“I have to hear this.” He still hesitates. “Kayden, please.”
“The targets have no family and very few people in their lives to miss them.”
Okay. I’m officially twisted in knots. “Confirmation my family’s dead.”
“I’m speculating, Ella, but Matteo found no missing Ella who traveled from San Francisco and no one in the DMV that fits your profile.”
“They wiped me out completely. But there have to be people who know me. Jobs? Sara?”
“Of course there are, but they aren’t going to make it easy for you to be found.”
“That’s a lot of effort.”
“Not for someone like Matteo.”
“What about a police report in the States? A missing persons report.”
“Nothing. Not there or in Europe, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t filed. It could mean it was erased from the computer databases and if it’s reentered, a flag will ensure it’s erased again.”
I can see where this is headed. “What happens to carriers when the job is done?”
“Ella—”
“What happens to carriers when the job is done, Kayden?”
“They end up dead.”
I am remarkably calm considering the harshness of that explanation. “That would explain so much.”
“There’s good news in this.”
“There is not good news, Kayden.”
“Hunting you because you’re a carrier will not remain a priority.”
“Unless I’m a carrier gone rogue who did kill someone.”
His cell phone rings, and he ignores it. “We don’t know you killed anyone.”
“I know, Kayden. But I need to be realistic here and so do you. Please get your phone. It could be about Enzo.” He hesitates. “I’m good. I’m fine.” And it’s amazingly true. “Please take the call.”
His lips press together and he digs it from his pocket. “Gallo’s boss.” He answers and says something in Italian before covering the phone and eyeing Marabella, telling me he doesn’t want her to hear the conversation. I guess Adriel was wrong. Marabella doesn’t know quite everything. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs.
I nod and sip my coffee in an effort to dislodge the cotton in my throat but fail, my gaze landing on the notebook I don’t want to open. “Where’d he go?” Marabella asks, rounding the counter with plates in her hands, as well as a small pitcher of syrup she’s juggling between her arm and breast.
“He had to take a call.”
“Always on that phone of his,” she says, setting her load down on the table, a sweet maple scent teasing my nostrils as she claims the seat across from me. “Thank you for what you did with Giada. She really took to you.”
“We had a good time talking and watching TV.”
“She says you might go shopping?”
I inwardly cringe at the realization that I haven’t called her back. “We’re going to plan it soon.”
“Excellent. She’s a good girl with a hole in her heart.”
My understanding of that statement becomes more complete by the moment. “I can see that in her.”