When Raffaelo came in to see her, she had worked herself up into a temper. “I want out of here, Raff. Tonight. I’m not even on any drips or feeds or whatever anymore. I hate this. I hate being here.”
Raff let her rant away, holding her hand. The psych doctor had told him to expect this—to expect a kickback from not having processed the attack. Inca had told the police everything, then had not wanted to talk about it again. Neither had she wanted to discuss the baby. Raffaelo could see the heartbreak in her eyes, but she would not even contemplate what their lives would have been like if their child had been born. They had tested the dead embryo and discovered it was a girl, but Raffaelo had not told Inca that. She was particularly close to Tommaso and Bo’s only daughter, Hermione (named by their two oldest sons, who were Harry Potter mad), and Raff had caught her looking wistfully at the girl as she played with her brothers.
Damn it. Even his chest cramped up with despair as he thought about how close they had come to being parents. A little girl, he thought, who looked like her beautiful mother and maybe had my eyes.
But it wasn’t to be. Raff waited for Inca to rant herself out, then held her as she started to cry. He knew it was just frustration; Inca wasn’t someone who felt sorry for herself.
When she was just hiccupping, and looking embarrassed, he brushed his lips against hers, back and forth, until he felt her lips curve up in a smile. They knew each other so completely now and had perfect trust between them.
Inca drew away and touched his cheek. “Sorry, baby.”
“Don’t apologize. I love you, Principessa.”
She sighed and smiled. “As I love you. Give me some good news, darling.”
Raff grinned. “I can, actually. Selima’s boyfriend woke up and has given them some great information. They think Jackson has her somewhere in California.”
Inca’s eyes opened wide. “Wow, that is good news. Are you going to California, then?”
Raff was astonished. “Are you kidding me? I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Baby, you have three armed guards outside my hospital room at all times. No one is getting in here.”
Raff shook his head. “Inca, there’s no doubt in my mind that the men who stabbed you are still in Naples. They will have been told to watch us and possibly finish the job.” He swallowed hard and shook his head at that. “Finish the job if you survive. And you have. I’m not letting you out of my sight, Principessa. I will find them, and I will kill them. I promise you that.”
Inca took his hand, seeing his distress. “I love you, Raffaelo Winter.”
“Ti amo, Inca. Ti amo.”
Ama and Chase talked for hours, until she could see the young man was exhausted. He still protested when she told him he needed to rest. “I’ll come back tomorrow, if I may. Enda won’t let me go back to work just yet, until he puts all the protection he wants into place, so I’ll go crazy stuck at Olivier’s house alone.”
Chase nodded. “Please do. I’d like you to meet my family when they come visit me.”
Ama gingerly hugged him. “Selima has good taste in men.”
Chase laughed. “She’ll tell you what a doofus I am when she comes home.”
They smiled, but the hopelessness they both felt was palpable. Ama shook herself. “We’ll get her back, Chase, I promise.”
The young man’s eyes were serious. “Don’t promise that.”
Ama nodded. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t …but I will stop at nothing to get her home safely. Goodnight, Chase.”
“Night, Ama. See you tomorrow.”
Her protection detail—two huge, heavily armed men called Trevor and Dustin—drove her back to Olivier’s house. When she got home, only Enda was waiting for her. “Olivier’s had to go to New York for business overnight.”
Ama went into his arms. “God, I missed you today.”
Enda smiled and brushed his lips against hers. “And I missed you. Tell me what Chase said.” He led her to the sofa and Ama filled him in on everything Chase had told her. When she repeated Jackson’s threat about Penelope and Inca, Enda nodded slowly. “Interesting. So, does he think Inca is dead?”
“I don’t know. Raff kept the stabbing out of the papers for Inca’s protection. That’s all I know.”
“Hmm. I talked to Raff earlier. He’s convinced the men who attacked Inca are still in Naples. It wouldn’t be hard for them to find out she was alive …so how come they haven’t told Jackson that she survived?”
