17. Enzo
ENZO
I walk into the NYPD building the following morning on legs that feel like rubber.
What would be the chances of Demi walking out as I walk in? It would be some reunion meet-cute straight out of a cheesy romcom, ex-lovers collide in the police department foyer and realize that they’re still in love.
It’s the kind of reaffirming, heart-tugging moment that happens to people like Megan and Gio.
The universe has other ideas when it comes to my life.
Still, it doesn’t stop my pulse from jackhammering when I walk through the door, or my gaze from peering behind the reinforced windows on the front desk on the off chance that she just happens to be back in the city and working as a police officer again.
“I’d like to report a missing person,” I say to the uniformed cop who comes to the window.
“Is the missing person related to you, sir?” He looks around my age, hair already receding, skin pasty from too much time spent staring at a computer.
When I got back to my apartment last night, I ran a search on the name Kate Glasgow in New York and got one result. Kathleen Glasgow, a bestselling author of YA murder mystery novels. Not what I was looking for. I did some digging into the address and hit dead ends in every direction there too.
So here I am. Putting my faith in the NYPD because the police commissioner knows Kate Glasgow and the Bratva brains behind JADED. He’s the common denominator, and little ripples like reporting a missing person often end up as tsunamis that can take down the tallest trees.
“She’s my girlfriend,” I tell the police officer.
“How long has she been missing? We usually advise waiting—”
“Forty-eight hours,” I interrupt him. It’s close enough, and for the purpose of this investigation, it should get some immediate traction.
His gaze holds mine for a long beat. Then, “I’ll need to take a statement from you, sir.”
He uses the mouse to access the relevant form on the computer, his expression impassive.
He doesn’t look hardened to situations like this, he looks weary, as if he has already written off the form-filling as a pointless exercise and would rather skip straight to the part where he tells me they don’t hold out much hope of finding her.
“The name of the missing person, sir?” His fingers hover over the keyboard.
“Kate Glasgow.” I’m sticking with Kate as it’s the name on the utility bill; no point confusing matters.
He adds the name to the system, then peers at me, his gaze finally taking in my appearance as if he only now realized he’s dealing with a member of the public.
“Kate Glasgow,” he repeats. “Is that… is that her full name?”
I hand over the envelope from my pocket, carefully resealed after I’d read the contents, a reminder to set up a direct debit to cover the apartment’s energy usage.
The officer studies the name and address, his gaze hopping back and forth between the envelope and the screen. “When did you last see her?”
“Two days ago.”
He keeps his eyes on the screen while he types a virtual essay in response to the last question. He runs through the regular questions: where did I last see Kate, how did she seem when we parted, can I think of any reason why she would want to go away?
She fell out of love with me?
I offer succinct responses, noting that he doesn’t make any further eye contact. “And your name, sir?”
“Brian Sabatelli.”
He types in the name, his fingers hovering over the screen.
Finally, he peers at me through the glass screen.
“Would you mind waiting right there for a moment, Mr. Sabatelli? I just need to speak to a colleague. I’ll be right back.
” He doesn’t wait around for my consent before disappearing into the chaos of the room behind him.
While he’s gone, my replacement cell phone rings.
My brother’s name is on the Caller ID.
“Gio?”
“I need you to fly to Rome.”
“I’m a little tied up right now, brother. Does it have to be handled in person?”
“Someone has reached out to Leo and Sofia, so no, I’m not scheduling a fucking Zoom meeting, and yes, I expect you to board the private jet within the next sixty minutes.”
The call ends with a click, and I walk out of One Police Plaza.
I have a flight to catch
Leo and Sofia, Bianca’s teenaged twins, are currently attending a prestigious boarding school in Rome, surrounded by a team of bodyguards.
Bianca hasn’t mentioned them since she rocked up at my apartment, but I don’t believe in coincidences, and the timing isn’t lost on me.
If this has nothing to do with her current situation, then there’s only one other explanation.
It has everything to do with JADED.
I wait for them in the library of St. Stephen’s School, surrounded by leather-bound books, the cracked spines of old tomes, and the new more subtle scent of recent textbooks.
I haven’t seen my niece and nephew since the summer Demi took off.
I couldn’t face Christmas in the family home and spent the holidays in Lake Tahoe instead, skiing by day, and enjoying the apres-ski activities on offer at the resort by night.
