13. Theo

The next morning, we don"t talk anymore about what happened last night, about my abysmal behavior, or that I"d gotten shit-faced drunk when I rarely even drink.

Only when I get to work do I think clearly about what happened and my suspicions regarding Bianca"s whereabouts. I get progressively pissed at myself for letting my insecurities get the best of me when I don"t have any definitive proof she"s having an affair. There has to be an explanation for her behavior these past few months, right? I don"t want to accuse her of something and break our trust, or worse, see the disappointment in her eyes.

As much as I try to tell myself there has to be an explanation and that she isn"t cheating, I can"t help but still chew on it even hours later when Marcel comes to talk to me about a case.

He sits in the chair across from me, flipping through some documents. His perfectly put-together looks just emphasize my own wrecked state. He suddenly stops and looks at me pensively.

"Did you ask Bianca about the hotel?" he eventually asks.

"No," I mumble and continue to look at the files in my hand. I don"t want to lie to Marcel, but I also don"t want to talk to anyone about my and Bianca"s problems. It isn"t as if I don"t trust Marcel. He"s been my friend through thick and thin. We"d met at college and had immediately clicked, becoming fast friends. But we rarely talk about women. Marcel"s love life is a mystery I"m not ready to crack. He seems too interested in my own, however, as he continues.

"Do you really think she"s cheating on you?" I finally raise my eyes to meet his, and he has an incredulous look on his face, as if I"m a fool to even consider it.

"I don"t know anymore. I got drunk last night and lashed out at her. Lucky she"s a sweetheart, and she forgave me. But damn," I groan.

"I know, man." He threads his hand through his hair and sighs. "Look, I know I"m probably intruding… but I know Bianca, too. She"d never cheat on you."

"I"d never thought she"d cheat either but… there have been some suspicious things."

"Like what?"

"Her lying about where she is, missing work. I don"t know what"s going on, and she"s never even hinted at problems at work or with other friends. I honestly don"t know."

"Ask her!"

"Really? That"s your best advice? What if she lies again?"

"I still don"t think she"s cheating. She"s not the type."

"I know, and that"s what baffles me. What is she hiding?"

"Simple. Get someone to follow her around. See what she"s up to."

I sigh. "What if I don"t want to find out?"

"That"s up to you. I can get you hooked with a man to watch her. I trust him implicitly, and he owes me a favor." When he says that, I can only raise my eyebrows. Marcel has some questionable connections, one of them being the same Vlad who rules over Brighton Beach.

"Who is it?"

"My cousin Rico." He smiles. "He"s a hustler. And I told you, he owes me."

"I don"t know. I want to meet him first."

"Fair enough, let me give him a call."

Marcel stands, placing the rest of the files on my desk before leaving. I groan. Am I becoming one of those people who have their wives followed? Is this getting out of hand?

Close to the end of the day, as I head towards my car, Marcel gives me a call.

"We"re in the back," he says and hangs up. I leave my car and head around to the back to find Marcel in his immaculate suit, standing next to what can only be described as a punk. I take a moment to observe both of them, looking for the similarities that would make them family. Marcel"s hair is a sandy blonde with olive skin and amber eyes. Eyes he shares with this Rico. But his cousin is on the fairer side, with light-blond hair and pale skin. Their builds are similar, both of them relatively tall and muscular, but the way they carry themselves and their clothing make all the difference.

Marcel always looks stiff and put together, secretive and mysterious. He never has a hair out of place. The punk is dressed casually, his stance relaxed, and his mouth sports a constant grin. Rico must be in his late teens, early twenties, and the carefree of the youth is reflected in his face.

"This is Rico." Marcel motions to his cousin abruptly, very Marcel-like.

"Nice to meet you." I offer my hand, and he shakes it, giving Marcel the eye. I want to ask him if he"s involved in anything illegal. It"s just a feeling I got.

"I filled him in on the topic."

"Don"t worry, dude, I got you," the punk drawls.

"I"ll have Marcel hand you a copy of her usual schedule, but you should really follow her around from the moment she leaves the house."

"Not my first rodeo. I got you." Rico winks before turning his back and getting into a beat-up car. He gives us a hand gesture meant to say goodbye and mockingly addresses Marcel.

"Later, cub!" He takes off.

"You sure you trust him?" I ask Marcel again.

"He"s… different. But he can do it, don"t worry."

"Good," I say, but I don"t know if I mean it. Is any of this good?

"He"ll start tomorrow. I told him to call you if there"s anything out of the ordinary and not like her regular routine."

"God, I just hope I won"t regret this."

"Hey," Marcel starts and puts his hand on my shoulder. The entire gesture is shocking in itself because Marcel always avoids touching others. I look at him and see his consternation.

"It"s going to be all right."

I just nod.