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IT’S FUNNY HOW IN AN entire lifetime, there are a few moments that define your way of thinking. And how just one week can alter the entire course of a life is astonishingly sad. Those six days of constantly worrying about what would happen to me had a profound impact on my reasoning skills. Those few days changed my way of thinking because every second of the day, I was occupied with keeping the fear at bay and my mind clear. It changed my life, and it changed the course of my life with it.

All I’ve done is try to sleep, and it works for several hours, but as soon as I wake, I’m back to being confronted with my reality. And my reality is that – even though I hate to admit it – I miss Luca. I miss his arms comforting me, holding me. So many times over the weekend, I’ve almost succumbed to calling Luca back, but I couldn’t. The hurt over how for months he lied about his mafia life, which eventually led to me being held captive at the Syndicate’s headquarters for six days, is something I can’t forget.

Monday morning, I’m standing before my door, absolutely not ready to face the world, but I must go to work. Inhaling an encouraging breath, I push down the lever.

When I get outside, a rush of warm summer wind blows through my skirt. I’m wearing a floor-length summer dress with a linen jacket to help cover the cuts and bruises that are still healing on my arms and knees, and while the bruises on my face have faded and the slight discoloration that remains has been covered with foundation, I take my aviator sunglasses from my purse and put them on because I feel more confident hiding behind them. During the hurried fifteen-minute walk to work, I have the distinct feeling that someone is following me. I look around, expecting to be met with Luca’s green eyes, but everyone walks past me on the crowded sidewalk, and I don’t see anything unusual.

When I reach my building, I go through the revolving doors toward the elevators and smile at a few acquaintances.

As the elevator doors open on the floor to my office, I’m met with my colleagues and a lot of people I don’t recognize gathered in the middle of the space. I immediately make my way to Jason – who’s leaning against his desk on the right – while taking my bag off my shoulder and holding it in my grasp, just to have something in my hands.

“Morning, feeling better?” he asks as I stand beside him.

Jason believes I was sick at home last week. I haven’t told anyone about the kidnapping. “A little. What’s going on?” I motion to the crowd in the middle of the room just as a man in a tailored charcoal suit steps in front of us.

“I think they’re going to explain what will happen now, after Alex’s death,” he whispers, right before we move our attention to the man who’s about to speak.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Alex’s stepbrother, Ashton Banks. Thank you all for coming to work. It’s been a shock for our family to learn about Alex’s death, and before I continue, I’d like to remind all the employees about your non-disclosure agreement in your contract which prohibits you from speaking or leaking any company information to the media,” he states in a businesslike tone.

I fleetingly scan the room and see that everyone is riveted to find out where he’s going with this. Jason grimaces slightly at me, thinking more bad news is to follow.

Ashton continues, “Unfortunately, Alex’s death means the end of Charity Events.” People start to murmur instantly, but Ashton raises his voice. “Severance packages have been set up according to your contracts. We will also offer you outplacement assistance to help you find a new job. My human resource manager, Chantal Greene, will assist you and has made appointments with each of you this morning. You can direct all of your questions to her. Furthermore, Detective Richard Wade would like to talk to several of you. Thank you for your cooperation, and please let Chantal know if you plan to attend the funeral on Wednesday as she can provide the address.” Then he steps aside to receive condolences.

I notice several police officers standing outside the door of Alex’s office, including the detective who I was supposed to call for an appointment at the precinct today. Our eyes meet, and he holds my gaze for an uncomfortable moment. Detective Wade came to my house last Saturday with the news that Alex had left a note in his safe with a message about me scribbled on it. My first thought was the Syndicate. I’m positive Luca killed Alex after I revealed Alex’s blackmail scheme to him, but did Alex write that note or did Luca? I wanted to call Luca, but maybe Luca left that note to tie me to him or the case somehow?

I’m so confused.

“We’re unemployed.” Jason interrupts my stare-off with Wade.

Turning toward him, I place my bag on the desk. “This sucks. I’m not getting anything worthwhile; I haven’t even worked here for a year. How long have you worked here?”

