2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Daniella

Days slip by in a haze of condolences and unanswered questions, each moment weighed down by the heavy silence of Jeremy's absence.

The encounter with Massimo Ranieri and his mysterious companion still gnaws at my thoughts like a persistent ache.

Their claim that they knew Jeremy from college continues to haunt me, though I know it can't possibly be true. But I do know that his life before we met was a closed book, marked by scars he rarely spoke of.

In his study, I sift through the remnants of his life—papers, books, and a worn leather journal tucked away in a drawer. I hesitate, knowing Jeremy was a private man, guarding his past with unwavering secrecy. Driven by an insatiable need for answers, I open the journal.

The pages reveal fragments of a life I never knew—the hardships of his childhood, the resilience that carried him through years of foster care, and the determination that led him to forge a new path when others had failed him.

But amidst the stories of survival, there are hints of darkness—a debt owed here and there, a shadowy figure from the past that Jeremy feared would one day resurface. No names were mentioned though, and I know he was probably referring to one of the foster parents, or maybe someone else he met during that time.

That night, restless and consumed by uncertainty, I find myself staring out the window, the city lights shimmering in the distance.

Jeremy loved this view, finding solace in its quiet beauty. Now, it serves as a stark reminder of the void he has left behind.

Days blur together in a haze of grief and unanswered questions. Each morning brings the same routine: wake, shower, dress, eat—mechanical actions to fill the emptiness left by Jeremy's absence.

His shirt, still clutched in my arms some mornings, offers a fleeting comfort, its fabric worn and familiar against my skin.

But the scent of sandalwood and cologne that once brought solace, now just served as a painful reminder of what I have lost.

Renee doesn't wait for me to call her. She sounds cheery and for a moment, I try to remember what happiness used to feel like for me.

“How are you holding up?”

“Good, I guess. I was going through his belongings and it made me feel a little closer to him.”

“Do you want some company? I know a place that makes the best coffee. The owners are Italian, so they know their stuff. Or we could just sit at home and watch a movie or even sit in silence, whatever you want.”

I want to ask her why she’s trying so hard to be my friend. We’ve worked together for a while now and she’s never been like this.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s always been friendly, kind, and funny, but she's that way to everyone.

“Thanks, but I think I just need some more time by myself. But it's very kind of you to offer.” A silence hangs between us and it’s heavy. Maybe she’ll hang up now. Maybe she's tired of my moodiness.

“I wonder what Jeremy’s doing right now,” she muses, her voice a gentle murmur that cut through the heavy silence between us. She goes on without waiting for me to say anything back.

“He’s probably looking down at you and wondering why the hell you’re refusing to go out for the best coffee of your life. He’s probably wondering what on earth you’re going to do with yourself now.”

It’s such an unexpected thing to hear her say, that I laugh a little and manage a weak smile, grateful for her attempt to lighten the weight pressing down on me.

“I promise to say yes the next time you invite me out just…not today.”

“Okay. I get it. Take your time.”

Restlessness is a living, breathing thing clawing at my soul one evening, like a persistent itch that refuses to be ignored. Jeremy's car is still parked in the garage like a silent sentinel. The police say that the brakes had malfunctioned and led to his death. The coroner's report stated that he had driven the car into the water with no sign of slowing down.

Jeremy had loved that car with everything that he had. It was a classic car. He had spent hours working on it each week, keeping it in tip-top shape.

It seems like such a waste to just let it sit in the garage in its current, abysmal state. I needed to fix it and I knew just who to call.

Mike Willow had been my dad’s friend when he was still alive. My dad and I would spend Sunday evenings with Mike and his big family. We enjoyed cookouts and barbecues and holidays with them.

It was always a celebration in Mike’s house. Growing up, I used to wish that I had been born to a member of his family because of how tight-knit they all were.

I pick up my phone and dial his number. He picks on the first ring.

“Dani, how are you?” His voice is like a hand from the past, reaching out to comfort me and I almost start to cry.

“Hey Mike, I’m fine. How are Loraine and the kids?”

“They’re good. They miss you. We all miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss them too.”

“How you holding up kiddo?” I sigh and pace the length of my room.

“It’s not been the easiest. Sometimes I watch the door, expecting him to walk in with his silly smile and big briefcase and then I remember.”

“Losing someone is never easy.”