I hardly recognize them when they walk in.
At fourteen, Leo is already taller than me when I stand up to greet them with a hug. He suffers my arms around him without reciprocating, turning each cheek to receive a kiss as if he can’t think of anything more mortifying, and sits down on a leather couch without a word.
Sofia’s features have reassembled themselves so that she no longer carries her father’s genes around in her dark eyes.
Now, she is all Bianca. Her smile, the way she stands on tiptoes to present her cheeks, the way she tucks her thick coppery hair behind her ear.
Even the way she languishes on the couch and elegantly crosses her legs, swinging one Versace-sneaker-clad foot because, like her mom, she finds it difficult to remain still for any length of time.
They’re both good-looking kids, but Sofia is stunning, and this frightens the life out of me, even though she isn’t my daughter.
“Why are you here, Uncle Enzo?” she asks.
Neither of them is fazed by the bodyguards flanking the library door, ensuring that no one else interrupts our family reunion.
“Gio had a call from your security team. He said that someone had reached out to you.” Confusion gnaws at my insides when they both watch me with wide innocent eyes.
“If you’re talking about our mother,” Leo speaks first, his eyes meeting mine briefly, “then they’re wrong.”
I detect a hint of bitterness in his voice. I get it. Their father is dead, their mom has had no contact with them in almost two years, and they were forced to leave their life in LA behind for boarding school in Rome, and a family home in Sicily they only get to see during school breaks.
“Someone else then?” I press. “Someone who understands your family connection to the Sabatelli name.”
Leo and Sofia have their father’s name, D’Angelo, but anyone with links to the Sicilian mafia will know their entire family history.
Sofia smiles. “Are you trying to be diplomatic, Uncle Enzo?”
I wince. “Did it work?”
“No. But whatever information Uncle Gio was given, it’s wrong. We’re perfectly safe.”
I’m struggling to believe her. The team wouldn’t make a call like that without good reason and sufficient evidence to back it up. Either the kids have been warned to remain silent, or they’re hiding something.
I glance at the bodyguards, and one, his name is Antonio, gives me a brief nod in return.
Whatever they saw, they had no immediate concern for the twins’ safety, but they had to bring it to our attention anyway.
Because if anything happened to Leo or Sofia on their watch, they would be making themselves at home at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea right now instead of guarding the door of an aesthetically pleasing library in an equally impressive school.
Is Sofia’s smile a little too bright, too fake?
Leo, in contrast, drums his fingers on the arm of the couch and studies a bookshelf somewhere behind me as if he can’t wait for this ordeal to be over.
“So, you’ve had no contact with anyone outside of the school?”
I keep it light, trying hard not to project my fear and suspicions onto her.
They’ve had it tough enough. I’ve already isolated myself from Gio and Megan’s twins; I’ve no intention of becoming the ogre uncle that everyone is afraid of.
There will come a time when they’ll need someone to talk to, and I’d quite like that someone to be me.
“No.” She flashes me with a sweet smile and wide eyes.
“Leo?”
“What?” Her brother blinks me back into focus. “Whatever she said.”
“Okay.” I gesture for Antonio to join us. “So, your bodyguard will reiterate what you just told me, huh?”
“Sure.” Leo shrugs.
Sofia nods, her curls bouncing around her face, her foot bouncing animatedly. Antonio has almost reached us when she blurts out, “Unless you’re talking about the guy from the drama school.”
I dismiss Antonio with a glance and focus on Sofia. “Which drama school? What’s his name?”
A brief huff of laughter escapes her lips and vanishes into the ether.
“It’s a new school opening on the Via Firenze.
His name is Mateo Esposito. There was a poster on the bulletin board in the foyer, and I emailed them to ask if I could enroll.
It’s completely legit, Uncle Enzo. My friend Susi is going to enroll too. ”
I want to tell her that I don’t care about Susi. All I’m interested in right now is finding out how far this email communication has gone and ensuring the safety of my sister’s kids while they’re in our care.
“So, you haven’t started drama classes yet?”
I try to unclench my fists, telling myself that this is perfectly innocent, lots of kids dream of a Hollywood career, and she lived in LA most of her life for fuck’s sake.
“No. Mateo has added our names to a waiting list ready for when the school opens, which will be soon.”