Haunting-Adeline
Maybe I just want to be able to say that all stalkers are crazy, and that it’snot possible to fall in love with one. I want to be able to say it’s neverhappened before. And I want to say it’s absolutely impossible to findmyself in a loving, passionate, and healthy rela onship with a person whoinvaded every aspect of my life unapologe cally.As much as I hate to say it, my shadow might not be wrong either. Theman has a magne sm about him that rocks me to my core. He’s shi ed myen re life out of balance.He scares the fuck out of me. But just like watching a horror flick, itthrills me too. He was right when he said that if he had approached me inthe bookstore and took me out like a normal man, I would’ve fallen forhim. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks, and his passion areirresis ble.And he’s also right that if I had fallen in love with a lie, I would’ve beendevastated. I just wish he wasn’t such a bad guy.But then he’d be a different man—a man you might not be able to love.Doesn’t ma er.I refuse to love my shadow. And I’m not going to fuck him, either. Whathappened two nights ago was sexual assault and I’m not going to spin itany other way.“That’s not why I want jus ce for her,” I say quietly. My hand drops and Imeet Daya’s so gaze.Never one to judge me. Even when I probably deserve it.“I obviously never met Gigi, but Nana loved her to a million pieces. And Idon’t think she ever quite got over it. Not only do I want jus ce for Gigi,but for Nana, too.”That seems to placate her. “Good. Because I did find a lead on one ofSea le’s most notorious crime families in the 40s.”I perk up, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. She turns it towardsme for a be er view.“Back in the 40s, the Salvatore family ran the streets. Angelo Salvatorewas the crime lord.” She points towards a picture of five men.In the middle is what you would expect from an Italian mafia boss.Deeply tanned skin, large bulbous hooked nose and incredibly handsome,with his wide smile and sparkling brown eyes.
Surrounding him are four men, their ages ranging from what looks to beeighteen to late twen es. Based off the white hair peppered throughAngelo's black hair, these must be his sons.They all look like him and are equally good-looking. Two of them arewearing military fa gues, most likely having been dra ed in WWII.“Those are his four sons,” Daya confirms. “But they’re irrelevant, sexy asthey are. Look in the background behind them. Do you see him?”She points to a grainy, slightly blurred image of a man looking off in thedistance behind the Salvatore family. Most of his body is concealed butwhat can be seen is a handsome face, part of a nice suit, and a top hat.“This is the only picture I could find but I think there’s a possibility that’sRonaldo.”My nose is nearly smushed into the screen, I’m staring so hard. It’s areach. Any man could be in a suit and a top hat in the 40s. But something isdifferent about him.“You see what I see?” Daya ques ons, excitement in her tone.“He has a black eye, and his lip looks busted…” I trail off when I noteAngelo's right hand, gripping a glass of alcohol. “Angelo's hand is bustedtoo!”I look to Daya and it’s like looking into a mirror. I know the excitementburning on her face reflects my own.“And guess the date on the picture,” she says, smiling wider.My eyes round. “Bitch, just tell me. ““September 22 nd , 1944. Four days a er that entry from Gigi sayingRonaldo came in beat up.”My mouth pops open, and I look back at the picture. Staring at the manthat could’ve possibly been Gigi's stalker.And her murderer.I’m drunk.I ended up drinking two more margaritas, and Daya had the bright ideato take more tequila shots.
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Surrounding him are four men, their ages ranging from what looks to be
eighteen to late twen es. Based off the white hair peppered through
Angelo's black hair, these must be his sons.
They all look like him and are equally good-looking. Two of them are
wearing military fa gues, most likely having been dra ed in WWII.
“Those are his four sons,” Daya confirms. “But they’re irrelevant, sexy as
they are. Look in the background behind them. Do you see him?”
She points to a grainy, slightly blurred image of a man looking off in the
distance behind the Salvatore family. Most of his body is concealed but
what can be seen is a handsome face, part of a nice suit, and a top hat.
“This is the only picture I could find but I think there’s a possibility that’s
Ronaldo.”
My nose is nearly smushed into the screen, I’m staring so hard. It’s a
reach. Any man could be in a suit and a top hat in the 40s. But something is
different about him.
“You see what I see?” Daya ques ons, excitement in her tone.
“He has a black eye, and his lip looks busted…” I trail off when I note
Angelo's right hand, gripping a glass of alcohol. “Angelo's hand is busted
too!”
I look to Daya and it’s like looking into a mirror. I know the excitement
burning on her face reflects my own.
“And guess the date on the picture,” she says, smiling wider.
My eyes round. “Bitch, just tell me. “
“September 22 nd , 1944. Four days a er that entry from Gigi saying
Ronaldo came in beat up.”
My mouth pops open, and I look back at the picture. Staring at the man
that could’ve possibly been Gigi's stalker.
And her murderer.
I’m drunk.
I ended up drinking two more margaritas, and Daya had the bright idea
to take more tequila shots.
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