Page 20 of Second in Command
They placed a file on the table, and I sit up as Vincenzio took it, and opened it up. He quickly scanned the files, before blowing out a breath.
“What is it?”
“I don’t think he’s our guy — nor does he have anything to do with it,” Vincenzio rubs his forehead, leaning back in his chair, “the man is married, with three children, and he makes less than minimum wage.”
“With a schedule like his, there’s no way he’d have the time to do . . . anything. He just seems like a poor man who was escaping his life with a night on the town. And he bumped into the two of you.”
“What if that’s just his cover? The man’s surname isLa Grassa.”
“Ronaldo and Mazi are already following him, we’ll have a definite answer by tonight.”
I take a deep breath, throwing myself back onto the chair dejectedly.
“I know you’re trying to figure it out but our focus should be in here. It was a bit far-fetched from the beginning.”
“I don’t know where to look, Vincenzio,” I admit, “no one’s acting strange, everything is as it should be.”
“We will find the rat.”
“And what if this was all a coincidence? What if we’re searching for someone who doesn’t exist? What if you misplaced your own files —”
“You know better than that, Enzo,” he remarks sternly, “maybe you need to take a rest, it’s important that we have you on your toes.”
I leave without another word, frustration building in my chest. As soon as I stepped outside the door though, I’m face to face with Francesca. Her doe eyes grow wider, and she slowly drops her hands to her side.
Her lips form and ‘O’ as if she had been caught, and just the sight of her made everything melt away.
“And may I ask what you’re doing here?”
“Oh,” she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, “I forgot something.”
“Something like what?”
“I don’t have to tell you,” she places a hand on her hip, returning to her normal composure and I narrow my eyes at her playfully.
She had flour on her t-shirt, a bit on her neck, and the corner of her lips.
“You came to change, didn’t you?”
“Enzo,” she whines, and I chuckle, “I look horrendous.”
I walk towards her with my arms out and embrace her in a hug. Honestly, I needed it more than her. I inhaled her scent as subtly as I could, and enjoy the feeling of her soft, warm body against mine.
“I also brought you this,” she says, pulling away and reaching into her bag. There was a treat.
“I thought you forgot, thank you,” I muttered, taking it from her hands.
“Why would I forget? Try it.”
“Right now,” she nods, her hand loosely placed in her pockets as she eyes me. I open up the package to find a chocolate-filled croissant. I love croissants.
I took one bite, and immediately realized why she wanted to be a baker. It was fucking amazing. I didn’t speak or finish chewing before taking another, and Francesca giggled.
“You don’t have to say anything else,” she says, patting my stomach.
“Francesca,” I resist the urge to moan, “this is . . . I don’t even know what to say.”
It was still warm, so the flavors, the chocolate, the cinnamon, it was all just perfect.