“Year and a half. I’m not getting much more than you.” He folds his arms across his chest. “That was a cold speech.”

“It seems like he just wants to get this over with.” From the corner of my eye, I spot Detective Wade heading toward me. Since I don’t want Jason to hear our conversation, I move away from him quickly. “I’m going to check my appointments and e-mail.” And I step toward one of the private offices, pretending not to notice Wade.

“Miss Michaels.” Wade’s impatient voice rings in my ears.

Swiveling around, I greet him with a small smile. “Good morning.”

This guy’s dirty blond hair makes him look young, but I think he’s around thirty.

He holds out his hand. “Detective Richard Wade.” His colleague, a long-legged brunette, joins him. “This is Detective Kelli Ann Collopy.”

“Hi.”

“I was expecting your call, Miss Michaels.” He tilts his head to the side.

“I was going to call you this morning from work,” I explain and stop there because I don’t want to risk saying too much. I still have no idea what I’m supposed to say about the note Alex left behind stating to contact Fallon Michaels if anything happens to him.

“We can talk now.” The woman strolls into the private office and holds the door open for us to enter.

She closes it as Wade leans against the window, facing me and gestures for me to sit. “Can I call you Fallon?”

“Sure.”

“Fallon, Alex’s autopsy revealed he died of a heroin overdose. However, after finding the note he left, we must look further into this case. What exactly was your relationship with Alex?”

Heroin overdose? How did the Syndicate set that up? “Apart from the employer-employee relationship, we didn’t have one.”

“The note implies very differently,” Collopy comments from behind me.

“Maybe, but I never spoke to Alex outside of work.”

Wade’s eyes narrow, and he motions for his colleague to clear out of the room. “Fallon, what are you not telling me?” he asks after Collopy has left.

I don’t back down under his gaze, and I try to control my emotions and mask them the way I’ve seen Luca do so many times. Although obviously I’m unsuccessful since Wade asks what I’m hiding after one answer. Still, I remain quiet. I’m not being interrogated, and I won’t speak until I’m forced to.

Wade steps forward and releases a soft sigh. “Listen—” He stops abruptly, and his eyes whip from my feet back up. “Are you hurt?” His face softens because he’s seen my bruises and scratches.

I pull my skirt over my feet to hide them. “No, just some scratches.”

“How did you get them?”

“Happened when I was at the lake,” I retort.

“Okay...” He clearly doesn’t believe me but lets it go. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about Alex the last couple of weeks?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea why he would have written that note?”

Who says he wrote that note? “No.”

“Did you have anything to do with Alex Gentry’s death, Miss Michaels?”

Back to Miss Michaels now. “No. Am I a suspect?”

“No,” he replies and paces to the door. “But you are to stay available for further questioning. And, Fallon, when you’re ready to talk, call me.” He hands me another one of his cards and locks eyes with mine as he lowers his voice. “Call me; no one else. Don’t forget.”

I frown at his conspiratorial tone and take the card. I make my way over to one of the desks where I overhear Ashton speaking to Chantal in the kitchen. “Wrap it up quickly.”

I look around to find Jason as I power on my laptop, yet I don’t see him. Then I read Chantal’s e-mail which states that if an employee doesn’t have any questions, they can choose to sign the documents immediately to terminate their contract and finalize the severance package. I print the documents and sign them before handing the papers over to Chantal. The amount of money I’m receiving will only keep me afloat for a couple of months, so I’ll need a new job as soon as possible or else I’m screwed.

After taking all my belongings, which aren’t much, I leave the office to head home.

At home, I’m back to sitting on the couch and staring at my ceiling, struggling to let everything sink in, when Danny pops into my mind. He’s my ex-boyfriend who turned out to be a hacker for the Syndicate and the catalyst for Luca arranging to meet me in that club at the beginning of this year. I can’t refrain from checking his social media profile on my phone, and my eyes instantly water at reading all the goodbye messages from his friends and family. Danny betrayed the Syndicate and paid with his life. I see that his father has posted an update about his funeral which is, apparently, taking place tomorrow. I make the snap decision to attend the service.