The Perfect Fit

 I blink at the double-page spread, torturing myself with the pictures of pitiful-looking mama dogs, surrounded by their litters and locked in flea-infested cages. This is what Lily was writing about. Of course it was never about us. Why the fuck would she write an exposé on us? She fucking loves us.

Well, she loved us. And we royally fucked it all to hell and back.

West has his head in his hands while Zeke paces up and down the kitchen.

“So she wasn’t writing an article about us. She wasn’t trying to fuck up our deal. But she was hiding something,” West says. “Her connection to Nico Constantine. What the fuck is that about?”

Zeke stops pacing. “I’ll look into it.”

“Because you did such a stellar fucking job last time.” I snort. The pain that’s etched on his face makes me want to take it back, but I don’t. They fucking caused this. I should have trusted my gut and forced them to speak to her.

“I didn’t have enough time. I’ll …” He clears his throat. “I’ll find out.”

I shake my head. I don’t have time for Zeke’s guilt right now. I want our girl back, and I want her back today. “Your PI said she looked really happy before and after she met this guy, right? That’s why he thought she was going to his room to get laid?”

Zeke frowns. “Yeah.”

“So, he’s obviously someone she cares about. I don’t believe for a single fucking second that she was cheating on us. Where would she have found the time or energy? So he must be a relative. Brother, cousin, uncle?”

West hurries out of the room, muttering under his breath.

Zeke and I stare at each other for a few beats before we go after him. We find him in his office, firing up his computer.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I read something a few years back …” He types on his keyboard, his eyes narrowed on the screen. “Constantine had two kids. Twins.”

“Yeah, and?” Zeke replies.

“The daughter. I’m sure I read that she died.”

“What does that have to do with Lily?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. Both Zeke and I stand behind him as he searches for whatever answers he’s looking for. He clicks on an old newspaper article and brings up a picture of eighteen-year-old Liliana Constantine. Her hair is straight and only shoulder-length, plus she has braces on her teeth. She’s certainly filled out over the years, but there’s no mistaking our girl. Jesus fuck, shorty.

“You think he faked his daughter’s death?” Taking a closer look at the screen, I scan the article for any clues as to why she kept this from us.

West sits back and runs his hands through his hair. “Knowing that twisted fuck, I’d bet she faked her own.”

“So Nico Constantine is her twin?” Zeke asks.

I stare at a second picture of her and her brother. She has a fucking twin, and she never mentioned him to us. She must really hate him. Or she adores him and is trying to protect him. I can’t imagine our girl hating anyone, not even us, despite how much we deserve it. “It would make sense that she lied to protect him.”

“This is so fucked up.” Zeke paces the length of West’s office. “She’s a fucking Constantine. I should have done my due diligence. I should have dug deeper, but everything she first told us checked out. Everything! She was some broke girl from Brooklyn, not a Mafia princess and an heiress to the biggest goddamn hotel chain in America.”

I shake my head. “Lily’s not an heiress though, is she? Liliana Constantine is, and she’s fucking dead.” If only our girl were here, we could get some answers. “You think she had any idea about what her father did to us all those years ago?”

West leans back in his chair and sighs. “I have no fucking clue what to think anymore.”