The Codini Case
Copyright© 2026 by Paul Darkblue
Chapter 2
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 2 - A tragic car accident hides secrets and untold truths. Emma and her team will have a hard time understanding what’s behind it. Meanwhile, life is going to throw a major change at her in the new city where she is living now. Is Emma ready to take it, or will she run away just like she ran away from Milano?
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Romantic Heterosexual Crime Analingus Oral Sex Safe Sex
Commissario Emma Rizzi – July 8th, Saturday
It was Saturday morning. During the week, we continued the investigation, trying to identify the car tailing the victim, but without any new leads. Getting financial data from the banks and records from the phone company took time, so we were expecting the paperwork next week.
I had the day off, so I drove to the mall near my house because I had a date that night with Marco, the handsome new chief of the forensic team.
What do you think a woman looking forward to a romantic date with a handsome man does at a mall? Yes, I was looking for a hairdresser, a beautician, as my pussy needed a professional shave, and some new lingerie to wear that night.
I booked an appointment with the hairdresser and beautician, and then found myself torn between romantic, classic dark blue lace lingerie and a sluttier black G-string paired with a sheer bra.
Walking down the concourse, I almost crashed into Marco. He was sitting on a bench near the children’s playground.
“Hello, Emma. What are you doing here?” he greeted me, looking a bit caught off guard.
“Hello, Marco. Just running some errands. I have to eat sometimes, and I actually know how to cook for myself, you know,” I made up the first reply I could think of. Luckily, I didn’t have the lingerie boutique bag in my hand yet; it would have been way too explicit about my goals for the night.
Suddenly, a voice came from the playground, “Hey, Dad, is she a friend of yours?”
It was a little mixed-race girl, perhaps seven or eight years old, with black hair entwined in two braids, held back by many coloured bands, and amazing brown eyes. She was riding a toy horse, smiling, but she dismounted and ran towards us. “Hi, I’m Jasmine. We are new here in Perugia. What’s your name?”
I froze, but I tried to smile back at the little girl. “I’m Emma. Nice to meet you, Jasmine. Yes, I work with your father,” I said. As I did, I shot Marco, who was blushing, a hard look. Then I stepped closer to him and whispered in his ear, “Consider our date cancelled tonight. I don’t date married men, asshole.” I turned and walked away.
He stood up, caught up to me and grabbed my arm. “No, Emma, wait. You’ve got this wrong. I can explain. I should have done it before.” Then, turning to Jasmine, he added, “Jasmine, would you like to have my friend Emma join us for dinner tonight?”
Jasmine looked up at me with puppy dog eyes and pleaded, “Yes, Emma, please, please, can you join us for dinner? My dad is very good in the kitchen; he makes a lot of good dishes, and my favourite is chocolate cake. He can bake it for you if you come!
Marco added with a smile, “Please, Emma, come to my house tonight, and I’ll introduce you to my family.”
I didn’t know what to say. After my bad affair with Riccardo in Milano, I had sworn to myself that a relationship with a married man was completely out of the question. But maybe I had really misread the situation, and Marco was only trying to introduce his family to his new colleagues, without any romantic interest in me. Besides, that little girl was so sweet and cute, I didn’t have the heart to shut her down. It wouldn’t be the first time I had dinner with a colleague’s family.
I looked down at Jasmine. “Well, Jasmine, tell me where you live. I’ll be glad to be your guest, and I look forward to tasting your father’s chocolate cake.”
Change of plan. For a family dinner, I didn’t need any new lingerie. Instead, I dressed casually, opting for jeans and a modest blouse. I didn’t want to cause any trouble between a husband and wife. Well, hairdressers and beauticians are always good for a girl’s mood, so I went ahead with that part of the plan and left the mall early in the afternoon, freshly and fully shaved, with a perfect hairstyle.
At 7:00 PM, I was standing in front of a flat door in a condo near the city centre.
I had one last thought: ‘What am I doing here? I should be out looking for a good fuck tonight instead.’
But the door suddenly opened, and Jasmine shouted, “Emma, you’re here! Come in!” Then she took my hand and led me inside.
The flat was small. A living room with a four-person round table already set up for a three-person dinner, a two-seater sofa in front of a flat-screen TV, and a few pieces of furniture. There was no sign of a woman’s touch, as far as I could see.
From the kitchen, Marco’s voice called out, “Welcome, Emma! Make yourself at home. Give me five minutes, and I’ll have the aperitivo ready. I made a Spritz, I hope you like it.”
“Do you want to see my room, Emma?” Jasmine asked as soon as I entered the living room. She was anything but shy.
“Yes, of course, lead the way,” I replied.
