An image of Roberto’s father pops up. The only reason I know it’s him is the graphic label beneath his name. I’ve never met the man before, but I can see the family resemblance in the dark eyebrows and chin dimple.
“When we found out Roberto was with the girl the night he died, we had to wonder if her uncle is simply covering for her. The evidence is dicey, and there’s a chance the case could be dismissed due to lack of evidence.” He wags his finger in the air. “But they’re looking at the wrong evidence! They should be hunting for proof of the girl. Roberto knew better than to spend time with a Sorrentino. He was probably telling her to leave him alone and she took offense and killed him. That’s what a Sorrentino does.”
My eyebrows wrinkle with confusion. What the hell is he talking about?
“Unbelievable.” Riley shakes his head as the anchorwoman comes back into shot.
“The Sorrentino family has refused to comment on the accusation. When asked about the whereabouts of their daughter, they simply said she’d run away. According to police, the family reported her missing over a week ago. Authorities have been looking into the case but with the note she left behind, it’s likely the girl ran away, making Mr. Candella’s claims that much more substantial. It is unlikely the police can overlook this, and the Candella family is insisting on a nationwide manhunt.”
Back to Mr. Candella, his eyes dark with rage and despair. “I’d pay good money to have her brought to justice. Please, if you have any information or you are sheltering this criminal, now is the time to speak up.”
An image pops up on the screen, and my heart stops beating.
It’s me with pale eyebrows and silky brown hair. My face is made up—plump eyelashes, glistening lipstick. I look like the perfect girl I used to be, smiling for the camera and making the average schoolgirl jealous. I used to be beautiful then.
Now I’m a scrawny boy who’s just been accused of murder.
The air in my lungs gives out.
I’m cold. Numb. Horrified.
“No way.” Riley’s eyes narrow as he stares at the screen. “Her?”
“Get out,” I croak.
Riley glances over his shoulder. “What?”
“Get out!” I practically scream, giving myself away. “Turn that shit off and get lost!”
“What the hell is your problem?” Riley’s face bunches, making his pale eyebrows wonky. “Has Ivan been at you again?” He squints, looking for bruises on my face.
I’m going to lose it in a second. My chaotic heart feels like it’s about to jump straight out of my body.
A reward. For me?
No, not me. My head. My lifeless body on a platter.
“I’ve had a shit day and I need some space,” I whisper, choking back my scream.
Crossing his arms, he stands his ground. The belligerent idiot!
“Just let me finish watching the news and—”
“Get out!” I scream. Shoving past him, I slap the laptop closed to cut off the images.
“Hey, be careful with that!” Riley jumps forward to rescue his precious hardware. He holds it carefully, checking for damage. “You are one crazy psycho.”
“Out!” I grab the flashlight off my desk and hurl it at him. It clips the edge of his cheek, then thumps to the floor.
Everything goes quiet except for the sound of my rapid breathing.
My chest heaves while I grab the edge of my desk and stare at Riley’s shocked expression.
A red welt has already formed on his cheekbone.
Shit. It’s bleeding.
Brushing the thick locks off his forehead with first-class dignity, he fires me a black look before calling me a fucking moron and storming out of the room.
The door slams shut behind him.
I flinch.
Breathing is still a struggle. My hands are shaking.
Bile surges within me and I grab the trash can at my feet. Holding it like a teddy bear, I drop to my knees and give away my lunch.
The retching makes me cry.
Or maybe it’s the news.
A flashback hits me from behind, making my eyes bulge and my stomach writhe with a sob. Covering my mouth with shaking fingers, I remember…
“Ana? What’s the matter?” My mother catches me as I run into the main entrance of our house.
My eyes are wild, my breathing erratic. “He killed him. Shot him dead.”
Mom swallows, running the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, then biting them together.
I grip her arms as she holds my face. “What are you talking about?”
“Robbie. Robbie’s dead.”
“Who’s Robbie?”
“My friend!”
“From school?”
“No, I met him at the beach a few weeks ago! We’ve been hanging out.”
Mom frowns, getting distracted by the fact she doesn’t know him.
“Robbie Candella!” I scream his name, like it’ll somehow explain everything.
Mom lets go of my face and steps back. “You’ve been seeing a Candella?” she whispers, her voice black and acidic.
“What’s his name got to do with it! He’s dead! Did you hear me?”
Mom’s eyes start to glisten as she crosses her arms. “Who killed him?”
“Uncle Marco.”
The breath whooshes out of her and she blinks a couple of times. “You saw?”
“Yes. I saw.”
“Are you sure it was him?”