Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO KNEW MY BOYFRIEND
I didn't believe him.
Not at first.
Ryan was a construction project manager.
He complained about permits, contractors, delayed inspections, and impossible deadlines.
He wore ordinary suits.
Drove an aging BMW.
Watched basketball on Sunday nights.
He wasn't the sort of man I associated with organized crime.
Then again, six months earlier, I hadn't believed he was the sort of man who would hurt me.
People could surprise you.
Sometimes in terrible ways.
“You're mistaken,” I said.
Aleandro sat in the armchair opposite the bed.
“I hope so.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I won't accuse a man of something without evidence.”
I looked at him.
“Then why did you say he tried to kill your brother?”
“I said he was connected to the men who did.”
“That's not much better.”
“No,” Aleandro admitted. “It isn't.”
I rubbed my forehead.
My head still ached.
“Your brother?”
His expression tightened.
“His name was Lorenzo.”
“Was?”
“He died eighteen months ago.”
I looked down.
“I'm sorry.”
Aleandro nodded once.
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Lorenzo was investigating money disappearing from one of our construction partnerships. He found evidence of fraudulent invoices and unsafe building materials.”
I frowned.
“Unsafe how?”
“Steel supports that didn't meet specifications. Concrete inspections signed off without proper testing. Buildings people were expected to live inside.”
My stomach turned.
“He was going to report it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“His car was forced off a bridge.”
I stared.
Aleandro continued.
“The police classified it as a homicide. Two men were charged with carrying out the attack. Neither identified who ordered it.”
“And you think Ryan was involved?”
“His employer appears in Lorenzo's records.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn't mean Ryan knew.”
“No.”
Aleandro leaned forward.
“And I need you to understand something. I will not ask you to accuse him to help me.”
I studied his face.
“Why not?”
“Because whatever he's done to you matters independently of whatever happened to Lorenzo.”
My eyes burned.
I looked away.
Ryan had spent months telling me nobody would believe me.
That I was too tired.
Too emotional.
Too unstable.
That if I told anyone about the bruises, they'd ask what I'd done to provoke him.
And now this stranger was sitting in front of me, telling me that what had happened to me mattered.
Even if it couldn't help him.
I didn't know what to do with that.
My phone vibrated again.
Ryan.
I flinched.
Aleandro saw.
“Would you like me to leave while you answer?”
I stared at him.
“You'd do that?”
“Yes.”
I picked up the phone.
My hand shook.
Then I pressed decline.
“No,” I whispered. “I don't want to talk to him.”
Aleandro nodded.
“Then don't.”
I looked at the screen.
Another message appeared.
I KNOW YOU'RE WITH SOMEONE.
My blood went cold.
A photograph followed.
It showed the entrance to Aleandro's Park Avenue building.
Taken that morning.
I stopped breathing.
Aleandro saw my face.
“What is it?”
I handed him the phone.
He studied the photograph.
Then stood.
“Marco.”
The security chief returned.
Aleandro showed him the screen.
Marco's expression hardened.
“Someone's watching the building.”
Aleandro looked toward the windows.
Then back at me.
“Amanda, I need to ask you something.”
I swallowed.
“What?”
“Has Ryan ever mentioned a man named Victor Sanz?”
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Because I'd heard it before.
Two weeks earlier.
Ryan had been arguing on the phone in our kitchen.
I'd been standing in the hallway.
He hadn't known I was listening.
And he'd said one sentence I couldn't forget.
“Tell Victor the nurse doesn't know anything.”
I stared at Aleandro.
He saw the answer before I spoke.
“What did you hear?” he asked.
May you like
My lips trembled.
I whispered, “I think Ryan's been using me.”
