Page 16 of Lorenzo

God, I hope she wasn’t like one of those people.

To me death was a natural part of life. It wasn’t something I could avoid, so I lived my life while I could. “Well, I said looking at Nico and Eduardo. I can take you to my house if you prefer. In fact, now that I think about it, you might be happier there.”

“Since when do you have a house, Lorenzo?” Nico asked.

“I bought it six months ago. Penny said it was a good investment and that someday I would need it. So I bought it.”

Reaching for his phone, Nico asked, “And where is this house? I need to get some boys over there to sweep it and secure it.”

“Uh, I don’t know. Penny had all that information.”

“You bought a house without seeing it?” Donatella questioned.

“Well, yeah. I never went against your sister when she advised me on financial matters.”

“Just on everything else,” Eduardo muttered but quickly shut his mouth when I looked at him.

“I’m sure she has all that information in her office. It’s this way. Follow me,” I replied walking past the kitchen down a hallway. Stopping at the first door on the right, I opened the door and walked in to find the office trashed.

What the hell? I thought the cleaners said they were done. I was going to call Gio and give him a piece of my mind. This was totally unacceptable.

Nico and Eduardo pushed past me guns drawn.

“All her files are gone,” Eduardo said.

“So is her computer,” Nico added.

“Well shit. How am I going to find my house now?” I asked walking further into the room. The room was really a mess. Papers were strewn everywhere and the furniture had been torn apart. Pictures that once hung on the walls were now in pieces on the floor. Even the plants she had in the room were overturned, dirt everywhere.

“Is that Mr. Pickle?” she said softly behind me. I watched as she walked past me and picked up a brown teddy bear. Hugging it to her chest, those unshed tears I saw earlier finally fell down her cheeks.

Seeing her hold that stuffed animal she looked so much younger than she was. I could see the innocence, the vulnerability she tried hard to hide. After everything she’d been through, she was still young and susceptible to the dangers of the world. Her naivety was enduring and though she’d been through hell, she was still my responsibility. Wrapping her in my arms, I looked about the room and didn’t know what to do next. I knew there was no way I could ask her to stay here and without the exact location of my house, I had no place to take her but back to the compound, which was something not even I wanted.

Looking at Nico and said, “Call Antonio and see if he can locate the house I purchased. There has to be records somewhere. In the meantime, Eduardo call Gio and tell him about this. He needs to know.”

Taking her from the room, I walked her back to the central part of the penthouse and helped her sit on one of the stools in my kitchen. I loved my kitchen. It had everything I could ever want and more. State-of-the-art appliances, marble countertops and a panty that held all the delicacies from around the world. My tastes were varied and I never shied from experiencing anything new. Penny always ensured that I had all the ingredients on hand if I liked it.

Damn. That stopped me short.

Who in the hell was going to get my groceries now?

Shit. I will have to think about that later. Right now, I had a miserable guest and it was my job to make her comfortable. Opening the fridge, I looked for anything that she might like. It wasn’t like I had pig’s feet or collard greens lying around. From what I read those were comfort foods for people like her. Just thinking about any of those southern comfort foods had my stomach-churning.

Shivering, I tried not to think of them as I turned to her. “Hungry? I can make you an omelet.”

“No thank you.”

“Thirsty? I’ve got water, orange juice, papaya juice.”

“No thank you,” she whispered looking at the rug on the floor in the living room. “Lorenzo?”

“Yes.”

“Did she suffer?”

That brought me up short. Closing the fridge, I leaned across the marble bar and grabbed her hands. “Donatella. She didn’t suffer. She felt nothing.”

“She had to have been scared. I know I would have been.”


Tags: Rebecca Joyce Crime