𝗔𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

Fifteen.

Marco massaged the unbearable twinge at the base of his neck. Staring at electronic devices for eight hours straight was no simple task—security footage, timesheets, emails, text messages, Facebook profiles, Instagram stories—hacking and altering every digital crumb connected to his former employee, Frank Costello.

As far as the public was concerned, Frank—a devoted lover of surfing, bonfires, and exotic women—decided to go permanently off-grid and experience life with like-minded nomatic roamers. His final, yet cryptic, Instagram story was composed of a surfer emoji riding a wave from Chicago to Puaena Point alongside an audio clip of the Beach Boys, "Surfin' USA."

A tedious but critical chore Marco resented doing...

Angelo had placed his only son in inexplicably demanding positions, from not being able to pursue a career in cybersecurity to forcibly enduring parts of the family business—Marco craved nothing more than the liberating fictional farewells he composed daily for his father's prey.

Leaning back in his chair, Marco shifted gears, his curiosity piqued. He clicked on a minimized web browser, and a thrill surged through him as he whispered, "Let's see who you really are."

As he unveiled six Chrome tabs filled with search results on CHRISTOPHER CHICO, a wave of realization crashed over him. After quickly reviewing the club footage from Frank's failed attempt the night before, everything clicked into place with unsettling clarity. The man Rebecca came with, her boyfriend, was none other than that same arrogant prick who had been plastered across the screen earlier that morning.

Christopher fucking Chico, the goody-two-shoes Chicago cop, had a family legacy and a social history as vast as his ego. His Xanga, LiveJournal, and ancient Yahoo Geocities sites were surprisingly still up and running. The cringeworthy stuff on there wasn't groundbreaking or remarkable to Marco's sense; after all, it seemed that Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes strictly followed trends.

Rebecca's words lingered in his mind: "I mean, he's a great guy, but there's something missing—it's hard to put into words."

Marco couldn't shake her voice, each syllable echoing like a challenge. She had turned down this jerk's marriage proposal for a reason, and that realization only deepened the mystery surrounding her.

He replayed their night, recalling how her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she spoke. He remembered the way her laughter filled the room—bright yet tinged with sadness—and how her eyes sparkled with joy when she smiled.

This wasn't just about Christopher anymore; it was about Rebecca. The more he thought about her, the more he wondered if he would ever see her again. Would he ever get the chance to experience the warmth of her laughter, the spark in her eyes, or the comfort of her company? The thought both thrilled and troubled him, igniting a sense of longing he hadn't felt in a while.

As he continued to sift through the search results, one headline caught his attention:

"Tame The Black Sheep: Superintendent Caruso's daughter, Rebecca, 24, suspended for bribery."

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes widening in shock.

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, a mix of surprise and concern flashing across his face.

The realization hit Marco like a sudden storm, knocking the breath from his lungs and shattering his assumptions. Each inhale became a struggle, a labor against the weight of what he had just uncovered. Rebecca, the woman who had occupied his thoughts, was—of all things—a cop.

As he delved deeper into the details, the implications of his discovery sent a chill down his spine, intensifying the mystery surrounding this woman he had only just begun to know. A knot tightened in his stomach as he continued reading the article, which detailed how Rebecca had been accused of bribing a store attendant to overlook a 16-year-old girl caught stealing from a drug store. 

This doesn't make any sense, he thought, struggling to reconcile the woman he knew with the one portrayed in the article. 

To his shock, he discovered that Christopher Chico, her partner at the time, was the one who had turned her in—explains alot, he couldn't help but think. 

The article painted Rebecca as a reckless and untrustworthy figure, starkly contrasting with her father, Robert Caruso, a man of the people who prioritized the police force over his own family, honoring Chico with a subtle promotion for his betrayal.

She seemed to have intentionally left no trace of her existence beyond that single article in the Tribune. It was as if she had meticulously erased any digital footprint, leaving no social imprint or hidden cache of information in the dark corners of the web. Marco couldn't help but notice that the public was completely unaware of Christopher and Rebecca's relationship; there were no pictures of her on Christopher's social media, not on Facebook or Instagram. It was an impressive feat, one that only fueled his admiration while igniting a swirl of questions in his mind.

With a mixture of intrigue and caution, Marco's eyes fixated on the headline photo that accompanied the news article—a snapshot frozen in time from Rebecca's graduation at the police academy, captured five or six years ago. In the picture, her medium brown hair was slicked back, and she had a stern, almost antagonistic expression, likely the result of the photographer's direction, as she didn't seem comfortable.

Last night unfolded a revelation for Marco—a glimpse into a side of Rebecca that touched him on a deeper level. Her kindness, fearlessness, and genuine enjoyment of his company left a profound impression, evoking a sense of delight he hadn't anticipated. This connection felt unique and authentic, in stark contrast to the shallow interests of his past girlfriends who appeared drawn solely to the Montanari name as if it were a trendy accessory to showcase rather than a reflection of his true self.

Despite longing for her luminous smile again, he knew it was unlikely to happen, especially not with him. Suspended or not, single or not, she was the daughter of the most hated man in the city, and her connections alone could burn his life to the ground.

"Marco!" Eve's voice sliced through the stillness of the office, panic threading each syllable. She burst into the room, her chest heaving as if she'd sprinted a marathon.

Startled, Marco jolted upright, adrenaline flooding his system. His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage like a caged animal desperate to escape.

"What's going on?" he demanded, urgency tinging his voice, a mix of concern and impatience bubbling to the surface.

Eve gasped, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as her eyes darted around the room. She gestured wildly downward, her movements frantic and erratic.

"Angelo and Rebecca. BAR!" she choked out, her voice trembling with fear.

A wave of confusion washed over Marco, his brow furrowing as he struggled to piece together the fragments of her message.

"Now?" he gasped, disbelief crashing over him like a cold wave.

Eve nodded frantically, her breath coming in short gasps as she fumbled for her inhaler, fingers shaking.

Cursing under his breath, Marco shot up from his chair, the legs screeching against the floor as he bolted for the door. His heart raced, thoughts spiraling through his mind as he envisioned the chaos unfolding downstairs.

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