The Woman in the Wrong Place (Grassi Framily)

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess something Massimo said. I’m not sure I realized that everyone might want to see me more.”

“You’re family, Matteo,” Luca said, shaking his head. “Of course we want to see you. Have you even met Lucky’s baby?” he asked.

And, admittedly, I hadn’t.

In my defense, the baby had just been home for all of a week. I figured Lucky and Via might want some time to enjoy the baby alone before I intruded. Besides, all the rest of the family was likely dropping by to see him, bringing freezer meals, making themselves useful.

I could throw together a pretty decent charcuterie board, but I wasn’t a frozen lasagne kind of guy.

“No. It’s on my list. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Matteo, man, that is the whole point. It’s family. You’re supposed to intrude,” Luca said, shaking his head. “I can’t count how many times I walked out in the morning to find Aunt Adrian dropping off meals in our freezer. Normally, she’d be doing that for you since you’re single, but she didn’t even know you bought a new house. Let alone know where it is.”

Lucky’s mom, Adrian, was like the Family matriarch, and she’d taken Luca and me under her wing when our mother was killed. She was the epitome of an Italian mom too, always in the kitchen cooking, showing her love with food. If anyone was sick or hurt or going through a rough patch, Adrian was at their door with meals that just needed to be warmed up.

She’d always filled Luca’s freezer with food. And she normally would have filled mine as well, but I’d moved so much over the years, and distanced myself so far from the family that she’d simply stopped trying.

“Maybe I’ll have a housewarming as soon as I am done redoing the kitchen cabinets,” I said, watching as something warm crossed my brothers eyes. Hope, maybe?

“We’d all like that,” Luca said, clapping a hand on my shoulder before his phone started to ring in his pocket. “I’m gonna get going,” he said, looking down at the screen. “I’ll keep you up to date as we figure shit out. Keep your phone close.”

I was walking back to the building when something caught my attention in the corner of my gaze.

Josie.

Leaning against her car in the lot.

Her head was facing the sky and her body looked like it was shaking as she took slow, steady breaths.

All that cool, calm, confident, and collected she’d shown me in the office was clearly for show.

She was scared as fuck about standing up to me, making demands on me.

But then why had she done it?

And, perhaps more importantly, who had told her to?

Maybe I needed to keep a closer eye on Josie than I’d realized.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Josie

I was actually surprised I didn’t throw up all over his office.

That was how absolutely bone-deep terrified I had been to make the demands the detectives told me I needed to make.

I’d spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday with my friend, Marcie, who I was supposed to go to the concert with.

Sure, I’d needed to lie to her about being mugged after my car “broke down,” which explained why I had no purse, no car, and no shoes.

“I hope the cops get those fuckers,” Marcie grumbled as she raked a hand through her long, pin-straight hair that framed her delicate heart-shaped face. Her family owned and operated the best Chinese food restaurant in the area, and Marcie had single-handedly started to help the business grow, setting up franchises, and helping her first-generation parents build their own business empire.

As such, Marcie lived in a much bigger and fancier place than mine. She had a townhouse that had just been built the year before, so it had beautiful bones, but not a lot of personality.

Marcie was not someone who would claim she had a signature style of any sort. Not when it came to her clothes—she lived in skinny jeans and either tees or sweaters, depending on the weather—or when it came to her apartment.

I wasn’t an interior designer, but I did like decorating, so I’d been working with her for months to get things done for her. She’d picked a neutral, cool gray color with no blue undertones for her open concept living/dining room, and a slightly lighter shade for her kitchen.

Her couch was a gorgeous tufted number in a champagne color that her fluffy Maltipoo matched almost perfectly.

And, well, that was as far as we had gotten thanks to busy schedules for both our budding careers.

But Marcie had a spare room for me to curl up in, and some clothes for me to borrow, even if they were a little short on the leg and hem for me. They got me through.

And then this saint of a friend brought me back to my apartment to make sure no one had broken in there.