My head throbs as my jet taxies to the runway.
“You need to make a decision, Fabian.” She breathes into the phone. “Sounds like they’re pushing seven-figure offers and it’s only a matter of time before this hits newsstands. I can deny this of course. And I can see if we can’t delay it a bit to buy more time. We need a statement at the very least.”
“Give me a few hours to think about this.”
“So it’s true—this is the woman you’ve been hanging out with all month? Jesus, Fabian.”
“I’ll call you when I land.”
The plan lunges forward, faster and faster until the nose tips up. Within seconds we’re airborne, en route to Chicago.
I don’t understand why Rossi would do this …
If she were anyone else, it would make sense. This would be a phenomenal way to exact revenge on me—but the woman I’ve come to know would never jeopardize her child’s privacy for petty retaliation and some quick cash.
Still, Rossi took those photos.
She was the only one with access to them.
And now they’re being shopped around the biggest tabloid magazines in the country.
I don’t want to believe …
But if it wasn’t her, then who was it?
Chapter 29
Rossi
* * *
I’m halfway through my to-do list for the afternoon when an email notification pops up—a reply from one of the many Catalano cousins I’d contacted yesterday. I must have sent close to one hundred messages, but so far I’ve had four responses—none of whom know the whereabouts of Francesca Catalano.
Rossi—
Saw your message. Frankie is a third cousin of mine. We lost touch years ago, but last I heard she occasionally keeps in touch with another cousin of ours. Was able to get the last known number and address for Frankie, but sounds like no one’s talked to her in years. Hope this helps and good luck with your search!
Maureen Catalano
I scroll beneath her message to find an Iowa address and phone number. A quick Google search tells me she’s only two hours from here. Despite everything going on with Fabian, I can’t wait to give him this information.
The front door opens and closes—likely Carina grabbing a package from the Prime delivery man who usually comes this time of day. But I stay planted in front of my computer, seeing if I can’t dig up anything else connected to that name and number. A reverse number search tells me it’s a prepaid cell number, and a quick search on an assessor’s site tells me the house is registered to A-Plus Rentals, Inc.
There’s no guarantee we’ll find her at the end of this rainbow, but my fingers are crossed.
Three raps at the door pull me out of my frenzy.
“Come in,” I call to my sister, clicking on the next result.
Only it isn’t my sister standing in the doorway—it’s Fabian.
“Oh.” I sit back. “Hi. I didn’t know you were here.”
He closes the door behind him, but stays on that side of the room. Worry lines spread across his forehead, and his eyes are squinted, pinched almost. Nothing about this suggests he’s happy to see me, which is odd because he left me a rambling two-minute voicemail last night that indicated he couldn’t wait to see me again.
While I’d never admit this to anyone, I must have listened to that thing fifty times—mostly because I was convinced if I listened closely enough, I’d be able to tell if he was being sincere or not. Unfortunately, it turns out I’m not a human lie detector and results were inconclusive.
“Just got here,” he says. His eyes are darker than usual and his hands are hooked on his narrow hips.
“I got your message,” I say. “But it’s been a crazy morning. Carina had to run to a dentist appointment, so I had Lucia and it’s just been one thing after another since my feet hit the ground … anyway, you actually have perfect timing.”
I tear the paper with Frankie’s info from my notebook, only before I get the chance to hand it over, he lifts a palm to silence me and stop me in my tracks.
“Rossi,” he says. The indentation above his jaw divots, pulsing in and out, and the faint bulge of a vein across his forehead forms.
“Y … yes?”
His nostrils flare and his eyes flash. “How could you?”
“What?”
“You sold her out,” he says. “You sold us out.”
Rising, I fold my arms. “Care to elaborate? Because I’m really confused …”
“I honestly thought you were different.” He shakes his head, digging into his back pocket to produce his phone. A few swipes later and he turns it to face me. An image of Fabian with Lucia fills the screen—one of the fifteen images I took last week when it was just the three of us.
“How … what … okay, this makes no sense.” I cover my mouth with my hand, breathing in through my fingers. “I don’t understand.”