Santo knew anything at all about feeling like he couldn’t maintain his power, so the tragic tale seemed almost like a warning, a promise to himself not to let it get away from him.
Almost as if it served as a cautionary tale.
Running my finger over more of the spines, I stopped when I reached a bound copy of something that wasn’t fiction.
Niccolò Machiavelli’s classic political treatise.
I never read it myself, but I seemed to recall learning about it in school.
It was the single greatest reference for leaders and control.
Perhaps this was something everyone should study in preparation for dealing with Santo.
Pulling it out, I flipped through the pages but felt completely disinterested in trying to get into the workings of his mind. As a result, I closed it with a thud and slipped it back into its rightful place.
My heart thundered a bit harder in my chest when I turned again and walked toward his desk. His computer. His drawers. Surely, something useful could be found there. The exact location would be a longitude and latitude I’d never forget if I stumbled upon what I came for.
Deciding I preferred to start with the drawers in case the computer was being monitored, I tugged at the top one, but it wasn’t budging.
I moved on to the second one. Same thing.
Figured he’d lock his drawers, which only furthered my suspicions that he was keeping something important in them he didn’t want anyone to discover.
I searched the top of his desk for anything I could use, but he truly had very little lying around. No one could accuse him of being incompetent, that was for sure.
This was when being a woman came in handy.
I tried my fingernail first, but the thick acrylic wasn’t helping matters any.
I looked at the time on my phone. I needed to hurry.
My pulse rate skyrocketed as I searched my hair for one of the bobby pins I had used to secure my bun.
Got it. Pulling it out, I smiled at my brilliance.
I opened it wide and gently wedged the tip in, wiggling it around until I heard the distinct click of the lock.
Quickly rummaging through it, all I saw were boring notes from various board meetings.
Nothing Marco wouldn’t know about. I shoved the drawer shut and repeated my method with the next one.
It contained more folders, but they were unmarked. I pulled them out one by one. Various deals he’d done or obviously tried to do. Receipts to restaurants and events and travel logs. Nothing that struck me as particularly useful.
Slipping my hand to the back, I pulled out a thin red file. The only red file.
Intrigued, I brought it to the window where the most light shone through the floor-to-ceiling glass window with a view overlooking the city. Was this exactly what I had been looking for?
Inside were three lone photographs of a woman.
In them she was always moving, walking, looking around.
It almost felt like she was being watched and suspected it.
Not that I could discern anything more from them.
Until my eye caught a name scrawled on the inside cover.
Serena. That was it, though. Nothing more.
Even if it was an affair, this alluded to nothing. I essentially had no evidence, and thus, this was a colossal waste. Putting it back where I had found it, I swiveled my gaze around the room. If I were a monster, where would I hide things?
My last best bet was the computer, so I sat down in his chair. As I reached for the keyboard, my stomach jumped up to my throat when I heard a loud vibration in the otherwise quiet office. It was my phone.
I didn’t stop to think, just quickly answered it, not even bothering to read the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Get out now,” came a voice I knew, sounding rushed, strained.
“Lorenzo?” What did he want?
“You heard me.”
“What?”
“I won’t call security, but you need to get out before you trip an alarm, and they come on their own. Or worse, you trigger an anomalous event on his computer that I can’t ignore.”
I looked around the room for hidden cameras. I hadn’t noticed any. “How do you—”
“Badges swiped after hours log as unauthorized activity in my system. Marco’s in Florida, so the only other person with access to his badge and an axe to grind is you. I’ll give you a full lesson on security another time if you need it, but just get out now,” he said all in under eleven seconds.
His urgency had me feeling an atypical sense of anxiety as I sat at a crossroads. On the one hand, I felt like I should listen to him, but on the other hand, I so desperately didn’t want to. “But—”
“Brooklyn, security will show up, and they won’t be alone. They will come with authorities. Now kindly get the fuck out before it’s too late, and I can’t help you anymore.”
The worst part about it was that Santo had won, and he didn’t even know he was playing this round with me.