“Yeah, in addition to their normal trash collection and vacuuming, they wipe down everything, steam-clean the furniture, you know, make it spic and span. I paid extra for it in my office last spring, and they did a great job.”
“Hmm.” It had been almost a year since she began renting this office, and the space needed refreshing. She stole a guilty glance toward the sofa. That particular piece of furniture could definitely use some steam cleaning. A pulse of electricity sparked at the base of her spine as she remembered the feel of Logan’s sure, strong hands massaging her inner thigh, his rough fingers creeping toward her wet, receptive center …
“… so they can move the furniture around.”
“What?” Sophie shook her head rapidly, snapping out of her sexy daydream.
“I said, you have to get your belongings off the floor so the cleaners can vacuum underneath the furniture.”
“Oh.”
Jacki narrowed her eyes. “What’s with you lately, Sophie? You haven’t joined me for lunch in over a month.”
“I’m s-s-sorry. I’ve been busy.”
Frowning, Jacki touched Sophie’s thin forearm. “You seem stressed. Anything you want to talk about?”
Talking to colleagues was the last thing she wanted to do. Her lips tightening, Sophie said, “Thank you, Jacki. You’ve been great helping me start my practice. I’m just, it’s all rather overwhelming—fighting with insurance companies, collecting on unpaid bills—I’m trying to get to know all these new clients.” She gulped as she realized she now knew one of those clients in the biblical sense. “And I’m feeling exhausted at the end of the day.”
“I hear you,” Jacki smiled. “My first year was rough too. It gets easier, though. So, are you in for the deep cleaning?”
“Sounds great. Thanks for letting me know. They’ll just add it to my cleaning bill?”
Jacki nodded. “Yep. I gotta run. Catch you later, Sofita.”
Sophie giggled. “Adios, chica.”
When Jacki left, Sophie turned her attention to her office, suddenly noticing the accumulated dust and grime. Examining the offending sofa, she was relieved when she could not detect any stains on the cushions.
“I wonder if I can move this puppy myself?” she wondered out loud. Grasping the armrest, she wriggled the bulky sofa away from the wall.
Peering down into the shadowed space behind, Sophie tried to identify the uncovered objects. There appeared to be thick white envelopes littering the floor. Squatting down, she shoved the sofa out a few more inches, which allowed her to reach one of the envelopes.
A sick feeling kindled in her gut. She had seen this envelope before. Her uneasiness bloomed into full-blown nausea as she lifted the flap to find crisp one-hundred-dollar bills stacked neatly inside. Sophie staggered backward, landing in her chair with a thump. Her hand tightened around the envelope and she clutched it to her chest. Logan.
Sophie rose and wrenched the sofa completely away from the wall, almost toppling over the lamp on the nearby end table in the process. She frantically scooped up the envelopes, horrified by the sheer number of them, and threw her bundle on the sofa.
Despite her panic, she methodically opened each envelope and counted each and every bill. Once finished, she counted again. There were fifty one-hundred-dollar bills in each envelope, and twenty envelopes lying in a pile, staring back at her menacingly. She gasped, drawing her hand to her mouth. She had one hundred thousand dollars hidden in her office!
Why the hell had Logan left that much money here? What did he plan to do with it? Where had it come from? When had he hidden it?
Questions swirled through her brain, making her feel dizzy.
She pushed herself up to standing, swaying a bit, and went to sit at her desk. Intending to call Logan right away and demand that he explain, Sophie instead opened her computer. Swiftly clicking the internet icon, her fingers flew over the keys as she typed LOGAN BARBERI into the search engine.
The first hit was a newspaper photo: “Angelo Barberi Acquitted.” Sophie frantically clicked the link and was stunned to see a photograph of a younger Logan sitting in what appeared to be a courthouse. The caption read: Logan Barberi attends the trial of his uncle, Angelo Barberi.
Sophie returned to the search engine and typed ANGELO BARBERI. Once she read the first paragraph of the story, she knew she was going to vomit.
November 10, 2001—In a shocking end to the trial of alleged mobster Angelo Barberi, attorney Nick Gladden (known in some circles as “Slick Nick”) was able to clear his client of all racketeering charges by discrediting several material witnesses. Gladden’s skillful questioning of the government’s linchpin, Steven Albeiro, owner of Albeiro Construction, revealed that Albeiro had failed to pay taxes in 1999 and 2000, calling into question the witness’ integrity. Albeiro had brought forth allegations that his business went bankrupt due to being forced to pay protection to Barberi’s consulting firm, Barberi Family Consulting. Angelo Barberi is the younger brother of Vicenzo Barberi, who has been serving a life sentence for first-degree murder since 1986.
Sophie tried to swallow, but she her mouth was completely dry. With trembling hands, she typed VICENZO BARBERI into the search engine. Utterly horrified, she read that the Mafia godfather had been convicted of murdering a seven-year-old boy during a home invasion twenty-one years ago. The article made a point of mentioning that Vicenzo’s wife and two sons, ages thirteen and eight, had not attended his trial. She did the math in her head, knowing Logan was now thirty-four. He was Barberi’s older son.
Slumping back in her chair, Sophie stared dumbly at her computer screen. Logan’s father and uncle were in the Mafia. Logan had to be a mobster too. Sophie knew it. She knew it was true. She had trusted him completely. She had given herself to him, and the whole time he had been a sleazy, deceitful criminal. He and his family were not fucking consultants! They were Mafia!
Why hadn’t she searched his name on the internet before? Why? Because she was too damn trusting. She had listened to his every lie with rapt interest and deep concern. She’d tried to take care of him, while every session he was hiding dirty money underneath her sofa. Their entire relationship was dirty. Dirty and depraved. She now felt sick at the thought of his rough touch on her smooth skin, and she dissolved into tears.
Once she finally raised her head to gaze again at the stacks of money on her sofa, she knew she needed to confront him. She removed Logan’s chart from her desk drawer to locate his cell phone number, finding it ironic that she didn’t know his number by heart. They’d actually never seen each other outside their regularly scheduled appointments, maintaining the illusion that everything between them was prim and proper. Well, the illusion was now over. The illusion was smashed to a million little pieces.
He answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”
Sophie’s heart shattered, hearing his deep baritone. “Logan?”
“Who the hell is this?”
“It’s Sophie.”
There was silence, and then, “Hey! You’ve never called me before. What’s up, Doc?”