5. Siena
Siena
It’s been a month since I threw myself back into work, and honestly, it’s been a relief to focus on other people’s problems instead of my own.
Sure, there’s been more than a little bullshit—like the woman with the therapy dog that thought our carpet was a bathroom, or the client who didn’t understand personal boundaries—but even that’s easier to handle than the wreckage of my family.
“Hey, girl!” Blake calls, leaning dramatically into my cubicle. “Me and Amelia are going out tonight. You wanna shake your ass with us?”
He punctuates his question with an exaggerated demonstration of his ass-shaking moves.
“Not a good night for me,” I say, laughing. It’s what I always say.
“Oh, because you got another hot date with the microwave and Netflix?” he asks, simpering. “What are you bingeing these days? Real Housewives of Des Moines? I know you already done binged everything else.”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “Very funny.” But he’s not wrong. I’m scraping the bottom of the streaming barrel, and the thought of another night with microwaved leftovers doesn’t exactly thrill me.
Still, I just want to be home.
Amelia pops her head in, her curls bouncing as she speaks. “If you’re not going out, do you mind doing a check-in with a new client and closing up? I need a drink!”
“Sure, no problem.”
I wave them out as the new client walks in, looking around. She looks to be in her early-20s, short purplish brown hair, wearing an oversized puffer jacket and tight jeans with boots. Her big gold hoop earrings match the hoop piercing in her lip, and she looks nervous until her eyes land on me.
Her expression sours instantly. “Oh, hell no. No way am I dealing with some old-ass lady on this shit. No fucking way.” She spins on her heel, heading back toward the door.
I bite back a laugh at the ‘old’ comment and call after her. “I promise I know what I’m doing. You’ve got nothing to lose. Give me ten minutes. If you think I’m full of shit, you can walk out, no questions asked.”
She pauses, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. Slowly, she turns back to me with an icy stare. “Don’t be wasting my time.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender.
She hesitates, then strides toward the chair across from my desk and sits, crossing her arms defensively. She just stares at me, so I offer her a small smile. “What’s on your mind?”
Her eyes dart toward the glass windows lining the office, then back to me. “I got a situation,” she says quietly, her voice tense.
“The windows are tinted,” I assure her. “Nobody can see you in here.”
She exhales in relief, nodding slightly. “My baby’s father likes to get rough with me when he drinks,” she admits, her tone edged with shame and anger.
I nod, keeping my face neutral.
“I keep my baby safe,” she adds quickly. “But I’m scared to go to the cops. They might take my girl away. It happened to my cousin, and I can’t let them put her in the system.”
“That’s a valid concern,” I say carefully. “But your safety matters, too. You’re just as important as your baby.”
Her cheeks flush as she looks down, fidgeting with her long, polished nails. “I know that. And I left him. But… I need something from him, and I can’t cut him off completely until I get it.”
I frown slightly. “What is it that you need from him?”
She meets my gaze, defiant despite the tears pooling in her eyes. “I think he knows who killed my cousin.”
My stomach tightens. “Do you think he did it?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “He was with me that night. But I’m sure he knows who did, and he won’t tell me.”
I nod slowly, considering her dilemma. “How do you plan on getting that information from him if he doesn’t want you to know?”
Her composure cracks as a tear slips down her cheek. She swipes at it angrily. “I don’t know! That’s why I came here,” she says, standing abruptly. “But this is pointless. No one can help—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, motioning for her to sit. “Give me a chance? ”
She glances over her shoulder toward the window, then slumps back into the chair. “Fine. I guess I’m already here.”
“Alright,” I begin, steepling my fingers. “There are ways to approach this, but staying safe is the top priority. We’re not doing anything that puts you or your baby in danger. Understood?”
She rolls her eyes and shrugs in agreement.
“You could appeal to his ego,” I suggest. “Play innocent. Tell him you need his help to figure it out. Make it about him being the ‘hero.’”
She starts to get up again. “I told you; that’s some old lady shit. I’m not doing that and no way would he buy it if I did.”
I suppress a smile. “How about this? You could put it on his love for your child, tell him it’s important for your baby to feel safe as they grow up, and knowing who to avoid might help both of you.”
Her eyes flicker as she considers. “Maybe. Keep going.”
“Or,” I continue, “you could make it about his wellbeing. Say you overheard someone talking about the cops looking at him for the murder. Tell him you want to help clear his name, but you need him to help you find who really did it so they will stop looking at him.”
“But he has an alibi. He was with me,” she says, wrinkling her brow.
“That’s true, but you’re his baby’s mother. The cops could think you’d lie to cover for him. He might get defensive and tell you who really did do it so you can help him point the police away from him.” I lace my fingers in my lap. “You think that might work?”
Her face lights up. “It could. He’s no rat, though. He hates the cops. ”
I shrug. “Most people do.” I have no problem with cops, but Franco’s face flashes across my mind. With officers like him walking around, it’s no wonder the police have a PR problem. I shove the thought aside. “But let’s talk about how we can get you and your baby into a safe place—”
She stands suddenly and leans over the desk, throwing her arms around my neck in an unexpected hug. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” Turning, she runs out the door.
“Wait! I didn’t get your name!” I call out, but she only waves over her shoulder as the door swings shut.
Alone, I sink back into my chair, her story replaying in my mind.
I think about Emily—about what I know, about what I don’t.
Her untouched belongings still clutter my living room floor, a constant reminder of my inaction.
Her killers are out there, free, living their lives as if they didn’t snuff hers out.
If this woman can face her fears, face someone who hurt her while having a child who depends on her, how can I keep hiding behind my desk? It feels like a blanket has been lifted and the truth is painfully obvious: I have to get Emily the justice she deserves.
I’m terrified at the thought. I have no idea how to make this happen and keep myself safe from Matti and Aurelio. But it’s time to take action and try to find the evidence I need to put them both away for what they did to my sister. And if it wasn’t them, then find out who it was once and for all.
As I stand to lock up, something catches my eye—a man across the street, leaning casually against the building, an oasis of calm in the middle of the bustling crowd. His black hoodie obscures his face, but I feel like he’s looking directly at me despite the tinted windows.
He reminds me of Matti, but that’s nothing new.
I think I see Matti everywhere, everyday, all the time.
Coming to work in the morning, leaving work at night, outside the restaurant that I go to with Blake and Amelia everyday for lunch.
It feels like I’m haunted by his ghost, but when I try to catch a glimpse of his face, he disappears.
As if on cue, the man across the street pushes off the wall and blends into the crowd.