Envy by Eve Marian

17

Natacha

My thighs ached and my arms felt stiff. Charlotte would be proud of the workout Giancarlo put me through last night. I giggled when thinking of him holding my thighs apart after I teased and tortured him.

I never imagined myself as a temptress. Sex with Chase was easy and sweet. Sort of like a scoop of vanilla ice cream after a meal. Whereas Giancarlo was a hot fudge sundae with spicy peanuts and whipped cream.

I laughed out loud at the thought and finally rolled out of bed.

“Giancarlo?” I looked around the room and poked my head into the bathroom, but he wasn’t there.

There was a note on the pillow beside me that I had missed while I was musing about desserts.

Good morning baby,

I didn’t want to wake you. Vito was already here and I knew if I saw those pretty brown eyes, they would tempt me to stay.

I’ll be gone for most of the day. I’m flying into NYC for meetings, but I’ll be home before dinner. Pick up your favorite meal and then I’ll have you for dessert.

GC.

Ha! Dessert! We were thinking alike now.

I hummed on my way to the bathroom, with my bare feet warm against the heated floors, and stared at the five-by-five-foot shower. There were three different knobs and I chose the middle one to turn first. The rain-shower head sprouted water.

Well, that’s good enough for me.

The hot water soothed my sore muscles and I just stood under the spray for five minutes, letting the warmth seep into my bones.

Inhaling, then exhaling slowly, I couldn’t believe how relaxed I felt. I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t rushed through a morning shower.

Finally, when my skin was all red and blotchy, I stepped out and dried off with one of Giancarlo’s fluffy white towels.

I found a brush in a drawer and slowly combed out the snags in my wet hair.

Well, well, well, what do we have here?

A bottle of moisturizer. I didn’t think Giancarlo was the metrosexual type, but I guess that sculpted torso and defined arms didn’t come from his job.

I rubbed the cream onto my face and stared at the mirror.

My cheeks were still pink, and my face shone from the moisturizer. At least I believed it to be the moisturizer because if I wasn’t lying to myself, I would say I was happy.

What should I make for dinner this week?

I was listing recipes in my head when my phone pinged.

I padded across the bedroom and found it in the back pocket of my jeans.

It was a text from Colton.

My face fell and my shoulders straightened as I swiped up the screen to read his message.

Colton: Are you at the house? I’m with my guy and he wants to see the safe. Can you join a video call?

Still in my bathrobe, I replied: Just need a few minutes. I’ll call in five.

Colton: [thumbs up emoji]

I knew Colton would contact me soon, but the text still caught me off-guard, making it hard to breathe. My chest hurt and it felt like I was betraying Giancarlo’s privacy, but that was silly, wasn’t it? Yes, the sex was great, and I could compartmentalize sex versus relationship. Men did it all the time.

He was a mafia boss. He betrayed people all the time.

Except he had never betrayed me.

Looking at the bottle of moisturizer, I got an idea. I could smear some over my camera, and maybe that would make it difficult for the locksmith to see the safe.

But then that would mean I would be compromising my job and work ethic.

Dropping my head into my hands, I growled. What do I do?

Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.

My phone pinged again.

Colton: Ready?

I pulled on my jeans, bra, and top.

Me: Yes.

Hitting the video icon on my phone, I waited.

Colton’s perfectly combed black hair and a crisp white shirt popped up on my screen.

“Good morning, Natacha. I’m so glad we could make this happen.”

I forced a smile onto my face. “Me too.”

“I’ll pass you to Ray.”

The screen whipped past a desk and some office chairs before landing on a ruggedly handsome man with a tattoo of an eagle spanning across his neck.

“Hey, Natacha. Can you bring your phone over to the safe?”

“Sure.”

I rested my phone on my thigh as I walked across Giancarlo’s bedroom. I wanted to give him a bit of privacy, at least. As ironic as that sounded.

I crouched down in front of the safe and turned my camera toward it.

“It’s too dark in the room. Can you turn on a light?”

I rose and flicked the switch. “Is that better?”

“Yeah. Now get as close to the keypad as possible.”

I brought my phone right up against the spot.

“Not that close. I can’t see a thing. Slowly move it back and forth and around.”

I followed his instructions, and as I moved my phone, he murmured and took notes.

“All right, that’s good. I’ve got it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I should be able to get you a keycard and password in a few days.”

“A few days, huh?”

“That’s great,” Colton said from the back.

“Fantastic.” I tried to make my voice sound enthusiastic, but it was flat even to my own ears.

“Thanks, Natacha. We’ll be in touch soon.”

“Talk to you later, Colton. Bye.”

I ended the call and dropped my back against the wall.

It’s just a baseball, Natacha. It doesn’t mean that much to Giancarlo. He’s never even mentioned it or the Crawfords. It’s not a big deal.

I stood and walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

But when I stood in the kitchen I didn’t want to make anything I already knew. I wanted something difficult, something that would take my mind off of everything.

I texted Luke: Do you have something I might like to try?

A few minutes later, Luke responded: Like what?

Well, Giancarlo teased me about dessert, so maybe I should tempt him with something new.

Me: Something sweet and deliciously tempting.

Luke: I’ve got just the thing [Eiffel Tower emoji]

A few minutes later, Luke sent me a recipe for macaroons. There were several ingredients, including Cream of Tartar. I didn’t think I had in the pantry, so I grabbed my keys to run to the store. But when I looked outside, there was frost along the windows. I hadn’t brought a coat.

I remembered Sienna had a bedroom upstairs. Maybe she left a coat in the closet?

