Page 33 of Beautiful Evidence

"I will."

She clutches the strap to her bag and walks to the door. Her hand rests on the knob. "If you need anything, I’m here. I know I can't do much, but I can listen."

"Thanks," I tell her as she steps out the door and shuts it behind herself.

I've been nothing but a bundle of nerves lately, and anger rises inside my chest, only making that pressure build to the point of a searing pain. I feel like being destructive, as if smashing things will help me release some tension, but I don't want to smash my own things. So instead, I take the forged report out of the drawer, hold it over the sink, strike a match, and burn it. Thepaper curls and turns to ash, and I drop the last flaming bits into the metal of the sink.

I stay still until it’s done burning and rinse the ash down the drain as I take our coffee mugs and rinse them out too.

When Vincenzo knocks, I’ve already tried to clean my face and regain my composure. I open the door and step back to let him in. He looks at me for half a second, then wraps his arms around me.

I press my forehead against his chest and the confession bubbles up before he even has the door shut. "I got a subpoena yesterday. If I tell the truth, my father will go to prison. So could I. They could charge me with obstruction, maybe even conspiracy. And if they find out how much you've done to help me, they might come after you too." I don't hold anything back because so far, Enzo has been the only thing holding me together.

"You should’ve told me sooner," he eventually says. His grip on me tightens, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. "Emilio already thinks something’s off. If he finds out I’ve been protecting you, I don’t know how far he’ll go. Why didn't you say something immediately?"

He's not acting surprised by this, so I assume he already knew it before I told him. But I don't bother asking him about it when I feel so rotten as it is.

"You had Rory here…" I narrow my eyes. "What were you doing?" I ask as I pull back just enough to look at him.

"I've been busy, that's all…" His stern expression tells me not to push, so I switch gears back to my own stress.

"What are we supposed to do? I can’t lie under oath. I already falsified one report. If I go in and tell the truth now, they’ll ask why I waited. I can’t walk that back." Biting my lip, I think of how Dr. Bernardi has been pressuring me for so long to wrap up the Vescari case. I know when he sees me again, he will demand the report immediately. I'm not sure what to do now.

"It won’t stop here," he says. "They’ll dig deeper. Eventually, someone’s going to connect the dots anyway."

"Exactly," I say. "We’re both trapped. I can’t expose my father without exposing myself. And you?—"

"I knew the risk," he says. "You didn’t ask me to get involved. I did it anyway. I'm just saying you have to protect yourself now. You're good to no one locked up." His hands slide up to cup both of my cheeks and he presses a kiss to my forehead. He's so gentle, it's hard to imagine that what he does in his free time is so horrific and unspeakable, he won't even tell me what it is.

We fall silent. The kitchen is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. I glance at the sink, where a few flecks of ash cling to the edge.

"I don’t see a way out of this," I say. "There’s no version of this where we all walk away clean."

Vincenzo reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Then we figure out which version leaves the fewest scars."

Before I can respond, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen. His expression tightens.

"What is it?" I ask.

He turns the screen toward me. A name glows across the top.Gordo.

My heart skips. "Don’t answer it," I say quickly. "Please. What if he knows? What if he’s calling to threaten you?"

Vincenzo doesn’t respond. His thumb hovers over the screen as he stares at the name. The silence stretches, and I can feel my own breath quicken every time the phone vibrates.

"Enzo," I whisper. "Please."

He looks at me once. Then he presses the phone to his ear.

"Yeah?"

20

VINCENZO

Iwait in the shadows beneath the overpass where the freeway splits and the sound of traffic blurs into white noise. This stretch of road never sleeps, and that’s why I picked it. It’s too public to be a trap and too loud for anyone to overhear us. A streetlight overhead flickers on and off like it can’t make up its mind. My breath fogs in the air as I lean against the cold concrete pillar.

Gordo pulls up late, of course. He isn’t careless. He’s methodical. He was probably watching from a distance, might have men on every approach to make sure I came alone like he demanded. He scans the lot before cutting the engine and getting out. He’s not wearing a coat, just a black sweater and gloves.

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