The room was small, with just a single bed, a desk, and a small closet. Stuffed animals and dolls were scattered everywhere. Her favourite must have been hedgehogs, as she had many of them in every size. Hanging on the wall above the bed was a large photograph of a stunning woman, likely South American or Caribbean, with dark skin, long black hair, and deep brown eyes. You could easily see that Jasmine was a much younger version of that woman.
“She is my mom,” Jasmine said as I stared at the picture. “She’s with the angels now,” she added, sadness crossing her little face.
Marco joined us at the doorway and said gently, “Jasmine, would you like to help Emma with the aperitivo? Everything is ready on the table.”
Jasmine immediately forgot her sad moment and dashed to the living room. “Yay! I want the chips!”
“So, now you know my family, Emma,” Marco said, smiling as he headed back to the living room.
“I’m so sorry, Marco. I didn’t realise,” I replied, following him.
“Don’t worry, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I’ll tell you more later.”
In the living room, we started dinner, chatting easily and listening to the silly, innocent stories Jasmine shared with us. At the end of the meal, Marco served his chocolate cake, and I found it absolutely delicious. Jasmine stuffed her mouth as if she were starving, laughing loudly when she saw her chocolate moustache in the mirror.
Eventually, she grew exhausted and ready for bed, asking if I would read her a story. I was caught by surprise and looked at Marco, who nodded. I followed her to the bedroom, helped her put on her pyjamas, and read her a short fairy tale until she fell asleep.
When I went back to the living room, Marco was sitting on the sofa, a couple of glasses of wine already poured in front of him.
“I owe you an explanation, Emma,” he said quietly.
“No, Marco, you don’t owe me anything. I can’t even imagine how hard it must be to raise a little daughter on your own. I was a real bitch at the mall today. I’m sorry.”
“No, Emma, let me talk. I’m not a widower,” Marco said. “I met Jasmine’s mother, Isabel, at a nightclub in Rimini. She was born in Brazil. She was a dancer at the nightclub. We hit it off quickly, and I asked her out. We started dating, and within a few months, we fell in love and became a couple. She quit dancing and found a job at a local travel agency. A year later, she got pregnant. I was over the moon and proposed to her. She accepted, and we married when she was seven months pregnant. When Jasmine was born, I thought I was the luckiest, happiest man in the world. And I really was, for a couple of years. Then things changed. She had to travel for a week to supervise an organised group trip in Spain. I don’t know how, but during that trip, she met someone. When she came back, she was different. I’ll spare you the details of the months following that trip, but soon after Jasmine’s third birthday, she left us. One night, I came home from work and found that all of her things were gone. She left behind just a letter, writing that she had found her true love and needed to go away. She didn’t want anything from her old life, including Jasmine.”
“I tried unsuccessfully to find her, and eventually, I gave up and filed for a divorce, which was granted by law based on her abandonment of the marital home,” he continued. “Lately, someone must have spotted her. I’ve been told that she lives somewhere in Spain, Marbella or Ibiza, I don’t know, and it seems she is back to her old job, dancing in nightclubs there. I’ve never heard from her since. I didn’t have the balls to tell Jasmine that her mother abandoned her, so I told her she had died in an accident and was living with the angels. One day, I’ll have to tell her the truth, but I’m scared of what those words will do to her.”
With that, he raised his glass, staring deep into my eyes. “To us, this single father and the most beautiful Commissario in the Italian Police.” I blushed as we toasted and began sipping our wine. Then he took my face in his hands and kissed me softly on the lips. I loved the way he kissed me; he was sweet, calm, but confident. He knew exactly what he was doing, and that definitely turned me on.
We held each other, hands moving all over our bodies in a deep, eager exploration, while our tongues were entwined in a passionate dance. I was getting really horny. I wanted him, and I knew he wanted me, but the sudden thought of Jasmine sleeping next door somehow froze me.
“Not here and not tonight, Marco,” I whispered. “Jasmine is right behind that door. I don’t feel comfortable.”
He looked a bit surprised, but agreed with me. We spent the rest of the night talking for a long time about our lives, kissing often, and touching each other like two young sweethearts in high school. Around midnight, I called a taxi and headed home.
Despite the lack of sex, it was one of the best nights I’d had in years. As for the sexual part, luckily, my toys never disappoint me. It’s just a matter of keeping them fully charged. Later in my bed, fingers and toys deep inside my pussy, I orgasmed hard, fantasising about Marco’s hands all over my body.
Investigation – Week Two
Alessandro’s body was released to the family the following Monday, and the funeral was scheduled for Wednesday. I attended the ceremony, trying to gather more information about the family and the victim’s friends and relatives.
I went there with Lisa, and while we were driving, I told her about the weird Saturday night I’d spent with Marco.
