Page 66 of The Masked King

The officer studies the name and address, his gaze hopping back and forth between the envelope and the screen. “When did you last see her?”

“Two days ago.”

He keeps his eyes on the screen while he types a virtual essay in response to the last question. He runs through the regular questions: where did I last see Kate, how did she seem when we parted, can I think of any reason why she would want to go away?

She fell out of love with me?

I offer succinct responses, noting that he doesn’t make any further eye contact. “And your name, sir?”

“Brian Sabatelli.”

He types in the name, his fingers hovering over the screen. Finally, he peers at me through the glass screen. “Would you mind waiting right there for a moment, Mr. Sabatelli? I just need to speak to a colleague. I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t wait around for my consent before disappearing into the chaos of the room behind him.

While he’s gone, my replacement cell phone rings.

My brother’s name is on the Caller ID.

“Gio?”

“I need you to fly to Rome.”

“I’m a little tied up right now, brother. Does it have to be handled in person?”

“Someone has reached out to Leo and Sofia, so no, I’m not scheduling a fucking Zoom meeting, and yes, I expect you to board the private jet within the next sixty minutes.”

The call ends with a click, and I walk out of One Police Plaza.

I have a flight to catch

Leo and Sofia, Bianca’s teenaged twins, are currently attending a prestigious boarding school in Rome, surrounded by a team of bodyguards. Bianca hasn’t mentioned them since she rocked up at my apartment, but I don’t believe in coincidences, and the timing isn’t lost on me. If this has nothing to do with her current situation, then there’s only one other explanation.

It has everything to do with JADED.

I wait for them in the library of St. Stephen’s School, surrounded by leather-bound books, the cracked spines of old tomes, and the new more subtle scent of recent textbooks. I haven’t seen my niece and nephew since the summer Demi took off. I couldn’t face Christmas in the family home and spent the holidays in Lake Tahoe instead, skiing by day, and enjoying the apres-ski activities on offer at the resort by night.

I hardly recognize them when they walk in.

At fourteen, Leo is already taller than me when I stand up to greet them with a hug. He suffers my arms around him without reciprocating, turning each cheek to receive a kiss as if he can’t think of anything more mortifying, and sits down on a leather couch without a word.

Sofia’s features have reassembled themselves so that she no longer carries her father’s genes around in her dark eyes. Now, she is all Bianca. Her smile, the way she stands on tiptoes to present her cheeks, the way she tucks her thick coppery hair behind her ear. Even the way she languishes on the couch and elegantly crosses her legs, swinging one Versace-sneaker-clad foot because, like her mom, she finds it difficult to remain still for any length of time.

They’re both good-looking kids, but Sofia is stunning, and this frightens the life out of me, even though she isn’t my daughter.

“Why are you here, Uncle Enzo?” she asks.

Neither of them is fazed by the bodyguards flanking the library door, ensuring that no one else interrupts our family reunion.

“Gio had a call from your security team. He said that someone had reached out to you.” Confusion gnaws at my insides when they both watch me with wide innocent eyes.

“If you’re talking about our mother,” Leo speaks first, his eyes meeting mine briefly, “then they’re wrong.”

I detect a hint of bitterness in his voice. I get it. Their father is dead, their mom has had no contact with them in almost two years, and they were forced to leave their life in LA behind for boarding school in Rome, and a family home in Sicily they only get to see during school breaks.

“Someone else then?” I press. “Someone who understands your family connection to the Sabatelli name.”

Leo and Sofia have their father’s name, D’Angelo, but anyone with links to the Sicilian mafia will know their entire family history.

Sofia smiles. “Are you trying to be diplomatic, Uncle Enzo?”