Page 22 of Wretched Choices

I lean back in my chair. The buzz of the people working in the office disappears as I look at the screen.

I have found nothing I can use to build a case against Salvatore Catalano. Other than J. Foster’s blog, who is not available to talk to me yet. I found his direct email and asked him if he could answer a few questions about the articles on his blog.

Other than that, all of my research was a failure. I even went so deep that I dug into Senator Roger Wilson’s life, his wife's family, and still all I could find was that Salvatore was one of his sponsors, and unfortunately for me, everything was legitimate.I even got a deeper dig into La Bella, the Italian company that turned out to be a company that produces luxury furniture.

Cece has been MIA, and it is not helping that Logan hasn’t been in the office this week. I asked his assistant about his whereabouts, but the only answer I got was that he is working from home. I don’t want to make a fuss and bring attention to them if I don’t have to, but if I don’t hear from her soon, I might need to ask Mr. Hall for information.

I suppress a groan from too many questions circling my head as I switch my computer off; I need a break. It’s time for lunch, anyway. I pick up my bag and refocus my thoughts as my heels click on the dark marble floor in the entryway of the offices.

My destination is the place I’ve visited for the last couple of weeks, usually twice a day. A small restaurant across from the Lotus Hotel. I always sit in the same place near the window so I can see who comes in and out but not be seen. I was even looking into renting a place somewhere across from the hotel, but nothing was available, and it’s not like I can force someone to evacuate.

I’m so frustrated and lost in my thoughts that I almost miss the black Escalade in front of my work building as I exit into the humid air of the city. The mountain of a man waiting in front of the car is the same man who was with Salvatore that night at the fundraiser, Dante.

“Miss Roberts, if you would come with me. My boss has an important matter he wants to address with you.”

I look into his black eyes that warn me that Iwillbe escorted to Salvatore Catalano.

“Do I have a choice?”

His brows raise. “I’d prefer this to be easy. One way or another, Mr. Catalano will see you.”

Dante is scary, with his broad chest and the large muscles under his black clothes—and the scar across his lips. I’m not afraid, though. I have been in these situations many times.

I look around, not to escape, but for someone who will be a possible witness if something happens to me. Someone who could tell with whom I went and what kind of car I got into.

“I would prefer it if you don’t run. This is a peaceful request, and I would hate it if I needed to track you down.” Dante’s calm voice turns my attention to his solemn face like he does this every day.

I sigh, and without a fight, I escape the sun and slide onto the leather seat of the air-conditioned car. At least this time I will have permission to be inside, and who knows, maybe I will discover things I need to know.

During the short drive, Dante doesn’t say a word as he sits across from me. His stern gaze is on his phone. I debate asking him why his boss wants to see me, but Dante is just doing as he’s told, so I leave all questions and turn my attention through the tinted window, preserving my energy for when I see Salvatore Catalano.

I’m ushered into the modern space of the hotel, my heels clicking on the floor as we pass the lobby and head down the hall the same way I walkedthatnight. The night I can’t get out of my head.

Dante doesn’t knock, he just leads me into the office. I swallow the knot in my throat before entering.

I hear him before I see him, and my stomach flutters at his voice. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the person in front of me.

“Thank you, Dante,” Salvatore says before Dante leaves the office, closing the door and leaving me with the six-feet-three wall of a man. I know that from everything I read about him since the last time I was in this room.

His blue eyes eat me up as he looks at me, eyeing me like I’m his next meal. Like I’m his prey.

“Miss Roberts, how nice of you to come.” He offers his hand. I look suspiciously at it before offering him mine. He takes it and places a chaste kiss on my knuckles.

I narrow my eyes at him. Why is he kissing my hand? Last time he saw me, he would have killed me if he could have. But that memory is erased by another one. One that happened not too long ago in this office. One where his hands were all over me and those lips that I can’t look away from were touching my skin.

I clear my throat and look anywhere but at him. “You didn’t leave me much choice in that matter.”

“Indeed, I didn’t. Or maybe I did.” He cocks his eyebrow. There is amusement in his voice that’s making me uncomfortable. Like he knows something I don’t.

“Please take a seat.” He gestures at the couch in front of his desk, not waiting for my answer.

I hurry to sit just to avoid looking at those lips because I do not need a reminder of that kiss at my apartment.

“I have a very important matter to discuss with you. But first, I want you to know that whatever led to today’s action is only your doing.”

My brows furrow, and just as I want to ask what he means, he shakes his head from where he is sitting on the edge of his desk in front of me.

“I explicitly told you to stay away from my business. You just wouldn’t listen.” He tsks and shakes his head. “So, now we’ll have a heart-to-heart conversation.” He takes a folder from his desk before pushing from his spot and taking a seat next to me. Passing me the folder, he says. “Open the file. The contents of it is intriguing. Enthralling, actually. You could write an article about it.” Sarcasm pours out of him like a poison.

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