I understood my sister was only looking out for Maria, but it crushed me that Izzy didn’t think I loved her. How had I fucked up that badly to let her think that?
“What took you so long?” Alessandro asked once I met up with them in Dad’s study.
“I got sidetracked,” I said in a bit of a daze while shutting the door behind me.
“Looks like you need this.” Alessandro handed me a glass of bourbon and settled onto the couch by Hudson.
“I guess I’m not surprised to see you here,” I said to Hudson, unsure why Constantine hadn’t given me the heads-up he was coming.
“What’d you think I’d do when I found out Bianca’s killer’s still out there?” Hudson rasped as I swiveled my focus Constantine’s way.
He was at Dad’s desk, working on a laptop, but he closed it as our eyes met. “I take it you don’t have a name.” He stood and went to the bar cart. He snatched a glass, filling the tumbler with bourbon.
I took an uncomfortable sip of the drink, allowing it to burn my chest before sharing, “Not yet. But I did talk to Giovanni, and it turns out the attack this morning was unrelated to Bianca.” That had Constantine whirling back around, his glass only half-full. What a fucking metaphor, too. “Maria’s ex. I struck a nerve, I guess.”
“Her ex sent those men after you?” Alessandro scoffed. “And he had that bad of luck to go to—”
“Yup.” I took another healthy swallow of bourbon, hoping that news was why I felt so unsettled and it wasn’t because I was missing something important.
“And what brought on the beating?” Hudson asked.
“Could’ve been the fact I threatened him to confess to cheating to the judge so Maria could be free of him sooner. But he also came over yesterday morning and wasn’t happy to see me there.” I shook my head at the memory, the anger toward that prick washing over me again, reigniting my hate for him. “With his daughter out of town, he decided to come after me.”
“Clearly doesn’t know you,” Hudson responded, eyes on me.
“And I’ll deal with that asshole, trust me.” I just didn’t know how to yet, because he was still Chiara’s father. “For now, I’m here to focus on the case. Find Bianca’s killer.”
Constantine set down his glass. “Once we track down the cleaner, I’ll get him to talk.”
And I didn’t doubt that. Among the four of us, we were well versed in getting assholes to talk and share their deepest, darkest secrets.
“I can’t wrap my head around who would’ve wanted to hurt Bianca.” Alessandro echoed what Constantine and I had discussed on the phone that morning. “But statistically speaking, this stuff usually happens by someone you know, right? We thought it was random, but that was because the cleaner planted evidence and made it look that way. And now we’re back to square fucking one.”
“Which is why we need his name,” Constantine hissed, deciding to direct his anger at me, since his options were limited right now, and he saw Jesse as the gatekeeper to the answers.
At his words, I swapped my glass for my phone and called Jesse, but it went straight to voice mail. Two more times. The same.
“I should’ve come down there.” Constantine removed his suit jacket and tossed it, then began working the sleeve of his shirt to the elbow. Unlike me, he didn’t have any ink, but there were jagged scars on his right arm, which brought back painful memories of a botched job four and a half years ago that led to him being held captive, and he’d nearly died.
“Jesse will come through for us,” I finally said. “But in the meantime, to Alessandro’s point, a stabbing does feel personal. What if it’s someone we all knew who killed Bianca?” I looked to Hudson for his thoughts, since he’d been FBI, even though his time at the Bureau had been brief.
“The knife could’ve also been a convenient weapon of choice. We can’t jump to conclusions,” Hudson said, as if regretting that was all he could contribute.
“We were going by the evidence the cleaner planted thirteen years ago, and we assumed the asshole followed her home and forced his way inside,” Constantine went on. “But it’s possible she let her killer in.”
“Which means we need to figure out who Bianca would’ve trusted enough to let in and who’d also have the motive to . . .” Alessandro let his words trail off, clearly not having the stomach to finish his thoughts.