Who would have thought a casual hookup would lead to something life-changing? Melanie Lombardie was just a girl I met at a coffee shop. We agreed that it was no strings and that if we ever needed a 'fix' we would always be available. To a certain ex...
My back aches from sitting hunched over at my desk all day. The five empty coffee cups that sit on the edge of the desk are all from midday and Kayla had already cleared away the other four. It's only 5 pm and I'm just starting to crash now from my caffeine high. Some would say 'Go home and get a good night's sleep'. But I'm me. I can't sleep until I solve the fucking issue.
Like who the fuck stole 8 million dollars in contraband.
I've rewatched the same clip over and over again. I watch as my men take the load off the ship and lock it safely into a high-security vault on the docks. Then I watch as six men dressed all in black and ski masks, disable the vault and steal all of my shit.
The only thing I've been able to find is that one of them has some fucked up obsession with the sports brand Nike. And that one of them isn't very stable on his own two feet. The fucker won't have any feet once I find out who they are.
I stare at the screen for another hour before the phone on my desk rings. Only reception, Kayla and Adam, who Enzo and I share as assistants, have access to this phone number.
"Yeah." I don't mean to snap but the caffeine is finally gone from my system and my insomnia is kicking once again. I need a strong drink and some silence.
"Well, good evening Mr. Cranky Pants. How are we this evening?" Adam's chipper voice pierces my ears making me scowl at the wall in front of me.
"What do you want, Adam?" I lean back in my seat and run a tired hand over my face.
"A woman is speaking rapid Italian on line four, I have no idea what she was saying and I had a one-sided argument with her until she finally said your name. Have fun." The line goes dead and a green light flashes next to line 4. Pressing the button, I snap at whoever is on the other end again when the line goes through.
"This is Grace Vincenzo here from the San Giovanni Addolorata Hospital in Rome. Is this Adriano Marino?" The woman speaks in rapid Italian, just like Adam said. She speaks so quickly that it makes my head spin. I rest my elbows against the top of my desk as I gather my bearings.
"Yes, it is," I reply back in Italian. Then it clicks in my half-asleep brain. Hospital? Why the fuck would a hospital in Rome be calling me.
"I'm calling about Melanie Lombardie. I'm so sorry but she's recently passed away during labour yesterday morning."
The woman pauses allowing me to take it all in. My heart stalls in my chest as I lean back in my chair and let out a shocked breath. But then my whole body seizes. Labour?
She continues without allowing me to answer. "I couldn't find any next of kin on her public record besides you. Does that seem correct?"
"Yeah, she doesn't have any family left," I mutter quietly. Labour? As in baby labour?
