Gina
The photograph bothered me more than the missing envelope.
Maybe it was because I had spent enough time around Mario to know exactly what that younger version of him would have been doing when the picture was taken. He would have been opening the café before sunrise, complaining about customers who wanted complicated coffee drinks, feeding anyone who looked hungry, and pretending he wasn’t worried about whether the business would survive another month. Mama stood beside him smiling, completely unaware that Victor Reynolds was across the street watching them.
Fourteen years ago.
Before I knew Zander. Before I worked at Preston Enterprises. Before any of this should have had anything to do with me.
Mario was never invisible.
I looked from the photograph on Michael’s phone to Mario
