Page 96 of Dirty Little Secrets
THE QUIET MONSTER
EMERY
Damon snores soundlybeside me as I reread the text message Tony sent me last night. A message that hasn’t disappeared because it’s impossible to turn back time. It’s impossible to rewrite the past. My chest tightens as the screen illuminates my face.
I got it. Meet me tomorrow. Central Park. 9 a.m. Culver Square. Wear red.
Goddamn it. I said nevermind! I told him to ignore my fucking request. Why didn’t he listen? Why didn’t he stop?
My gaze flits to the engagement ring on the bedside table, and bile creeps up my throat. No more secrets. Damon said he has no more secrets. But this text, this stupid fucking message, says otherwise.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s another client. A client that prefers to keep a low and untraceable profile. In this business, anonymity can serve as the strongest of shields.
You’ll never know if you don’t go, Emery. You know you want to. You know you can’t live without the truth.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
I bury my face into my palms, refusing to let go of a potential happy ending. Happy ending? Happy ending?! God, when did I become this person? When did I start caring?
I place a hand over my heart, my weak fucking heart.
This isyourfault.Youdid this to me.Nowyou start working?Nowis when you decide to do your fucking job?!
Fuck.
Defeat washes over me as I quietly swing my legs over the side of the bed, making sure not to wake up Damon. My fingertips tingle as they hover over the keyboard.
I can’t ignore this. If I’m going to give Damon a chance at a possible forever, I need to know all the facts. All of them. As I type out a message to Tony, I pray, for the first time in a long time, that he proves me wrong.
See you soon.
Central Park is usually bustling.But not today. Today, it’s quiet. Empty. A perfect sanctuary for solitude, for secrecy. Flakes fall from the sky as I tighten the red scarf around my neck. I stare out into the snow covered fields. It’s almost heavenly here. Innocent. But not for long. It’s going to get tainted. Nothing beautiful ever lasts. Nothing stays white forever.
At 9 a.m. sharp a hand appears on my shoulder, and I gasp.
“Good morning, bella. Sorry, I am late.” The feminine voice soothes my fraying nerves, and I crane my neck, frowning as Tony offers me a cheeky grin. “Look at you…” She releases a soft laugh. “You expected a man.” She brazenly strokes the underside of my jaw, smirking. “I am Antonia.Toni. It is wonderful to finally meet you.” Her touch burns at my skin as she adds, “You are even more beautiful in person, did you know?”
“I…” I blink at her, lost for words. A woman?
Toni’s thick black hair cascades down her shoulders, framing her stunning face. Her deep dark brown eyes hold my gaze, and I suck in a sharp breath as she sedates me with a sultry smile, and sits down beside me.
“Here.” Toni reaches into her jacket and pulls out a manila folder. “I found what I could about that account holder. It is rather…strange, though.”
“Strange, how?” I ask, ignoring the fluttering feeling inside my stomach as I open the folder and flip through the documents she’s compiled.
“Well, it took me a few days to uncover the name ofthe account holder, but it’s right there.” She points to the name on the document. “Mikhail Nicolua. He immigrated to America in ‘93 from Romania.” She flips the page. “He had a few odd jobs here and there, but he’s spent the last ten years driving a taxi here in the city.” Another page. “But it’s odd…” She glances up at my puzzled face. “As of three years ago, there is no employment history. See?” Another page. “I thought perhaps he may have retired or left the country but look.” She points to a housing deed. “His son, who worked previously at a bodega, purchased a five-bedroom mansion in Stillwater around the same time. Peculiar, no?”
My frown deepens. “Stillwater?”
“It is a gated community thirty miles away,” she explains, relaxing back into the bench and hiking her ankle over her thigh. “Well? How did I do, bella?”
My nose scrunches as I skim through all the documents again. I was hoping for answers. But there are none here. Only more questions.
“DoesMikhailhave any connection to Cavanaugh Industries?” I ask, swallowing. “Maybe to a subsidiary? Or a member of the family? Did you find anything more?”
Toni shakes her head, a hint of pity in her tone. “No, Emery, I did not. I assume you are not happy with my findings?”
“I’m just…”What is going on?“I’m just confused.”
