Page 22 of Above ’N’ Beyond

Her aunt was “cooking the books.”

Once upon a time, her life had been filled with idealism and optimism, but with each of her aunt’s refusals to sell her share of the Bistro, pessimism and stark, cold reality had settled deeper in Bella’s soul. Along with the heart-aching revelation her aunt hadn’t gone into business with her because she loved Bella and wanted to help.

If you let someone in, they’ll only hurt you. No way would she make that mistake again.

Turned out her aunt had a hidden agenda all along. Her backing of the Bistro came with strings. She’d done it to use the restaurant as a safe gathering place for her clandestine meetings. And to launder her illegally gotten gains through the Bistro. Bella had been lied to from the very beginning. If she couldn’t trust her own family, who could she trust?

No one.

“Here you go.” Misty handed her a receipt.

“Thanks, Misty. Have a good d—” Bella nearly choked as she read the balance.

There were over two hundred thousand dollars more in the account today than there had been a week ago. And that was after Bella had paid the monthly bills.

She turned back to the teller. “Would you mind rechecking the balance on this account?” Bella handed her the receipt.

“Not at all, but I’m sure it’s accurate.” Misty typed on her keyboard, then compared whatever she saw on the screen to the receipt and nodded. “That number’s correct. The last deposit was made three days ago. I processed the deposit for Paola myself.”

“Was it a check or cash?” Paola was the only other signatory to this account. Years ago, her aunt had begun making deposits, but never this large. Usually, those amounts were withdrawn the very next day, followed soon after by a new Cadillac in Paola’s driveway or a new diamond necklace around her neck. Once, a new boat had even shown up at the end of her dock. When Bella had objected to mingling personal funds with restaurant accounts, Paola had cut her off and wouldn’t even discuss the matter.

“This one was a cash deposit,” Misty said.

No surprise there. Most of Paola’s deposits were in cash.

“Is everything all right?” Misty asked.

“Yes.” No. “Thank you.” She took back the receipt Misty handed her, not missing the speculative look on the teller’s face. Even Misty knew something wasn’t right here, but discreetly kept her mouth shut.

Bella pushed open the door and headed back to Bianco’s. She crumpled the receipt in her fist, then crammed it into her pocket. She stopped at the intersection. The light changed, making it safe to cross, but she couldn’t get her feet to move. The niggling worry was getting worse every day. This enormous deposit was a red flag the size of a ballroom carpet. Something was happening, something bad. She could feel it in her bones.

If Paola and Tony went down, they could very well take Bianco’s Bistro with them, and with it, they’d take Bella’s very heart and soul. For that matter, could she be charged with anything?

Her aunt and cousin were the ones committing the crimes, but they were doing it through her restaurant. Legally speaking, the best and safest course of action would be to walk away and start fresh, but then she’d lose everything she’d worked so hard for. All her money was tied up in the restaurant, and if she did walk away now, she’d also lose Sierra and Lou. They’d have no choice but to either remain with the Bistro or go elsewhere.

She took a deep breath, then stepped off the curb. Tomorrow night was Sunday. Business would be slow. On her way to work, she’d stop off at Paola’s. It was time to speak with her aunt again, try to convince her to sell.

Minutes later, she was back in the Bistro. Being Saturday, most of the tables were full, and a few people sat at the bar, including the same red-haired man she’d served beer to yesterday. As she walked past the bar, he downed the rest of his beer, dropped a few bills on the bar, then left.

“Did you make it in time?” Sierra asked, filling two glasses with Chianti.

“Barely.” She watched Rebecca lead a group of three women to a table. “We may have to cover the bar tonight if Jimmy doesn’t show up.”

“What do you mean if he doesn’t show up?” Sierra recorked the bottle. “He’s already here. He’s out back with Gnocchi, fixing the air conditioner.”

“Gnocchi?”

“The puppy. You haven’t given him a name yet, so Jimmy did. Pending your approval, of course.”

He’d named her dog without her permission? Then again, given he’d been hoovering a plate of gnocchi when they’d found him, the name suited him.

Bella strode past the kitchen and through the door to the tiny yard behind the Bistro. Still holding on to the door, she froze.

The AC compressor cover lay on the grass. Beside the cover, Gnocchi strained at the end of a long lead attached to a fence post. A shirtless Jimmy Santoro leaned over the compressor, a screwdriver in his hand. His broad, bare back glistened with sweat. The only thing marring his perfectly toned upper body was an angry red gash on his left side.

So fixated on all those glorious muscles, Bella didn’t realize she’d let go of the door until it slammed shut, making her flinch.

Jimmy’s head whipped around, his right hand dropping briefly to his side, like he’d been about to grab something on his belt that wasn’t there. Any saliva that had been in Bella’s mouth instantly dried up.