Please keep me updated on your performance at school.
Roman Horner
CEO Horner Technologies
Gesture as intended?
I read the email over and over in disbelief. After, I searched my sent items to find it was a reply to an email sent from my account hours before I confronted Sean and Dominic about my tattoo. A response to an email I never sent.
An email that gave me an alibi, placing me in Atlanta before a gunfight broke out in his home.
Roman knew. He had to have known what was happening.
Just like Tobias and Dominic knew Miami was coming.
The clues started trickling in the more I x-rayed that night and started piecing them together.
The first was Dominic’s sudden appearance moments after I got home, that along with the fact that his car was parked outside the clearing and mine had been moved to sit next to it, probably minutes after I pulled up and resumed packing.
And I was always the last to know.
That’s where some of my residual anger lies. If Dominic had only told me what was happening, if he had trusted me…but it was my reaction to him that had him handling me with kid gloves. But keeping me in the dark is what caused Dominic to make his fatal mistake—tossing his gun on the stairs, leaving him defenseless while Tobias quietly searched the house for the threat.
Tobias must’ve been the one to send that email. I assumed that was one of the reasons why he never came to me as he promised. He was planning my exit strategy, giving me an alibi for my whereabouts in case things went south, in case the authorities got involved.
It was Tyler’s strict instructions that hammered that point home. He’d given me cash so there would be no trail as to when I traveled. “You were never here.”
Tobias was always a step ahead of me while keeping me in the dark.
But other pieces perplexed me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make them fit, no matter how many times I flipped them and tried to push them together.
Even if Tobias had unlimited resources to right the damage to Roman’s house from the wreckage, there’s no way Roman wouldn’t notice. Clearly, he’d played his part in covering it up, which enraged me to no end. Was he that intent on keeping his nose deceptively clean? He had to have known something. Had to. Matteo said Roman’s car was parked in the garage.
But how?
Or was a similar car used to lure Miami in?
Either way, Roman must have known.
The day I left was the day I knew they hadn’t lied about Roman Horner and his filthy business dealings. It was all the proof I needed to believe the man was as corrupt as they had portrayed him to be. His hands were just as bloody as far as I was concerned, but I was done with him before that night. I’d already written him off.
But that day, sitting on top of that garage, fatigued and sick with worry, I pushed the mystery aside, eaten alive with grief and indecision all the while fighting the urge to drive back to North Carolina.
Time was cruel, and I spent it absently watching the gridlock on I-285 move at a snail’s pace. People were leaving their jobs and going home to eat dinner and watch TV. Normal people doing normal everyday things, and I couldn’t imagine going back to any semblance of normal with the taste of my ex-lover’s blood still lingering on my tongue.
When my phone finally rang, and I saw a familiar area code from a number I didn’t recognize, I couldn’t answer fast enough.
“Hello.”
I listened intently for several seconds as they passed, my chest filling with unimaginable dread at what news waited on the other end of the line.
“Hello, please, hello?”
Several seconds later, I heard the distinct open and close of a Zippo. That sound had a sob bursting from my lips. Sean.
It was the sound of ice rattling in a tumbler, one, two, three times, that had me sobbing hysterically behind the wheel. Two distinct sounds they knew I would easily recognize.
They’re okay.
They’re okay.
“Please. Please…talk to me.” When silence rang clear on the other end of the line, somehow, I just knew the damning quiet was because of Tobias. And words would never come.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please, somebody, talk to me. I’m sorry.” The silence lingered as I tried to search for words until a familiar voice finally spoke.
“Hey, Cecelia, sorry about that.”
“Layla, I, I, I,” I sobbed so hard I gagged, rolling down my window and inhaling deeply to try and calm myself.
“Oh, babe,” she sighed, “It’s just a move. You’ll be fine. We’re all fine here.”