"Shit, Elena. Good work."
"I have my moments." She starts photographing everything before we move it. "Though I have to say, rifling through a dead man's secrets wasn't exactly how I planned to spend my Wednesday."
"Better than paperwork, right?"
"Marginally." She glances up at me with a slight smile. "You're trying very hard to seem normal, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"The jokes, the banter. You've been doing it all week. Very entertaining, but also very transparent."
I grunt and focus on helping her extract the contents of the safe. Elena's always been too perceptive for her own good.
Marco appears in the doorway, surveying the scene. "What'd you find?"
"Costello's insurance policy, looks like," Elena says, holding up the ledger. "Names, accounts, what appears to be blackmail material. Could be useful."
"Elena's got a real talent for this stuff," I comment, partly to deflect attention from my obvious emotional state and partly because it's true. "Maybe you should recruit her full-time, Marco."
Something flickers across Marco's expression—surprise, maybe, or something more complicated. "Elena's got her own life to worry about."
"Do I?" Elena asks, raising an eyebrow. "Because I'm starting to think I might be better suited for this kind of work than whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing with my life."
The tension between them is subtle but unmistakable. Marco's jaw tightens slightly, and Elena's smile has an edge to it that suggests there's more to this conversation than I'm hearing.
"We should get this back to Vito," Marco says, clearly wanting to change the subject.
"Agreed." Elena starts packing everything into an evidence bag with practiced efficiency. "I'll write up the report tonight."
We finish the sweep in relative silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. By the time we're done, the sun is setting, painting the warehouse windows orange and red. Another day closer to whatever the Costellos are planning for retaliation, another day further from Sofia.
As we head toward the cars, I fall into step beside Marco. We've worked together long enough that I know his moods, and right now he seems distracted, preoccupied with something beyond the usual job stress.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Fine. Just tired."
"Uh-huh." I wait a beat, then decide to go for it. "Tell me where she is, Marco."
He doesn't even pretend not to know who I'm talking about. "You know I can't do that."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." Marco stops at his car, keys in hand. "Dante, look?—"
"I'm not going to storm in there and drag her back. I just want to know she's safe."
"She's safe. You have my word on that."
"That's not the same as seeing it for myself."
Marco's expression softens slightly. "I know. But this isn't about what you need right now. It's about what she needs."
The truth of it stings, but I can't argue with it. Doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
"How long?" I ask.
"As long as it takes."