I jogged up the stairs and to her room. It was a large bedroom with an armoire, a chest of drawers, and a canopy bed. But if she had a coat, she would have to keep it in the closet. There were three other doors in the room. One was the bathroom door and the other two I figured were closets.

Except, when I opened the door furthest from the bathroom, it wasn’t a closet at all. It was a narrow hallway with a door on the other side.

I walked through the other hallway and knocked on the door. Did Sienna have some sort of secret walk-in closet or red room?

I turned the knob but it was locked.

I knew I should turn around, but the PI in me couldn’t leave a locked room unchecked.

On instinct, I went to Sienna’s bathroom and searched the drawers. I couldn’t find a bobby pin, but I found a paperclip, strangely enough.

It didn’t take me long to unlock the door, but I still took my time turning the knob and opening the door, inch by inch.

Did the mafia hide bodies in closets?

Don’t be silly, Natacha.

But as the room came into view, I knew I had stumbled across something I wasn’t supposed to find.

At least three television screens and four computers were set up along the perimeter of the room. Green and red lights blinked from CPU towers and I pulled out a chair from the desk.

Sitting in front of it all, I pressed my finger on the power button of the middle screen. A four-panel, live video of the perimeter of Giancarlo’s house appeared.

I turned on the screen to the left, and the living room and dining room, along with his and Pete’s office, popped up. I remembered the time he took me inside that office and I wondered if it was all caught on camera. I may have a sex tape out there and didn’t know it.

Oh, god.

The television screen on the right focused on the outside of the property, and I was relieved to know he didn’t record what happened in his bedroom.

I switched on the main computer and searched through the files.

My heart raced the entire time, knowing I shouldn’t be in here, at the same time knowing this was exactly where I needed to be to do my job.

I found a folder broken down into years and months. I opened the video footage of the days after Luke’s baseball was stolen.

Running through the videos, I found footage of Laura and her father inside Giancarlo’s home. I wondered if she knew he had this. It would have proven her case. But I knew there was no way she could have known.

As I scrolled through the footage, I saw it. There. Giancarlo took the baseball the night Laura came to his home and shoved it into his pocket during all the confusion. I had proof that he still has it, or at least knows where it is.

I watched the rest of the videos, but I couldn’t tell where he would have stashed it.

I closed that folder. And should have left the room, except I couldn’t.

The mouse hovered over a different folder. One with the timestamp of the night Chase was killed.

Everything in me wanted to open that folder, but my finger wouldn’t press down on it. The arrow hovered over the yellow file, and my heart hammered against my chest.

Do I really want to know?

I moved the mouse back and forth over the file in a similar frenzy as the thoughts racing inside my head. Yes. No. Maybe.

Finally, I clicked it.

The three screens flashed, and the new images popped up. I sped up the recording until I saw a car drive up front. I didn’t recognize the car or the driver who exited the vehicle.

I moved the mouse several hours ahead.

Wait. What was that?

I moved the cursor back a few minutes. A blue truck pulled up and a man with a Mets baseball cap and blue puffer jacket stepped out.

All the blood drained from my face and my stomach dropped. I’d recognize that hat and that walk anywhere.

It was Chase.

Tears sprung to my eyes and I wiped them, only to be replaced with twenty more.

Oh, God. I missed him.

I missed the way that he walked, the way that he laughed, and the way he made me feel. I knew I was safe and secure in his love.

I sniffed a couple of times and waved my hands over my eyes.

Come on, Nat. Pull it together.

The video continued. Dominic opened the door and Chase walked in. Moving onto the next screen, I saw the interior of the house and watched as Chase shoved his hands into his jacket and waited.

My heart pounded as Giancarlo walked down the stairs. Seeing the two men together on a small screen was surreal, as though my past and present collided into one, like falling through Alice’s rabbit hole.

Giancarlo didn’t shake Chase’s hand but led him to his office.

My eyes were fixed on the screen. If a bomb had gone off next door, I probably wouldn’t have turned away. I couldn’t. This was what I’d been searching for since the day Chase had died.

Chase sat on a chair in front of Giancarlo’s desk. They spoke, but I couldn’t hear what they said. While Giancarlo leaned back against his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Chase sat at the edge of his seat, his right leg bouncing uncontrollably. After a few minutes, Chase got up and circled the chair, agitated. Running his hand through his hair, he shouted something at Giancarlo.

Placing both hands on his desk, Giancarlo rose from his seat. His face remained calm, but his words made Chase flinch. Then he stormed out of his office, leaving Giancarlo alone.

Before Chase could leave his home, Giancarlo picked up the phone and made a call. I had no idea to whom.

I checked the time stamp. It was only thirty minutes before the accident.

Did Giancarlo send someone after him?

I needed to visit the police station in the morning and review those street cams once again. I hadn’t recognized the car that swerved in front of Chase’s car then, but maybe I would now.

My phone pinged. It was a message from Charlotte: Where are u? Everyone’s here.

Crap.

I’d forgotten about her party.

I was no longer in the mood, but I knew if I canceled on Charlotte now, she’d never speak to me again, and she had every right not to. I’d been a shitty friend this past month.

I didn’t leave Giancarlo a note. My conscience screamed at me. Why did you get involved with a client? A mobster? Potentially the man who had your boyfriend killed? How could I be so stupid? Or desperate? Or… lonely?

With my hands fisted at my sides, I walked downstairs and out the back door toward my car. I needed to get away from here—from the past—and just lose myself for a few hours.