“What do you mean, him?”
“He was the one. The one who was there that night. I saw everything. How he shot the other man, a cop, how he led me away. But he never told me. Never let me know the truth. Because he didn’t want me to find out.”
A stretch of silence slices between us.
“Oh, fuck…”
“Yeah. We can pretend it’s not real, but the facts are staring us in the face. Tim’s dirty, Gerardo’s dirty, and now you need to watch your back. This is bigger than we thought.”
There’s a deep exhale on the other end, followed by a harsh whisper. “Why the hell would he frame me?”
“Because you were just an easy mark. He needed to pin it on someone, so why not Tim’s partner, the man who’s around him a lot, someone who’s had issues with him before? They have motive, opportunity, and a weapon.”
“That fight Tim and I had a while back was nothing, Em. Plus,they’ve got no fingerprints.”
“Yeah, but they don’t need fingerprints to make you the killer. Sure, it would help, but they will say you know how to clean up a crime scene.”
“Shit, I don’t want to believe Gerardo did this to me of all people.”
“I know,” I go on, scared that something will happen to him. “Just please watch your back. I’ll call you if I find anything else. I love you, Nate.”
“Love you too.”
When the call ends, I lower the phone and let out a shaky breath.
At least now he knows.
The truth is a cruel thing, one I wish I could forget. It would be easier to bury it and pretend everything’s fine.
But life never offers us that luxury.
CHAPTER FORTY
KONSTANTIN
When I arrive home,my first thought is to check on Tessa. I don’t care about the meetings or the business I’ve just left behind. All that matters is her safety and well-being.
I head straight for the living room, pulling out my phone to check in with Maksim and Dmitri, knowing she was out back when I called earlier.
“Maksim,” I say once he picks up. “How is she?”
“She’s fine. She finished her run, then spoke to a friend on the phone. Now she’s reading a book outside, just relaxing.”
“Good. Let her enjoy herself. Don’t tell her I’m home yet.”
“Horosho.”Okay.
As I remove my shoes in the foyer, one of my maids approaches with a package in hand.
“Sir, this arrived for you.” She hands it over before she leaveswithout saying anything further.
Staring at the large yellow envelope, I wonder if it’s those contracts I’ve been waiting for. Taking it into the study with me, I head for the bar and pour myself a cognac, needing it after the stress of today’s meeting. The moment I settle down, I rip open the flap, pulling out the contents crammed inside.
But as I flip through the first few pages, it becomes clear this has nothing to do with business and everything to do with my wife.
My world shifts, the crystal-cut glass nearly slipping from my fingers as my eyes race across the words, the photos attached.
This can’t be happening.