Ama considered this. “Maybe they don’t want him to be angry for their failing? Maybe he paid them in full to kill Inca, and because she survived, then maybe it means he’ll demand his money back?” She sighed heavily. “Maybe it’s because they want to finish the job.”
Enda nodded slowly. “Or maybe there’s a chink in the armor. Maybe after they stabbed Inca, they had a change of heart.”
Ama looked skeptical. “Doesn’t seem likely.”
“Unless Jackson got cheap and hired non-professionals. After all, a professional hitman would have—and I’m sorry to put this image in your head—made sure Inca was dead. He would have probably shot her in the head and left. These assholes enjoyed the close nature of the attack—stabbing her and watching her suffer. I’d say they were local criminals, and I’d also say … if we find them, we could get information out of them.”
“If Raff doesn’t kill them first.”
“If that, yes. I’ll talk to him.”
Ama smiled at her lover. “What would you do?”
Enda’s face was set. “They’d be dead the minute I found them. But that won’t help anyone.”
Ama stroked his face. “Enough now. I’m assuming, because you would have told me already, that there’s no news on Selima.”
“Right.”
Ama sighed. “Then, Enda Gallo, let’s go to bed. I need a distraction. I need to release this tension. My whole-body aches because of it, and I can see yours does too. Take me to bed.”
Enda’s hands slid under her dress and he pulled it over her head. His lips were against hers, then trailing down her neck to her full breasts. As he took her nipple into his mouth, his hands were pushing her panties down. Ama stepped out of them and shivered as he teased her nipple until it was hard. Doing the same to the other, his lips then moved down her stomach to her belly, his tongue rimming her navel.
“Enda …” Her voice was soft, and he stood as she unbuttoned his shirt and his pants. Her lips were soft and sweet on his and Enda felt a rush of adrenaline course through him. Both naked, they tumbled onto the bed, and Ama moved down his body until she could take his cock into her mouth. Tracing the tip of her tongue up the shaft, she teased his sensitive tip until she could taste the salty pre-cum. His cock was rock-hard and trembling under her touch, but before he could cum, he pulled her on top of him and impaled her, his long, thick shaft plunging deep into her velvety cunt. Ama gave a long moan of pleasure, and Enda had to hold back. His hand stroked her clit as she rode him, and he was transfixed by the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her.
“God, you’re beautiful, cara mia.” The low light in the room made her skin look golden. Her breasts were ripe and plump and her silky belly had that slight curve to it. Her dark hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders and her lovely face was flushed pink from her arousal. Ama began to move quicker as they became more aroused, and Enda’s cock swelled and became almost unbearably sensitive.
He came hard, his body jerking and bucking her under as he ejaculated deep inside her. Ama gave a cry of release and shuddered, her breath coming in short gasps as her orgasm rippled through her.
As they caught their breath, Enda pressed his lips to her forehead and Ama snuggled in close to him. They had no need for words.
Two days later, a nervous and trembling Ama returned to the Music Conservatory. As Trevor and Dustin drove her into the city, she realized she was more nervous about facing her colleagues and students than she was about any threat Jackson might be. She was glad that
her best friend, Christina, would be there to support her today. Since her apartment had been broken into, Christina had been staying with her boyfriend and had reported no more threats or strange occurrences. When Ama thought about what had happened to Inca, she couldn’t help, but be utterly relieved that Jackson had left Christina alone. Enough people have been hurt, she thought now as the car pulled up to the school. Maybe today would be the day Jackson would realize she was back and get in touch. She knew it was a long shot that anything would happen the first day back. Jackson wouldn’t be so reckless. He would know the security measures Enda had put in place.
But Ama had no doubt that he would be watching. She pushed the thought away. Act normally, as if he wasn’t holding her beloved sister hostage. That will enrage him. Jackson wants the attention. All the things Enda told her went through her head again now.
Christina met her at the door and the two women hugged for a long moment. “Hey, girl.” Christina, her black hair pulled up into a chignon and her slender figure in jeans and t-shirt, smiled at her, but her eyes were worried. “Are you okay?”
