Snapping Point||Book 1

16.

I summoned my most manipulative tone and greeted them with a casual "Hey" before adding, "Hey, ladies."

The left one turned to me, her breath hitching as she bit her lip seductively. "Talking to me?" she purred, her hands trailing down my neck and back, her body arching towards me.

I didn't flinch away. Rejecting a woman outright wasn't the way to get her talking. "I'm looking for a Joanna. Joanna Butler. Any idea where she is?"

She paused, her eyes flickering for a moment before she shook her head. "Doesn't ring a bell. She your girl?"

I considered her question carefully. Xenia had denied being a prostitute, but given her penchant for lies, I couldn't trust a word she said. "Yeah. She is."

"Okay, but we don't know any Joanna," the other woman interjected defensively. Her tone hinted at hidden secrets. "She doesn't work here, and you're not a regular either. You might have the wrong place."

I let out a frustrated sigh. I was running out of brain cells to deal with this. "What about Xenia?"

The woman's expression hardened, and she withdrew her touch. "Xenia? What's your business with her?"

Ah, finally a crack in the facade. It was the first glimmer of hope I'd had since arriving here. I was beginning to think I'd never make a headway. And if Xenia was deceiving the whole of Bologna with a fake name, she was up to something big.

I leaned and dropped my voice to a mere rasp. "It's personal. I doubt she wants you gossiping about it."

""Well, we don't give a damn about what Xenia does!" My informant snapped, her anger palpable. It seemed like this double identity Xenia had a knack for ruffling feathers.

I met her furious gaze head-on. "You don't want to know what I do either," I retorted, a hint of menace in my voice. "I'm not exactly a gentleman, which is why I don't often grace the company of women. So let me rephrase my question. Does Xenia work here?"

"Nope," my informant cut in before her companion could respond. Something wasn't adding up. "She's a stray who doesn't whore herself out, but somehow manages to turn heads. No surprise she's caught your attention too. Does that answer your question?"

Not in the slightest. I had precious little time left here, and their evasiveness was pushing me to the brink, turning the minutes into seconds. "I need to see her. Now. Where can I find her?"

Silence descended like a heavy curtain, broken only by the exchange of puzzled glances between the two women before they both turned their gaze back to me.

"I said I want to see Xenia!" I roared, seizing the informant's hands in a vice-like grip, desperation fueling my actions. My patience had worn thin, a threadbare cloak barely concealing my simmering rage. "If she's not here, where does she live? Does she have a place nearby?"

"House?" The informant scoffed, her laughter ringing hollow. "Did you miss the part where I said she's homeless?"

"Watch your fucking language when you're speaking to me." My grip left a fleeting imprint on her arm as I released her, the fear in her eyes swiftly giving way to indifference, as if my anger was nothing compared to the hardships she faced every day.

Damn it, I needed patience and a steel stomach to swallow this. Where the hell was this woman, and why were they shrouding her existence in more mystery than I had bargained for?

Pulling out my wallet, I shoved a wad of hundred euros in their faces, a sum far exceeding their hourly rate. "Whoever tells me where she is gets this."

The meddler's eyes gleamed with interest, but the announcer, ever the killjoy, shook her head stiffly. "We don't need your money."

It was clear I needed to separate the meddler from the equation if I wanted any progress with this sorry excuse for an investigation.