“He sounds like a good man, chief, and he is handsome,” she told me, using our workplace nickname. “You were lucky on Saturday, but think deeply about what you want to start with him. Be careful, though, if you have any interest in Marco beyond just a good fuck. Some of the single female officers, and maybe a couple of engaged ones, too, are already flirting openly and trying to get a date.”
I love my friend because she is so straightforward; she never tries to sugarcoat the pill. Anyway, we didn’t have time to chat further, as we arrived at the church.
On the front pew sat Elena, her young daughter, and her parents. I learned Alessandro’s parents had died a few years earlier, and I told myself that it was a good thing: parents should never have to bury their children.
The church was full, packed with many of his colleagues and friends, athletes from his sports team, and others who knew Alessandro and his family. The priest delivered a moving homily, and the eulogies portrayed a good, well-liked man, devoted to his family and his job. There were many tears. I kept looking at Elena, and it really looked like she was genuinely grieving.
At the end of the ceremony, a man approached her outside the church. He was tall, dressed in an expensive suit, and looked a bit older than Elena. He remained close to her side as she received condolences from everyone. A couple of times, he put his arm around her back, and she brushed it off, looking annoyed.
I made my move to offer my condolences to the widow.
“My deepest condolences, Mrs Codini,” I said when I finally reached her after a long wait in line. All the while, I kept my eyes fixed intently on the man standing close to her.
“Thank you, Commissario. It’s so kind of you to be here today,” she replied, looking worried. “Any news about the accident?”
At that moment, the man spoke up. “Elena told me about that crazy theory of a murder that the police are pursuing. I think it’s an insult to Alessandro’s memory. He was a good man with no enemies.”
“And who are you, sir?” I asked, looking at him coldly.
“Oh, sorry, where are my manners? I’m Andrea Foggiani, Elena’s boss and friend. Alessandro was my friend, too, and I was the best man at their wedding. So, you are the famous Commissario Rizzi,” he replied.
“Yes, I am. We are just doing our job, sir. We will keep in touch exclusively with the family when everything is sorted out, and the dynamics of the incident are clear.” I emphasised the words ‘exclusively with the family’ to make the man realise the investigation was none of his business. “Madam ... Sir,” I greeted them, and left.
When I looked back, I saw her speaking to him with an angry look on her face, while he just smirked. Well, the visit to the funeral, and especially this last part, had been very interesting indeed.
During the week, when we were finally able to review Alessandro’s financial records, we uncovered the first surprising facts.
They looked like a comfortable family, not rich, but the typical middle-class, well-off household. Alessandro’s salary and bonuses over the last year amounted to at least 100,000 euros after taxes, while Elena earned an ordinary, mid-level salary of around 30,000 euros after taxes. There were no mortgages or other debts. The shared bank account balance at the end of the previous month was approximately 120,000 euros, with an additional 600,000 euros in securities and investment funds.
But in the last two weeks, Alessandro had liquidated all those investments and transferred 50% of the resulting balance, about 360,000 euros, to a new account opened in his own name.
Furthermore, according to his phone records, over the last two months, he had called a lawyer’s office several times.
We contacted the lawyer, who confirmed that Alessandro was planning to file for legal separation and divorce. The papers were still in the draft stage. Due to the attorney-client privilege and privacy concerns, the lawyer couldn’t provide us with any further information; to get more, we would need a specific warrant.
Based on information gathered from friends and colleagues, Alessandro and Elena had always been considered a great, close-knit couple. But considering Alessandro’s change in attitude over recent weeks, the divorce papers and the financial split suggested a completely different reality. What’s the most probable cause for a sudden divorce in a well-to-do couple? Lisa and I agreed that an affair was the most likely trigger.
So, either Alessandro was having an affair and trying to leave his wife, or Elena was having an affair, and her husband had discovered it. Either scenario would put a heavy spotlight on the wife.
I needed to rattle Elena’s cage a bit. After the funeral, she had moved back into her own home and returned to her job. On Thursday morning, I headed to her office alongside Lisa.
When we approached the reception desk and asked for Elena, she came out to meet us in the lobby, looking anxious. “Good morning, Commissario. What brings you here? Any bad news? I’m very busy right now. Could we talk tonight at my house?”
“Good morning, Mrs Codini. This is my deputy, Officer Lisa Baldini, and I’m afraid this can’t wait,” I told her, introducing Lisa. “Do you have a room where we can speak privately?”
“You can call me Elena, Commissario,” she said, trying to keep things low-key and friendly.
“As you wish, Elena,” I replied.
At that moment, her boss, Andrea, marched over to us in the lobby and spoke loudly. “What the hell is happening here? Can’t you leave this poor woman alone? Hasn’t she grieved enough?”
