Page 12
“All fine, sir. Thank you for asking.”
“Do the girls like their new school?”
Sergei blinked, like he was surprised Nico remembered, but Nico tried to file these tidbits away. People didn’t remain loyal if you treated them like shit. Unhappy and underpaid employees either went looking for work elsewhere, or they fucked your shit up when you least suspected it. His father learned this lesson the hard way—one of the many reasons the family left Milano and came to Toronto—and Nico was determined never to make the same mistake.
“Yes, sir. They do. Shchyro dyakuyu.” Thank you sincerely.
“If you or they need anything, you’ll let me know. Now, you said you have something for me?”
“We do, sir. Follow me. Michael found it.”
That was one of many things Nico liked about Sergei: he didn’t try to take credit for the work of others. Nico trailed him to one of the desks where a young man was nervously squeezing a stress ball. After Sergei introduced them, Nico shook Michael’s hand. “Show me what you found.”
The kid began clicking around with his mouse, bringing up a video program. “We were able to get into the camera recordings of a nearby restaurant the night your cousin . . . I mean, when she . . . ”
Nico placed a hand on his shoulder. “I understand. Just show me.”
The grainy image wasn’t high quality or a great angle. It was hard to see faces, but Nico knew Sofia, both from the vintage coat she was wearing and her long dark hair.
“There, that is her,” Michael said. “And that is the man.”
The man had an arm around Sofia, supporting her as she stumbled along the walk, guiding her along, and most anyone walking by would assume she was drunk, not drugged. Nico peered closer, hoping to see the man’s identity. Unfortunately, his features were not visible from the top-down angle. “Can you zoom in on him? Increase the resolution?”
“Yes, I have been doing this, sir.” More clicks of his mouse. “This is the best we can get.”
They were stills, and the images were not clear enough to identify the man. He had on a baseball cap and wore a black or navy peacoat-style jacket. “Fuck. I want to see his face.”
Michael pointed to the screen. “Do you see this?”
Nico peered closer. There it was, on the wrist attached to the hand resting on Sofia’s shoulder. A bracelet . . . with round beads. “What the fuck is that?”
“You know those colored bracelets that spell out words?”
“No.”
“Well, fans sometimes give them to famous people.”
“And?”
Michael shrugged. “If you can find this bracelet, you might be able to find the guy.”
“Any idea what it says?”
Michael switched to a few different stills where he’d tried to enlarge the writing on the bracelet. They were all too fuzzy to read. “Sorry, Mr. Marzano. I’ve been trying, but the camera is too far away.”
Cazzo, this was like a puzzle with more and more layers and no solution. “Any other cameras in the area?”
“Not in this neighborhood.”
Nico clenched his jaw. There wasn't much to go on. How had this asshole stayed this lucky? Nico gestured toward the screens. “I’ll take whatever printouts you have. Keep searching for nearby cameras. Even if you need to send someone over to break in. He got her near his car before he left her on the ground. I want this stronzo’s plate number.”
“We will, signore,” Sergei promised.
“Grazie, both of you.”
Michael handed over a set of photographs. “Radyy dopomohty.” Glad to help.
Sergei echoed this, then added, “I hope you catch him, signore.”