Suddenly Ama felt like crying. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and Christina smiled, understanding. “Come on. Let’s get some of that atrocious coffee they serve in the cafeteria.”
A half hour later, she went up to her office. Christina had shown her around the two music rooms that were fire-damaged. “We were lucky someone spotted it before it spread too far, but it’s awkward these two being out of use for the time being.”
Enda had offered the school the money to repair the damage and would not take no for an answer. Ama felt bad though; it had another ‘fuck you’ from Jackson toward her.
In her office, Lena hugged her too. “So good to have you back, boss.”
Ama smiled. “Sorry to have abandoned you for so long. But I come bearing more news.”
Lena studied her. “You’re leaving for good, aren’t you?”
Ama nodded. “I am. I’m sorry, but I want to be with Enda, and I want to be in Italy. He and Raffaelo Winter are opening music schools across the world, and I’m going to help them.” She smiled. “So, if you feel like a change of pace or of country, we could always use superb administrators. But don’t tell the dean I said so. I’m already in trouble for giving notice.”
Lena nodded, but her eyes were sad. “I’ll miss you.”
Tears threatened again. “Don’t make me cry.” Ama smiled at her assistant. “Come on, boss me around for a bit. I’ll feel like I’m home then.”
Lena grinned. “Okay, well, there’s your email folder. Don’t even ask how many unread you have. I’ve tried to sort them into folders in order of importance, and I deleted all the spam, but still. Any marked private, I haven’t opened. I promise. They’re in a folder on your desktop.”
Ama sat down at her desk and flicked her work laptop on. She had left everything behind when she’d fled to Italy, including this old machine, and it took a while for the computer to boot up. She went to put a fresh pot of coffee on and noticed the fine layer of dust covering everything. With a note of sadness, she realized this place was a stranger to her, and she to it.
She had given the dean her notice—three months—and he had been sad, but understanding. Enda had already spoken to him about the extra security, telling him in confidence the situation with Ama and her sister. The Dean had been appalled, of course, and promised to do everything in his power to protect Ama.
Ama sat back down at her desk and clicked open the private email folder. Private messages from an ‘unknown’ addressee filled the screen. Ama swallowed, knowing they all had to be from Jackson. The first one was dated the night she left him, and it was a rambling, venom-filled email telling her she was a whore and that Enda was a bastard who was only romancing her to pay Jackson back. All vitriolic swill, but nothing Ama wouldn’t have expected. She almost deleted it, then paused. It was still evidence, wasn’t it? There were a few more angry rants around the same date, but then, for a period of some months, nothing. Then, the day Jackson had abducted Selima, the email started again. Ama clicked on the first one.
Time’s up.
With the short phrase was a photograph of the inside of Christina’s apartment, trashed, with the bloody messages scrawled across the walls. The second email was a photo of a small fire being set in the music rooms in the conservatory. So, that had been Jackson.
Ama didn’t want to think about what was included in the few emails left, but she made herself click on them in order.
She gave a squeak of distress. Chase Caplan lying on the sidewalk, blood spread across his t-shirt, his eyes closed. The moment Selima had gone missing.
The next email showed Selima chained to a bed, looking cowed, but thankfully not bruised. Ama studied the photo of her sister minutely, trying to see the expression in Selima’s eyes, then trying to place the bedroom. She shook her head, her chest hurting with the pain of knowing her sister was somewhere and she couldn’t get to her.
The next email took her breath away. A woman she didn’t know lay slumped in the front seat of a car, her dress soaked in blood, the hilt of a knife protruding from her stomach. Dark red stab wounds covered her torso. The woman’s soft caramel hair hung to her shoulders, her eyes were closed, and her pretty face still contorted with pain and horror, even in death.
Penelope. Oh, Jesus Christ, Oh, god, oh god … Ama felt nausea rise in her throat.
