5

He scowled, voice rising. “Are you deaf? Say something!”

Then, finally, a voice came through.

But it wasn’t mine.

“This is the NYPD,” the officer said, voice clipped and professional. “We arrested Adam Rossi about a month ago. We just opened one of the evidence boxes from his safe house and found this phone inside. Mr. Rossi claimed it wasn’t his. Records show it belongs to a Serena Barone. And based on the contact listed, I assume I’m speaking to her father?”

My father’s face drained of color.

“Yes,” he said after a beat. “This is Serena’s father. May I ask... where is my daughter?”

He was testing the waters. Hoping the answer was clean.

It wasn’t.

“We haven’t located Serena Barone yet,” the officer replied. “It appears she vanished shortly after dining with Mr. Rossi. He’s refused to cooperate. But we believe something may have happened to her.”

A pause. “We found her phone, her purse, and her ID in the basement of his residence.”

That’s right. His basement. Where I’d been killed.

But I didn’t know what he’d done with my body. Burned? Buried? Dumped?

My father didn’t respond or ask questions.

The officer continued. “If you’d be willing to come down to the department and help us with the investigation, we’d appreciate it.”

“Mm,” my father hummed. Then ended the call.

My mother leaned in, anxious. “What happened? Is Serena out? Where is she now?”

Father didn’t look at her. “The police said they found her phone and purse in Rossi’s basement,” he said. “She probably just left in a hurry. They want us to come in… help them locate her.”

Mother frowned. “She’s always leaving her things behind. Phones, keys, everything. Should we stop by?”

“No hurry.” My father’s voice turned cold again. Calculating. “I can’t go. Maybe you or Gia can handle it.”

Gia perked up immediately, her smile sugar-sweet. “I’ll go.”

She offered. Too quickly and nicely.

Gia had never lifted a finger for me. Now she wanted to play search party?

I moved closer—ghost-light and invisible—and tried to scream, to push, to warn them.

“If you send Gia,” I whispered into the ether, “you’ll never find me again.”

But ghosts don’t speak. And no one heard me.

…

I had no intention of following Gia to the police station—or listening to whatever scripted nonsense she planned to feed them.

She was quick, though. Barely an hour after leaving, she returned… carrying my purse. And my phone.

Father didn’t ask where I was. He just asked if the police had questioned her about him and his drugs, whether he had anything to do with Rossi’s operations.

Because, as always, my father was more concerned with covering his own ass than finding his daughter.

When Gia told him the police had only asked about me—why I was with Adam Rossi, how I knew him—Father visibly relaxed.

“That’s good,” he said. “So… what did you tell them? Why was Serena with Adam?”

Gia shrugged with practiced ease. “I told them Serena always had a thing for bad boys. That it wasn’t surprising. But we didn’t know much—she was never really close to us.”

Father frowned slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Not one word in my defense. A thing for bad boys? That’s where they were going now?

Gia and father both knew that framing me as a reckless girl who willingly got involved with Adam wouldn’t help the investigation—it would only derail it.

The police would never suspect that I was murdered and buried in Rossi’s basement if they believed I wanted to be there.

Just as I expected, Gia’s offer to go to the station hadn’t been generous—it had been strategic. She didn’t want to help.

She wanted to sabotage any chance I had at being found.

“What if the police figure out you lied, Gia?” Father’s tone shifted, a sliver of anxiety creeping in.

“Relax, Dad,” Gia said sweetly. “She went into that restaurant on her own. Even if they check the cameras, it’ll show Serena walking in alone. There’s no connection to us. And if Rossi’s dirty, it’s better we cut ties completely.”

Father exhaled, some tension bleeding from his shoulders. “You did good. Really. But where the hell did Serena go?” he muttered, almost to himself. “If she left her things at Rossi’s place, maybe she ruined the deal too. Why would she leave without them unless she ran off?”

Then he picked up his phone and dialed Aunt Eva.

“We found Serena’s belongings,” he said smoothly. “Adam’s been arrested. She probably got out before the police moved in—went into hiding. Smart girl. But we can rest easy now. She’s not in danger.”

“But she hasn’t called me yet, Enzo,” Eva replied. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Father bristled. “When have I ever lied to you?” (Too many times.)

“Anyway, it’s your birthday today. I think we should still celebrate. Serena was always close to you—if she hears we’re gathering for dinner, she might show up. Don’t you think?”

There was a pause. And I recognized Eva’s silence.

She was considering it, the possibility that I might walk through that door if she agreed to sit down with the same people who betrayed me.

Don’t do it, Aunt Eva. I won’t make it. And you’ll only be disappointed again.

“…Alright,” she said at last. “Maybe just a dinner.”

She didn’t sound convinced. But Father was already satisfied. Probably thought if he gave Eva a birthday dinner, she’d loosen the purse strings again. Business as usual.

After hanging up, he immediately called in my mother. “Did you get a gift for Eva?”

“I thought she wasn’t celebrating this year,” Mother replied, confused.

“I just talked her into a quiet dinner,” he said. “Dress accordingly. Bring something appropriate.”

Because appearances mattered.

Even when their daughter was missing.

Even when I was dead.

“Alright,” Mother said, turning to leave—but then she paused, like something had just resurfaced in her mind.

“Earlier, when we were going through Serena’s things… I saw a velvet box. It looked expensive. She must’ve bought something for Eva already.”

I had.

Inside that velvet box was a necklace—a delicate diamond, soft pink in hue, set in a design I’d had custom-made. It had cost me nearly two year’s worth of part-time wages. But it was worth every dollar.

Aunt Eva was turning forty. A milestone year. And yes, she probably already owned a vault full of diamonds. But this one was different.

Not the most perfect or clearest cut. But I’d chosen it because I knew—when it caught the light against Eva’s skin—it would be breathtaking.

And now I had to watch from the sidelines as they prepared to give it to her… as if it were their own idea. As if I had nothing to do with it.