Page 18 of Stalked By the Mobster

Renee

The events of last night pound through my head as I sip my coffee and gaze out the windows of Santino’s penthouse. The sun is beginning to rise, golden rays fanning out over the skyline. The sight is breathtaking. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

I wish Santino was here to experience it with me.

He isn’t home yet.

That shouldn’t worry me—he never told me when exactly he’d get back—but still … I’m worried about him.

I watch as the golden light turns orange and pink, making the buildings all around glitter. Already, the city is beginning to stir, oblivious to the beauty above it. Somewhere out there, Santino’s doing whatever it is he does.

Should I text him? Call him? I know he said that I could get in touch with him if I needed him for anything, but what he left for seems so important. I feel like I’d just be bothering him.

I can’t imagine that I’m worth picking up the phone for when he’s otherwise occupied.

The thought hits me suddenly, making me feel small and inadequate. For all of his promises and assertions, there’s no way Santino meant every one of them. People say things they don’t mean all the time. While I regret nothing we did, I can’t help thinking that this is all just temporary.

If he’s like this with work now, will he ever decide to slow down? Or is this what I have to look forward to if our relationship really does deepen.

A sigh slips out as I mull it all over.

Maybe we’re just taking this all too fast. Yeah, I have big feelings for him, and he seems to return them, but that doesn’t mean we have to rush into this. Slowing down might make it feel more solid, right?

Ugh, I’ve never done this before, and I have no one to talk to about this.

I mean, hell, I still haven’t asked him why he was there when I got pulled over yesterday, why he seemed to know what was going on before it even happened. If I can’t even ask him about something that simple yet, then maybe we really should slow down.

I breathe out a sigh and walk away from the window, turning my back on the view. I could spend a lifetime staring at it, taking it all in, but the more I linger here, the more I’m doubting what this relationship is. The anxiety is making my head swim.

I should get out for a little bit, see if some fresh air will clear my head.

As I gather up my clothes and pull them on, I can’t help looking around his place a little more closely. There’s so much I don’t know about him still, and I want to know everything. I’d rather learn it like this—by observing and putting him together like a puzzle.

Room by room, I wander around the penthouse, knowing that eventually I’ll get to the door to the private elevator. Taking my time to leave won’t hurt, right? Each room I find is nicer than the last, the furnishings elegant and expensive.

And then I find his office.

Like the living area and the kitchen, which are connected in a sort of open floor plan, his office has floor-to-ceiling windows. Light streams inside, glinting off a polished wooden desk, while bookshelves line all available walls. I’ve never seen so many books in a home before.

I look over the shelves, taking in the different titles, adding ones that seem interesting to my mental to-read list. When I get to his desk, I glance over the stacks of papers, not expecting anything to jump out of me.

And then something catches my eye. My stepdad’s name.

I freeze, confusion overtaking me, making my body go numb.

When I look closer, I see that it’s a police report for my stepdad’s stolen car. I’ve never actually seen a police report before, so I think that’s what I’m looking at. It lists the vehicle and the plate numbers, as well as the time it was reported stolen. All of the information is true to what happened, but why does Santino have the record on his desk? Aren’t those supposed to be unavailable to the public?

I pick up the pile of forms and flip to the next page. My mouth falls open in shock.

It’s a copy of my parents’ marriage certificate, and it looks accurate. Their wedding date is correct, as is the location and the names of the witnesses.

What the hell?

The next page is even more harrowing. My adoption decree. Dated a few years after they got married—which is accurate—it shows that my mom petitioned to have my stepdad become my adoptive father, and that it was granted—also accurate.

I don’t know much about law or courtrooms or documents, but I know that this isn’t public information. It happened years ago when I was still a kid, and most procedures that happen with minors aren’t public information.

Santino had to break laws to get this.

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