The last email she hesitated to open. When she did, she saw this one was a video file. From the screenshot at the start, she could see the outside of Inca’s teahouse in Naples and knew instantly what she would see. Ama closed her eyes. I don’t know if I can do this …
But maybe there would be some clue …
She hit the play button. Someone, obviously wearing a camera, walked into the cool, shaded lower floor of the tea house. Ama saw Inca cleaning up alone. God, she looked so happy and so beautiful in her little tea-dress. She smiled at the men with the cameras, and Ama heard her say “Hey, fellas, come on in. We have plenty of room. Upstairs or down. I’m Inca, so if you need anything just ask.”
Another man, who was with the cameraman, grabbed Inca so quickly it made Ama jump back from the screen. She saw him pull Inca’s arms behind her, then saw the confusion and fear in Inca’s lovely face. With increasing horror, Ama watched the cameraman pull out the knife and plunged it into Inca’s belly. Inca gasped in agony, and Ama gave a moan as she watched her friend being stabbed again and again. When he had finished, the men lay Inca on the floor of the tea house. The whole attack took less than fifteen seconds. The cameraman lingered over Inca’s prone body. She was conscious, her eyes confused, gasping for air and for life. The camera zoomed in on her wounds, the blood pooling around her. So much blood. She heard a voice speak gently, almost tenderly to the dying woman.
“Jackson Gallo sends his regards.” Ama gasped in horror as the man stabbed Inca one last time, leaving the knife on the floor next to her body. Then the video ended.
Ama didn’t even realize she was screaming until Trevor and Dustin burst into the room, and she collapsed to the ground, sobbing.
Raff watched the video over and over again, his heart shattering. Enda and his security team had told him about it, and Raff had demanded they send it to him immediately. Enda had cautioned him. “Brother …don’t watch it. Please. I can’t imagine anything worse than seeing the woman you love attacked like this. It’s horrific.”
“Inca had to live it. Live it, Enda, not just watch it. I have to do this; there maybe something, or someone I might recognize. You forget I know most people, good or bad, in Naples and Sorrento. This is my home. If they’re locals, I’ll know it.”
After failing to dissuade him, Enda sent the video over, and Raff had watched it. The first time, the shock of it had been ice in his veins. The pain on his beloved Inca’s face—the disbelief that this was happening to her again. The knife slicing through the white cotton of her dress, the deep claret red of her blood sp
reading across it. The absolute cruelty of the man who was stabbing her.
He watched it again and again, trying to get used to the horror of it. When he realized that would never happen, he took himself out of the role of husband and tried to focus as an investigator. When the man spoke at the end, Raff heard the accent of the region. Good. That was something he had been right about—they were local. In his old life, before Inca, Raff had opened nightclubs, and had enough underworld contacts that he could show this to them and hope against hope they would recognize someone. His contacts would know he wasn’t about to go to the police with that information. Raffaelo Winter had every intention of getting everything they knew about Jackson, and then, without hesitation, he would make them feel the pain they had inflicted on Inca tenfold.
Inca knew something was wrong when she woke after napping all afternoon. Her body felt heavy, almost as if it was waterlogged. Her belly screamed with pain, and she felt hot. Too hot for this air-conditioned room. She leaned over, reaching for the call button, then felt herself slip and roll. She slammed onto the floor with a moan and then all was darkness.
Ama woke in Enda’s arms as the phone rang loudly. Enda groaned and rolled over to answer it as Ama glanced at the clock. No news is good at three a.m., she thought and sat up. Enda was rubbing his eyes.
“Yeah? Oh, hey, Raff …what? Oh god …how? When? Jesus …what does the surgeon say?”
Ama’s heart caught in her throat. It had to be Inca …Jesus. Ama closed her eyes. Jackson, you fucking bastard. Why didn’t you just kill me?
She waited for him to finish the call. He looked shattered. “Inca was bleeding internally. They took her back into surgery four hours ago and they’re still operating. They can’t stop the bleeding. Raff is …well, you can guess.”
Ama dipped her head into her hands and gave a sob. “This is the end, Enda. I’ve had enough. We need to draw Jackson out. We need to end this.”
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