I sighed, too tired from worrying to argue further, and slid into the passenger seat. As Jackson walked around to the driver's side, I closed my eyes briefly, trying to center myself.
My little deep dive into their records was still bothering me, anxiety eating away at me. I was a mix of being furious with myself for doing something so dangerous, and proud for knowing it was not something I could just leave alone. That it'd bother me forever. Still, I just hoped it didn't bite me in the ass, or worse.
I really had no idea just what a crime family was like or how they'd handle things or react. I'd already come up with excuses as to why I'd looked at those dates, feigning stupidity and looking at the wrong years for the spreadsheets or just being curious and saying it was a memorable time of my life so I wanted to see if they'd done any events around that date. That last one was silly, but I was grasping for anything to cover myself if needed.
One more day, I reminded myself. Then I could put this all behind me.
But as Jackson started the engine and pulled out of the parking garage, I couldn't shake the feeling that walking away from the Donatis might not be as simple as giving notice. Not now.
11
JACKSON
My phone vibrated in my pocket just as I exited the elevator and entered the lobby, planning to wait for Elena. I checked the phone screen quickly. It was Eddie, the man I'd sent out to deal with Trent Simpson since I had my hands full here.
"Graves," I said, keeping my voice low. "What've you got?"
"Not good news," Eddie replied. "That PI, Simpson? He's disappeared. Office cleaned out, phone disconnected. My guys are still looking, but so far nothing."
I nodded as I caught the gaze of the receptionist, who was always a little too friendly with me, but I kept my expression neutral. "Keep at it. I need to know why he was working with her and looking into the family."
"Will do. We'll get to the bottom of it."
I ended the call and immediately dialed Roman as I moved to lean against the vacant end of the reception desk. The receptionist, Lucy, was too busy chatting with another worker now to bother me.
"Jackson," Roman answered on the first ring. "Report."
"Simpson's gone dark," I said quietly as I watched two workers exit the elevator and head home for the day. Elenawould be coming down in a few minutes as well. "Eddie's still looking."
"Fuck," Roman muttered. "Anything else?"
"She was looking into old financial records today. Nothing to do with her current work. Took screenshots and emailed them to herself. I would've alerted you sooner, but i know you were dealing with that little fiasco at the port. Besides, she's without a car and I have my eye on her."
"Right, thank you. Was a bit of a mess but we got it sorted. What records specifically?" Roman sounded worn from his efforts today but still bothered by my report.
"Files from twelve years ago. March through July. Payments to a company called Pristine Solutions."
The line went silent. Too silent.
"Roman?"
"I'll call you back," he said finally, his voice tight.
"I'm supposed to give her a lift home in five minutes."
"Do that," Roman ordered. "Keep her in your sights. Don't let her know we're onto her."
The call ended, and a cold weight settled in my stomach. Roman's reaction confirmed what I'd suspected—those records meant something. Something significant.
I pulled up my security app and watched Elena through the security feed as she stepped into the elevator, noting how she kept her head down, shoulders tense. Something was off. Her body language had shifted dramatically since this morning—since I'd found her hunched over in her car, panicking in the parking lot.
She'd been acting strange all day. Jumpy. Distracted. And I'd been watching her like a hawk after learning about her PI.
Just who was she? All our digging hadn't revealed much of anything about her, nothing to tie her to any rival families or anything. Nothing to give us an idea of who she could be workingfor. But if she was working alone of her own accord to bring the Donati family down, she wasn't very good at it. Which made me less inclined to believe she was working with someone as well, because they'd warn her of all the possible things to look out for. Cameras, recording devices, the lot of it. She'd not searched her office for a camera or anything.
Who are you, Elena Peters? And what do you want here?
She was digging for something, but for who? Herself? Why?
