Nightclub Surprise

by Michelle Love

  Lisander nodded. “We wait for the others. Then we go to Maceo and hope we’re not too late.”

  Florence

  The surgeon rolled his shoulders and stepped back from the table. “That’s as much as we can do until she gets stronger.”

  He looked down at the beautiful woman on his operating table, her body the scene of unthinkable violence. “Who would do this to you, little one?”

  “Will you update the fiancé, Dr. Gialli?”

  Gialli nodded. “Let me change my scrubs. He won’t want to see her blood all over me. Take her to recovery, please, but be gentle. I don’t know if that artery will hold. And if it bursts then she won’t stand a chance.”

  Gialli scrubbed out and went to find Maceo Bartoli. The young man looked like a zombie. “Mr. Bartoli?”

  Maceo scrambled to his feet, his eyes searching the doctor’s face. “Dr. Gialli? Please, tell me she’s okay.”

  Gialli steered Maceo into a seat. “Mr. Bartoli, I have stabilized Ms. Roy as best as we can, but she’s not out of the woods yet. She lost almost half her blood volume, which is normally fatal, but I think the blood loss was slowed by the fact that she was motionless when she was stabbed, and you applied pressure nearly as soon as the incident happened. The medics who came to the scene started the blood bag, so I think that’s what saved her.”

  Maceo was listening intently, but when the doctor paused, he stared down at his hands, dyed dark red with Ori’s blood. He remembered the seconds after he’d realized she’d been stabbed, screaming, screaming for help, his hands automatically pressing down on her belly, desperate to keep the precious blood inside her. Her stillness …

  “Doctor, be completely honest. Will she live?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Bartoli, and that is the truth. We’ll know more in the next few days. Have the police talked to you?”

  Maceo nodded. “They say they have CCTV from the gas station and are going through it now. Whoever stabbed Ori must have been following us.”

  The doctor frowned. “It wasn’t a robbery?”

  Maceo shook his head. “No. Someone has been threatening her for months. I promised her I’d protect her, and I failed her.”

  The doctor didn’t know how to reassure the devastated young man. He patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll come find you when I know more.”

  “Can I see her?”

  The doctor hesitated. “She’s in the ICU at the moment. I’d rather you wait, but if you insist …”

  Maceo nodded. “Whatever you think is best for Ori, doctor.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll forgive me if I ask you to wait for a while—at least until we have her settled and she’s stabilized...”

  “Okay. Thanks, doctor.”

  The doctor nodded and walked slowly back to his office. Why did these cases always get to him? The violence, the cruelty of it all.

  When he went home that night, he hugged his wife even tighter than usual.

  She was hovering on the edge of death. Ori knew that and yet she wasn’t scared. She could feel people’s hands on her body, could feel the excruciating pain of the knife wounds, but everything else was numb. Blood loss, she supposed. I’m dying. She could accept that if it hadn’t been for Maceo. His grief had echoed through her unconscious mind, him begging her to live. I will try, my love …

  She could still recall the lethal blade running her through, the way all the breath in her lungs had been pushed out with the force of the blows. The killer’s kiss. She tried to recall that kiss—tried to remember if anything about it was familiar. It was a tender counterpoint to the brutality of his knife. Why? Why would anyone who claimed to love her do that to her?

  Obsession …

  A scintilla of an idea floated across her consciousness but was soon lost in the dark swirls of coma that took over her mind then and sent her spiraling down into the blackness.

  Benoit and Shiloh were the first to arrive in Venice, shaken and disbelieving, then Seth, and lastly Alex and his half-sister, Netta. All of them were pale and sickened by what had happened. Lucia arranged for all eight of them to fly to Florence that evening.

  On the plane, they discussed who should go to the hospital. Lucia was adamant. “Ori was my friend long before any of you met her.” There was some anger in her voice, which Lisander, if no one else, understood. He nodded.

  “Of course. Then perhaps Alex and I? Seth and Ben—perhaps you could go tomorrow?”

  Benoit was texting. He showed them his phone. “I’ve been talking to Maceo via text. He wants all four of us at the same time. I’ve told them Lucia is insisting, and he says that’s okay.”