I sigh. “I know that. I’ve had a lot of practice, remember?”

It’s morbid and probably too dark a subject to joke about, but Mike and I have always shared a twisted sense of humor.

“That you have. Maybe a little too much. Come over for dinner. I know Loraine would be excited to see you.”

“I was actually calling to ask for a favor.”

“Sure thing, what do you need?”

“The night that Jeremy died, he was driving his Cadillac and the coroner’s report says that the car suffered an issue with the brakes, which was what caused the accident. I know how much he loved that car and I want it fixed up.”

“Consider it done. I’ll send someone over to get it from you.”

I smile.

“Thank you, Mike, see you later.”

***

Two days later, I pull into the driveway of Mike’s Auto Repair, the familiar sight of the worn, red-brick building bringing a semblance of comfort. The peeling paint on the garage doors and the hand-painted sign have been the same since I was a teenager.

Mike himself is outside, wiping his hands on a rag as he finishes up with another customer. He’s a burly man in his sixties, with a thick mustache and kind eyes that have always made me feel safe.

"Hey, Mike," I call out, stepping out of my car that I drove here. My voice trembles slightly, betraying the anxiety bubbling inside me.

"Daniella.” He opens his arms wide and I settle myself into his embrace. “Oh child, it’s been too long. Micah would be turning in his grave.”

“Nah, my dad would know that it’s my fault for being distant.”

He releases me and gives my shoulders a squeeze.

“All right. Let’s look at that car.”

Mike has been a mechanic for as long as I can remember. He’s worked for many big garage businesses before opening up his own auto shop about twenty years ago. He likes to joke that his kidneys and liver are all car parts and engine oil flows through his veins. I’ve never seen a car he couldn’t fix.

Mike nods, motioning for me to follow him as he wheels out his tools. "Let’s take a look."

I stand to the side, arms crossed tightly over my chest as Mike gets to work. His movements are practiced and sure, the years of experience evident in every turn of his wrench.

The garage smells of oil and grease, a scent that used to remind me of Jeremy and my teenage escapades.

I watch as Mike frowns, delving deeper into the car’s internal workings. His expression grows more serious with each passing minute.

"Dani," he calls finally, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Come here."

I step closer, my heart pounding. "What is it?"

"The brake lines," he says, pointing to the severed lines. "They’ve been cut."

I stare at him, my mind reeling. "Cut? Are you sure?"

He nods grimly. "Positive. Someone tampered with the car. I don’t think this was an accident."

A cold shiver runs down my spine. "A-are you sure? I mean, I know you’re an expert but…you’re telling me that someone intentionally did this?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn't true, kid. I’m sure.”

My mind is reeling. Someone has yanked the earth from underneath my feet and I feel like I’m falling. I clutch my purse tightly as if this will restore my equilibrium.

“Why…who…who would do something like that?"

Mike looks at me sympathetically. "I don’t know. Tell me what happened that night.”

I shake my head, trying to clear the clouds gathering in my brain.

“We went out for dinner and we were taking a late-night stroll when he got a call. It looked serious because after he finished speaking to whoever he was speaking to, he wasn’t smiling. He told me he had to go somewhere for something work-related and I just assumed it was his boss ignoring the rules of work-life balance again. He dropped me off at home and drove off and…I never saw him again.”

“All right. Shouldn’t you tell someone? The police, maybe?” Mike asks, but I shake my head again.

“I don’t know. I need to report this, but I’m scared. If someone did this on purpose, then it means his death wasn’t an accident. I don’t want to be the next person to ‘vanish’ conveniently just because I went to the police.”

“Why would someone want to hurt Jeremy?”

I spread my hands. I have no idea either.

“That’s why I need to go into this prepared. I need to go to the police, but I need proof. I guess we should take some pictures of the damage to start with.”

“There’s no data to collect since the car is so old. Only newer cars collect information during and after a crash,” he tells me.

I sigh and nod before starting to take pictures. I don’t know if this is enough to actually help figure out who killed Jeremy, but it’s a start.

I had a bad feeling that night and now I know why. I just don’t understand how Jeremy could have been involved in something dangerous like this. He was just a sweet boy who worked in an office.

“Want to stay for dinner?” Mike offers.

I shake my head. If this new development turns out to be something dangerous, I want him and his family to be as far from it as possible.