“Mr Foggiani, if we cannot speak here, we will have to speak to her at the station,” I said coldly.
“Wait. We can talk in that meeting room down there,” Elena said, leading us toward a small room.
Andrea tried to follow us inside. “This is my company. I have the right to know what is happening to my employees!” He was playing the protective boss role, acting as if he were entirely interested in his staff’s welfare.
“Again, this is a private conversation, Mr Foggiani. If you don’t leave immediately, I will take Elena to the station.” I wasn’t buying his bullshit for a second.
“Give us a minute, Andrea; it’s fine. I’ll answer their questions, and I’ll be back to work as soon as possible,” Elena told him, looking directly at him with a strange expression.
Andrea finally left, and we sat down to question Elena.
“Elena, this conversation might be difficult for you. I’m sorry to bring it up this way,” I began. “Were you aware that your husband was on the way to file for a divorce?”
The colour drained from her face, shifting from red to pale white within a minute as she sat there, totally silent. She stared at the company photos on the wall as if she had just seen a ghost.
“No, absolutely not. This can’t be! We were happy together! Where does all this bullshit come from?” she eventually choked out, her voice outraged and angry.
But her body language was telling a completely different story. Under the table, her right leg was trembling uncontrollably, her hands couldn’t stay steady, and her eyes were looking everywhere except at us. She was definitely under stress.
“We have evidence, Elena,” I said, showing her the financial records and telling her about the divorce lawyer.
“No, I don’t believe this. Maybe he was looking into a new investment. I trusted him, and he was the one managing our money at home. And the divorce papers are just bullshit. I don’t know this lawyer who told you about it, but they must be a fake! Alessandro would never have divorced me!” she replied, sticking to her story.
“Elena, are you sure that nothing has changed in your husband’s behaviour over the last few months? Late hours at the office, nights out of town for business trips ... anything else that could suggest a change in his life?”
“No, nothing that I noticed. He was a hard worker and sometimes came home late, but nothing unusual had happened in the last few months. He was also training for a triathlon race, so every other day he ran, swam, or biked after work. If he had a late training session, he always texted me to let me know. He was away only for his races, once or twice a month on weekends, but again, we always stayed in contact. Actually, I used to go with him during our engagement and right after we got married, but I stopped when our daughter was born.”
Again, her body language revealed that she wasn’t telling the truth.
Then, using an old interrogation technique, I abruptly shifted gears. “Sorry, before I forget. We will need the name of the friend where you stayed the night of the incident.”
After a long silence, she looked terrified. “I’m a suspect now? Do I need a lawyer?”
“No, Elena, we are just doing ordinary checks on the people closest to the victim. But if you don’t want to give us your friend’s name, I’m afraid we’ll have to call you in for a formal interrogation at the station.” I pressed her. With the little evidence we actually had, a formal interrogation might not even be approved yet, but she didn’t know that. It was worth the bluff.
“I was ... at Andrea’s house. The party was at his home, with a team of managers and directors from our company,” she confessed, looking utterly embarrassed. “He always looks out for me. When he saw that I couldn’t drive home safely after the party, he offered to let me sleep in his guest room.”
“Thank you, Elena. We will check this out with Andrea, if you don’t mind. Is there anyone else who can confirm your stay at his home?” I asked.
“No, Commissario. Andrea lost his wife three years ago, and he lives alone. I know it doesn’t look good, but believe me, we are just true friends, and nothing more,” she tried to justify herself. But I saw something flash in her eyes. Regret? Guilt? I couldn’t tell, but I had gotten the information I needed.
“Well, Elena, thank you for your help. That’s all for now. If you remember anything else about your husband’s final days, please call me anytime.” I greeted her and handed her my business card.
With that, we left the room. We asked to be taken to Andrea’s office and questioned him about Elena’s stay on the night of the accident. He confirmed the story perfectly. She had been a little drunk; they were close friends; he was happy to help; she slept in the guest room; and she left the next morning. A lot of words, a lot of bullshit, in my opinion.
As we were finally leaving the building through the reception lobby, I glanced back and saw Andrea enter the meeting room where Elena was still sitting.
“Do you believe them, deputy?” I asked Lisa.
“They are hiding something, for sure. And I don’t like Andrea; we should dig deeper into his background, too. Do you want to bet ten euros that they are not just friends? Or maybe they are, but with a lot of benefits,” she replied.
I agreed with her completely. “Maybe Alessandro was smarter than they thought and caught them, and that’s why he was filing for divorce. But why kill him? I still don’t see a strong enough motive. Elena could have just signed the divorce papers and started fresh with her lover.
We still had nothing substantial.
We were heading back to the station when a text message popped up on my smartphone: ‘Tomorrow night at my place again? M.’
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