  Seth sighed. “Shiloh, Netta, do you mind if we leave you at the hotel?”

  The two women shook their heads. Netta squeezed Seth’s hand, “We’ll be the relief guard,” and grinned at him. Seth smiled at her. “Thanks, Nets.”

  Two town cars were waiting for them on the runway. Shiloh and Netta got into one headed for the hotel; the others piled in together to drive to the hospital. They sat in silence as the cab drove through the outskirts of the city.

  A nurse greeted them at the reception. “Miss Fernando, you can go straight up to the ICU. Mr. Vaux, Mr. Cantor, Mr. Duarte, Mr. Milland—Mr. Bartoli would like to see you alone. Please come with me.”

  The men exchanged glances. What the hell was going on? They followed the nurse up to a conference room. “Please wait here for Mr. Bartoli.”

  They were left alone. Benoit frowned at his friends. “What is all this?”

  The others just shrugged and, a moment later, Maceo came in. His clothes were still bloodstained, his T-shirt covered in dark brown splotches. His eyes were hooded, angry, grief-stricken.

  “Jesus …” Lisander couldn’t help the exclamation; he had never seen his friend so devastated and yet so wild with anger that his whole body seemed to vibrate with it. Maceo gripped the back of a chair for support and seemed to be struggling to speak.

  “How’s Ori?” Seth said gently.

  “Alive. Just.” Maceo’s voice was gravelly, rasping from fatigue and despair. “She was stabbed eleven times in the belly. They had to remove her spleen and a kidney. Her abdominal artery was damaged; so was her liver. She lost two liters of blood, and she’s in a coma. She may not make it.” He looked up finally, lingering on each of his friend’s faces. “Eleven times. She’s survived rape, abuse, being physically and verbally assaulted, and someone decided she hadn’t been through enough and stabbed her eleven times. A defenseless woman. I just have one question to ask you all.”

  His face hard, his green eyes burning with fury, he studied the face of each of his oldest friends and asked the question that had been roiling inside of him for the last twenty-four hours.

  “Which one of you tried to murder my beautiful girl?”

  Benoit wrapped his arms around Shiloh’s waist as she hugged him and buried his head in her hair. “How did it go, darling? Did they let you see Ori?”

  Benoit shook his head. “No. We just met with Maceo.” He told her about Maceo’s anger, his utter conviction that one of them was responsible for stabbing Ori and killing Viola. Shiloh listened with growing horror.

  “He can’t mean it, surely? This is the grief talking, the shock?”

  Benoit met her gaze. “I don’t think so, ma chére. I’ve never seen Maceo like that before. So angry, so sure.”

  Shiloh was silent for a long time, just holding him. “This is a nightmare.”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “And he won’t let any of us near Ori except you, Kate, and Netta. But not yet; she’s in a too delicate condition.”

  Shiloh stroked his hair. “It’s not looking good, is it?”

  “From what Maceo said, I’m surprised she made it at all.” He described what had happened to Ori and Shiloh looked sickened.

  “God.” Shiloh felt nausea rising in her throat. Unconsciously she touched her belly, the bump where their daughter lay sleeping. “Benoit … is there any chance, I
mean, do you think there’s any chance one of you could have done it?”

  Benoit’s eyes were full of pain when he looked at her. “I don’t even want to think about that possibility but if I’m honest … yes. Yes, I think one of us could have. And, god help me, I think I know who.”

  The doctor finally gave his permission for Maceo to sit with Ori. She had stabilized overnight, but Maceo still had to have his vitals checked to make sure he wasn’t carrying a virus before going to see her. There was so much risk of infection.

  His whole body trembled as he pushed aside the sliding door to her room. Ori, her dark hair spread about the pillow, was pale, her usually golden-honey skin yellow and wan.

  “Mio caro,” he whispered to her as he bent over her to kiss her cool cheek. The bleep of the machines reminded him what was keeping her alive, and the pain was intense.