“No, I’m going to go straight to the cops. Thank you, Mike.” He hugs me again, and I hop in my car and drive off.

As I drive, my mind is whirling with possibilities. Someone did this intentionally. Someone tried to kill Jeremy and they succeeded. I need answers.

The drive to the police station feels surreal, thoughts of the cut brake lines weighing on my mind. The city's evening hustle is in full swing, but the usual buzz of downtown feels distant, muted. Streetlights cast long shadows on the asphalt and the occasional honk of a car horn barely registers with me.

The police station looms ahead, a stark, concrete building with bars on the windows. Its facade is austere and almost imposing. I park the car and take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead.

Inside, the station is a flurry of activity. Officers in navy blue uniforms bustle about, some typing furiously at their desks, others talking animatedly on their phones. The scent of stale coffee and paper mingles in the air, a testament to long hours and hard work.

I approach the front desk, where a young officer with a kind face and short, cropped hair is seated.

"Good evening, ma'am. How can I help you?" he asks, his voice steady and professional.

"I…my name is Daniella and two weeks ago, my fiancé died in a car accident.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” the officer says. He sounds sympathetic but confused, probably wondering why I’m giving him this information.

“I have reason to believe that it was not an accident at all. Who do I speak with? I reply, my voice firm despite the anxiety gnawing at me.

He seems to sense the urgency of the situation. He stands up. "Please wait here. I'll get someone to assist you."

A few minutes later, a tall, broad-shouldered officer with a serious demeanor approaches me. His eyes are sharp, scanning me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Good evening. I'm Detective Wesley. Follow me, please."

I follow him through a maze of desks and offices, finally arriving at a small, windowless room. The walls are painted a drab gray and a single fluorescent light hums overhead. A large wooden table occupies the center of the room, flanked by a few uncomfortable-looking chairs.

"Please, have a seat," Detective Wesley says, closing the door behind us.

I sit down, placing my phone on the table in front of me.

“Miss Roberto, I am truly sorry for your loss. I was here the night the accident was called in.”

“Thank you. These pictures show my fiancé's car's brake lines. They were cut.”

The office raises an eyebrow at this. “I don’t know how that was missed in the investigation, but maybe no one thought that there was foul play involved.” He takes my phone and looks at the images.

He passes my phone back to me. I notice that my fingers are shaking a little as I take the phone back. “My fiancé seemed upset when he dropped me off at home. He said that he had to meet someone for work, but he didn’t tell me anything else. He works in an office. He’s not someone who would usually need to take care of work at night.”

I pause, then forge ahead even if I’m opening myself up to potential retaliation from someone or some organization. “Also, there was a man at his funeral. He said his name was Massimo Ranieri. He said he met Jeremy in college. But Jeremy didn’t go to college.”

“Massimo Ranieri?” the police officer says, straightening in his seat.

I nod tightly. “Yes. Handsome. He looked Italian. He wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“I know why,” the office says, his voice tense. His eyes meet mine for a moment as if he was appraising me. "This is indeed troubling, Miss Roberto. Massimo is the head of one of the biggest mafia families in the city, but we haven't ever been able to pin anything substantial on him. This might be the break we need."

“Mafia?” I whisper, my heart racing.

"We'll launch a full investigation," he assures me. "But I must warn you, this could get dangerous. Massimo has connections and he's not afraid to use them."

"I understand," I say, my voice steady. "I don’t know why Jeremy would have been ‘friends’ of theirs or why they would want to hurt him.”

Detective Wesley gives me a nod. "We'll do our part to figure that out. In the meantime, I suggest you be very careful. Watch your back and if you notice anything suspicious, contact us immediately."

I leave the station with a mixture of relief and dread sitting under my breastbone. The wheels of justice are in motion, but the danger feels more real than ever. As I drive home, the city lights blur and the enormity of what I've set in motion sinks in. There's no turning back now.

Back home, I begin my research. Hours pass as I dig through endless articles and websites, piecing together Massimo’s connections. He’s linked to shady dealings, his name appearing in reports of corruption and crime. But there’s never been anything concrete enough to put him behind bars.

My frustration mounts as I sift through the information, feeling the weight of Jeremy’s death more acutely with each passing moment. But I won’t stop looking for answers.

I can’t stop.

I owe it to Jeremy and to myself, to uncover the truth.