Before I disappeared.
Again.
Stevie Reeves, Professional Ghost, now featuring: More Trauma and a Stolen Mug Collection.
Coming soon to a small town near you.
The cookies will be excellent.
I’ll cry into every single one.
Chapter Twenty-Four
DARIO
It’s nearly midnight when I hear the pounding on my door. The kind that says something has gone catastrophically wrong.
I’m up and moving before I fully process it. Gun in hand. Checking the security monitor.
Enzo.
I unlock. Pull the door open.
He’s wrecked. That’s the only word for it. Eyes red. Face blotchy. Holding a Tupperware container like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. And he’s shaking.
I’ve known Enzo for twelve years. Seen him take beatings, break bones, walk away from situations that would destroy most men. I’ve never seen him shake.
“She’s fucking gone.” The words come out strangled.
I pull him inside. Close the door. Lock it. “What happened?”
“I went to her place tonight. Like I said I would. I had…” He holds up a bag I didn’t notice. “Wings. From that place two towns over. I was bringing her dinner and she’s just.”
His voice cracks completely.
“The apartment’s empty. Cleared out. Professional job. Everything gone except.” He sets the Tupperware on my counter. Opens it with shaking hands.
Cookies. Peanut butter chocolate chip. And a note.
I pick it up. Read her handwriting. The writing I know from the notes she left me, the ones I kept like evidence of something that mattered.
I didn’t choose to leave. You were real. We were real. I’m sorry. - S
“She made these for me.” Enzo’s voice is hollow. “Left them for me. And I was just… I was going to bring her wings and tell her.” He stops. Presses his palms against my counter. Breathing hard.
“Tell her what?”
“That I love her.” He’s crying now. Full breakdown. Enzo, who I’ve seen face down armed men without flinching. “I would have told her this morning. Before I left. I thought we had time and now she’s just gone and I don’t know where and…”
He looks up at me. Eyes devastated.
“I’ve been lying to Sal for weeks. Telling him I’m following leads. He’s getting impatient. Yesterday he asked for an update. Wanted a timeline.” His hands are fists now. White-knuckled. “If I don’t give him something soon, he’s going to send someone else. And you know who he’ll send.”
“Rocco,” I supply.
The name hangs between us. Rocco doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t gather information. Doesn’t give second chances. He finds problems and eliminates them. Brutally.
“And now I don’t know where she is.” Enzo’s voice breaks again. “I can’t protect her. Can’t warn her. Can’t do anything and if Rocco finds her before I do…”
