Page 6 of Tristano

“I will shoot off your left nut. Tempt me,” he says, his face dead serious.

“Oh, come on. You are a daddy, though,” I tease.

“Not yours.”

“Ouch. Testy tonight, huh? Blue balls? Is Danica not giving it to you enough?”

He takes a deep breath. “You test my patience more than my child does.”

“Aww, I knew you loved me.”

“That is absolutely the opposite of what I feel for you,” he grumbles.

“Oh, admit it, Enzo. You could have chosen anyone to hang out with tonight, yet you came here to be with me.”

“I came to work.”

My smile grows wider. “You can lie to yourself all you want. You knew I would be here. You wanted to hang out with me. It’s okay. You don’t have to admit it. I know in my heart that we are besties.”

“Insufferable.” He focuses on his screen, squinting.

“You know, you really should get some reading glasses with a blue light filter like me. You are straining your eyes too much.” I pull off my glasses to prove a point.

When you work on the computer as much as I do, it’s smart to protect your eyes. Of course mine are just blue light. I don’t need reading glasses yet, but old man Enzo seems to.

“Fuck off,” he says without looking up at me.

Before I can respond, a message pops up on my computer. My eyes widen as I read it.

“Holy fuck.”

“What is it?” Enzo asks.

“It’s the piece of the puzzle I think we have been missing.”

ChapterTwo

The trip is rather quick, the booking even quicker. Finally, I’m being led to a cell, only for my boss to intercept us.

“I’ll take this one. I have some questions for her,” he tells the booking officer.

“Of course, Chief.”

Then it’s a short walk down to his office where he closes the door before finally taking the cuffs off.

“Have a seat, Serena.”

I wince at the use of my real name. Usually it’s Selbear. The nickname he gave me as a child. When he uses my real name, I know I’m in trouble.

He takes his time, making himself a cup of coffee as I sit here and look around his office.

I smile at the photo of me, him, and my grandfather on one of his shelves. I was only six then, but I wanted to be like my grandpa, so they took me fishing with them. Only to find out that I didn’t like touching the fish. That’s how we got that picture. Someone at the dock took it for us. Uncle Ben is holding up the line with the fish in front of me, with my grandpa holding my shoulders as I try to smile, but my eyes never leave that fish.

It’s a funny picture. A memory from the good old days. Too bad they came to an end. My grandfather passed away, leaving me to Uncle Ben, who I found out was never really my uncle.

“What were you thinking?” he finally asks as he settles behind his desk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you be more specific?”

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