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Chapter
One
AURORA
Coming home to find my father’s body draped over the couch with a bullet in his brain is the defining moment of my life.
Just a couple of hours ago, we enjoyed dinner together.
“I just want you to be happy, pumpkin,” he said over his plate of meatballs.
“I will be,” I responded. The reason I’m not happy? My mother died from breast cancer just a few months ago, and I’m still processing.
The only person I had left was my father—Giovanni Costa.
And now, he’s dead.
I rush to his body, my hands hovering over his neck. Should I check his pulse or not? I don’t want to because I know what it’ll mean, and then it will be real.
I wanted to stay out after our meal and shop for new shoes because my heels were starting to wear down. So, while I visiteda few stores, my father returned home and left me with our guard.
Bracing myself, I check his pulse, and it tells me everything I already knew. I crumple to my knees and sob. Large, body-wracking sobs. My father, my kind sweet father, is dead.
Someone killed him. Someone came into our home while I was out shopping for shoes and murdered him.
But why?
I knew my father was into … something. He had a job that he never told me about, but I’m not naïve. I knew he was involved in something shady. I just never asked what, and now, I worry he paid the price for it.
I force myself to stand up. If someone killed my father, they might come after me. I always thought the reason we had a bodyguard was because we’re wealthy. I never thought it would be … because someone wanted my father dead.
I have to call the police. I need help. My hands shake as I pull my phone from my purse and start to dial 9-1-1. I only type in the “9” when I stop.
What if someone thinks I did this? I have a clear alibi with our guard, Jack, so that’s irrational. Fine. But … what if the person who killed my father comes after me because I called the police?
I’m not thinking straight.
All I can think about is him lying on our couch with a bullet in his brain. The TV is off, so he wasn’t watching it when he died. Unless the person who did this turned it off. What was my father doing right before he died?
His kind smile over dinner flashes through my brain. That was just hours ago. None of this can be happening. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
I curl back into a ball and soon realize I’m hyperventilating. None of this makes sense. Who would want to murder my father?
I have to get Jack in here. He’ll know what to do.
Forcing my breathing to return to normal, I stand up and walk outside. Jack is standing on the porch, his spine ramrod straight.
“Aurora?” he asks.
“My father is dead.”
All the color drains from Jack’s face as he runs inside. He stops short when he sees my father. “I …”
“How did this happen?” I whisper.
“I was with you. I didn’t know. I …” Jack’s face turns crestfallen. He worked for my father for decades, even before I was born. I know they were close.
“What do we do? I mean, who did this?”
