Perfect Enemies

17

I hadn’t fallen in love or anything so tragic. I’d fallen into hope. Excitement. Longing. I’d seen how Kane was different than the guys I’d gone to school with and fostered hope that maybe he was precisely what I was looking for. When hopes were crushed, it might not be as devastating as the loss of a loved one, but the pain was still real. My heart hurt, and I was the only one to blame. I was so distracted by my own troubles that I didn’t contemplate Reyna’s run-in with Santino until the next morning. My first instinct was to confront Javier about his spying activities and assure him Reyna wasn’t a threat, but that would have clued him into our friendship. He would then tell Giada, at the very least, and, in all likelihood, my father. Not an option. I could do nothing but worry about why they were watching her. I didn’t like to think my family was capable of hurting an innocent girl, but until this year, I never would have imagined we were a part of organized crime. Would they use her to get her father to comply with their demands? Knowing what a bastard he was, I doubted such an attempt would work. If he did try to protect her, it was only for his own selfish reasons rather than any real concern for her safety. I started to wonder if I should tell my father about my friendship with Reyna in the hopes that he wouldn’t harm her, but then images of Giada unconscious in a hospital bed surfaced. No degree of pleading would stop my father. If he was convinced Reyna was the best way to accomplish his goals, nothing I said would matter. Pins and needles of urgency pricked at my muscles, coaxing me out of bed. I had to get Reyna to safety, and the sooner, the better. “I grabbed fresh bagels this morning,” Mom said when I trudged downstairs and began to rummage through the fridge. “Mmm … perfect, thanks.” I grabbed the cream cheese and turned to the pantry. “You working at the church today?” Mom volunteered so frequently it could have been a full-time job. I enjoyed the feeling of community I experienced when I went to Mass, but I wasn’t devoted to the church like my mother. “Only until about three, then I’m going to come home to get ready. We’re having dinner tonight with Aunt Lottie and Uncle Enzo at that new Greek place that your aunt keeps raving about over by Fort Wadsworth.” I was surprised to hear they would be out for the evening. My dad was a bona fide homebody. “We?” I asked warily. Mom shot me a look. “You’re welcome to join us, but it’s not mandatory.” Ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind going to dinner with them—it was a chance for yummy food in the city, and Aunt Lottie was always fun—but an idea struck me the minute Mom told me about their plans. “I think I’ll pass. I have some reading to do for English, but you guys have a great time.” “Okay, hun. I’m headed out. See you after lunch.” She placed a kiss on my cheek and breezed out of the house. That evening, I waited until my parents had been gone for thirty minutes before I went to my father’s office. From the day we’d learned to walk, my sisters and I had been taught that Dad’s office was off-limits. I had never once snooped through his things. I’d never had a reason to. What did I care about a bunch of boring work files? However, considering the mafia’s potential interest in Reyna, I had to see what information I could gather. The solid wood door that separated a standard suburban home from the inner workings of the criminal underworld creaked loudly. The sound pierced the silence, causing my shoulders to surge up to my ears. I’d never been so paranoid before, but I’d also never felt like a traitor in my own home. I was doing the right thing; I just hoped my father would understand if he ever discovered what I’d done. His office was large, containing an executive desk floating in the middle of the space and a sitting area overlooking a window to the backyard. One wall was lined with bookshelves filled with decorative memorabilia. The opposite wall contained a credenza with his desktop computer and a twodrawer filing cabinet with an old printer on top. His computer was the ideal place to search, but it had been turned off and was password protected. The filing cabinet might also be of interest, but I decided to start with his desk drawers. Surely, he would have kept documents relevant to the current cartel situation within easy reach. The top center drawer was filled with office supplies, while the drawer to the left contained a number of household bills, several charging cables, and a slew of business cards. The two drawers below it were equally unhelpful. Moving on to the other side, the top drawer on the right contained a padded ledger book, each page filled with numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me. There was also a small notepad, the top page blank. I started to close the drawer when I took a second look at the notepad. I’d seen in mystery movies where people left inadvertent clues from the indentation of their writing. It sounded silly, but I grabbed a pencil and lightly scribbled back and forth over the top piece of paper on the pad. I was stunned speechless when words emerged. Viper 10k weekly I gaped at the message, unable to tell if it was even relevant. What or who was Viper? I’d have to google the name once I was done. It could have been a new car payment plan for all I knew. Dad wasn’t the Dodge Viper sort, but I hadn’t expected him to be in the mafia either. I tore off the top page and shoved it in my pocket. The two drawers below were both locked, and the filing cabinet contained folder after folder of documents pertaining to my uncle’s construction business. If anything in there would help me, it would take an eon to figure out. Making sure everything was returned just as I’d found it, I stepped back and scanned the room one more time with a demoralized sigh. I wasn’t sure what I’d hoped to find. Maybe Dad’s little black book of contacts with Document Forger highlighted in yellow? Or perhaps a detailed plan for the mafia’s takedown of the cartel? Regardless of the grandeur of my delusions, the odds hadn’t been in my favor. I was taking tiny steps forward, but my progress was too marginal to see with the naked eye. I could only hope that in time, each little surge forward would get me where I needed to be.