Chapter 82 The Hunter
JADE
I'd been researching Jeremy Santoro for three days straight.
Social media was useless—his accounts were private or non-existent. The Santoro family kept their personal lives locked down tight.
But people from his past? They weren't as careful.
I started with his high school. Found the alumni page. I browsed through pictures taken ten or twelve years ago.
I discovered that Jeremy was present in multiple group photos. He was younger. And less dangerous-looking. But still handsome. Still magnetic.
Several photos consistently feature him standing beside the same girl.
The girl in question is a blonde, attractive, and preppy-looking woman. In one photo, her arm is wrapped around his waist. In another photo, his hand is resting on her shoulder.
A girlfriend?
I zoomed in on her face. I searched for identifying details. A name tag in one photo caught my eye.
Chelsea Morrison - Student Council VP
Chelsea Morrison.
I opened a new tab. Searched Facebook for Chelsea Morrison, New York.
Found her. She had the same blonde hair, albeit styled differently now. Despite her age, her face remained the same and was easily recognisable.
Her profile was public. Amateur mistake.
I scrolled through her posts. Her check-ins. Her photos.
She worked in marketing. Lived in Manhattan. Went to a club called Velvet most Friday nights with her girlfriends.
Perfect.
Today was Friday.
8:47 PM - Outside Velvet
I stood across the street from the club, watching the entrance.
Chelsea had checked in on Instagram twenty minutes ago. She was accompanied by two girlfriends, as evidenced by the photos she had shared.
I'd dressed carefully. I opted for an outfit that was both expensive and not overly flashy. The kind of outfit that said, "I have money" without screaming it. Hair down. Makeup is subtle. Approachable.
I needed Chelsea to see me as a friend. I needed Chelsea to see me as a confidante and someone she could talk to.
Someone she could trust.
I waited another ten minutes. Let her get settled. Let her have a drink or two to lower her guard.
Then I walked across the street and into the club.
The music was loud. The lights were low. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor.
I scanned the room. I came across Chelsea standing at the bar. Her blonde hair was unmistakable under the lights. She was with two other women. The three women were all laughing heartily. Holding cocktails.
Perfect.
I moved to the bar. Positioned myself near them but not too close and ordered a drink.
Chelsea's friends went to dance. She stayed at the bar. Scrolling through her phone.
This was my chance.
I moved closer. "Excuse me—is anyone sitting here?"
She looked up. "No, go ahead."
I sat. Sipped my drink. Waited a beat. Then: "I love your bracelet. Is that from Cartier?"
She glanced at her wrist. Smiled. "Yes! Good eye. It was a gift from my boyfriend."
"He has good taste." I smiled back. "I'm Jade, by the way."
"Chelsea."
"Nice to meet you." I flagged down the bartender. May I please have another round for myself and my new acquaintance here? Whatever she is ordering.
Chelsea laughed. "You don't have to do that."
"I want to. Consider it a 'thank you' for keeping me company. I hate drinking alone at clubs."
"Well, in that case—thank you." She raised her glass when the bartender delivered fresh drinks. "Cheers."
"Cheers."
We talked for a few minutes. Surface-level stuff. Jobs. The weather. The club was extremely crowded tonight.
Then I said casually, "You look really familiar. Did you go to Bridgemont Academy, Class of 2018?"
Her eyes widened. "Oh my God, yes! Did you?"
I hadn't. But I'd done my research. Knew the school. Knew the year.
"I think so! I mean, it's been years, but—" I squinted at her. "Chelsea, right? Chelsea Morrison?"
"Yes!" She laughed. "This is so crazy. What's your last name? Maybe I remember you—"
"Hastings. Jade Hastings." A fake name. This is to ensure she doesn't try to find me later. "I was pretty quiet in school. Kept to myself mostly. But I remember you. You were student council VP, right?"
"I was! Wow, you have a good memory." She took another sip of her drink. "This is so weird. Small world."
"So small." I smiled. Took a drink. "So what have you been up to? Still in touch with anyone from school?"
She launched into a story about her job. Her friends. Her boyfriend.
I listened. Nodded. Asked questions.
And I waited for the right moment to bring up Jeremy.
Chelsea was on her third drink. Relaxed and chatty.
"So," I said casually, "did you ever run into people from school?" Like at events or—"
"Sometimes. But it's mostly just on social media, though." She scrolled through her phone. "Oh! Like this guy—" She showed me a photo. A man I didn't recognise. "He was in our chemistry class. Remember him?"
"Maybe?" I leaned closer. "Who else do you see from back then?"
She scrolled. Showed me more photos. She scrolled through more names, which I pretended to recognise.
"Oh God." She stopped on a photo. Her expression shifting. Uncomfortable. "Jeremy Santoro. Do you remember him?"
My heart jumped. "Jeremy? Yeah, I think so. Wasn't he—" I pretended to think. "Weren't you two together for a while?"
"Unfortunately, yes." She took a long drink. "My senior year was the biggest mistake of my high school career."
"Why? What happened?"
She glanced around. Lowered her voice. "He was—intense. Like, really intense. Obsessive."
"Obsessive how?"
"Just..." She made a vague gesture. "He was obsessed with—God, this is embarrassing—he was obsessed with tits. Like, constantly. Every time we were together, that's all he wanted to do. Just..." She gestured at her chest. "You know."
I kept my expression neutral. Sympathetic. "That sounds frustrating."
"It was! "I understand that some guys enjoy that kind of thing, but Jeremy was different." It was like a fixation. He'd want to—" She stopped. Shook her head. "Sorry, this is TMI. I just—I haven't thought about him in years and now—"
"No, it's fine. High school relationships are always weird." I paused. "So you broke up with him because of that?"
"Partially. But mostly because my dad found out who his family was. The Santoros. They're—" She lowered her voice even more. "They're mafia, Jade. Like, actual Italian mafia. My dad flipped out when he found out I was dating someone from a crime family. He threatened to pull me out of school if I didn't end it immediately.
"Wow. That's...intense."
"Right? And the worst part is, Jeremy didn't even deny it. He just—" She mimicked a shrug. "He said it was family business and I shouldn't worry about it. Like that was supposed to be reassuring."
"So you ended it?"
"I had to. My dad was serious. And honestly—" She finished her drink. "I was kind of relieved. Jeremy was too much. Too intense. Too—everything." She laughed. "But hey, at least I can say I dated a mobster, right? That's a story."
I laughed with her. "Definitely a story."
We talked for a few more minutes. Then her friends came back from dancing. They wanted to go to another club.
"It was so nice meeting you, Jade!" Chelsea said as they prepared to leave. "Or—re-meeting you, I guess. We should connect on Instagram!"
"Definitely." I gave her the fake account I'd created. Watched her follow it. "Have fun tonight!"
"You too!"
They left.
And I sat at the bar, a smile spreading across my face.
Perfect! Absolutely perfect!!
Jeremy Santoro had a weakness. A fixation, an obsession.
Breasts.
And I had excellent breasts.
I have all I need now; it's time to execute the plan by getting rid of Amelia.
I took my phone out and dialled a number; I haven't dialled in a while.