  Maceo pulled up a chair next to her and stroked her hair. He let out a long breath. Since confronting his friends, the fight had gone out of him. The shock on some of their faces, the agreement on others. He knew who had done this; he was just waiting for him to confess. Viola. Ori. There was only one person in Maceo’s mind, one suspect, but he wanted the killer to confess. He had no proof of anything other than that Ori was here, and she might not wake up.

  He laid his head on the bed and closed his eyes, his fingers interlocked with hers. A memory.

  The beginning of their relationship, the very beginning, that first heavenly weekend of making love, eating good food, wandering around the city. They’d been out in the sun all day, and Ori had offered to cook for him at her apartment so they could enjoy some private time. She’d made a sumptuous duck a l’ orange for their supper, and afterward, they sat together on her tiny balcony, Ori leaning back against his chest, his lips against her temple.

  “Tell me about your friends in this Midnight Club. Were you all really born on the same day?”

  Maceo smiled. “We were. When the other students found out about the weird coincidence, they were ones who gave us that name. We just took it as a badge of honor. God, we were such kids.”

  Ori laughed. “So you were the kings of that campus?”

  “We thought so then; well, if I’m fair, it was more me, Lisander, and Benoit who were the sluts and showmen. Alex and Seth were more reserved. Puritans, I used to call them. But really, they were just more mature.”

  “They’re not from the Romance countries of the world,” Ori mused. “Was it more a cultural thing?”

  Maceo considered. “I never thought of it like that. Maybe so. Smart girl.”

  Ori grinned. “I have my moments. Who are you closest to out of them?”

  Maceo thought about that. “Probably Alex.” He laughed softly. “He’s the one who has the most patience with me. I get a little excitable at times.”

  Ori sat up and turned around to face him. “Don’t I know it?”

  Maceo grinned and pressed his lips to hers. “You can hardly blame me, mio caro, when such incentive is before me.”

  His fingers were at the buttons of her dress now, and she watched him slowly undo them, his gaze drifting between her own and the skin he was exposing. “Your skin is like honey,.” he said softly, letting his fingertips trace a line between her breasts before pushing back the bodice and sliding her bra straps from her shoulders. He stroked her skin gently, his lips on her shoulders, trailing along her collarbone to her throat. “You’re so beautiful, bella, so lovely …”

  His movements were slow and sensual and Ori gave herself to him completely. He gathered her to him and carried her inside to the bed, removing her dress and panties and stepping back to both strip himself and admire her body. They had no need for words now, the connection between them was so strong and full of trust. Maceo felt his cock harden and stiffen as he slid a hand along the length of her leg as he buried his face in her softly curved belly. His tongue traced a circle around her navel, dipping into the deep hollow of it. He heard Ori gasp and felt her fingers tangle in his dark curls as his own found the slick crevice of her sex, his thumb strumming a beat on her clit. Her skin smelt of soap and fresh air. He looked up at her.

  “The first time I saw you,” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice making her smile, “I wondered what your cunt would taste like. I dreamed about what it would feel like to be inside you and feel the soft flesh of your inner thighs against my hips as I fucked you.”

  He could tell how turned on she was by his dirty talk and smiled. He moved up her body, stopping to gently bite down on each perky nipple, grazing them with his teeth before he covered her mouth with his. “The reality, mio prezioso tesoro Ori, is so much better than I could ever have dreamed.” He sat up, gently pressed her legs apart and lowered himself back onto her, gently wrapping her legs around him as his cock slid into her ready cunt. He thrust his hips hard, watching her expression change and soften with the pleasure of him inside her.

  “Bella, I love to watch you as I fuck you. Your lovely face, that blush in your cheeks, the way your mouth opens as you cry out ...”

  Ori moaned, and he knew that she was responding not just to his cock plunging deeply into her but to his words. He loved having this power over her, but never before had he himself been so emotionally connected to a woman, to another person. He wanted her, just her, never wanted this night to end.

  “Ho intenzione di scoparti fino a quando non mi preghi di smettere …” he growled as his thrusts grew harder, deeper, quicker. “I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop, Il mio dolce Ori.” My sweet Ori.

  True to his word, she was screaming his name by the time he made her come for the fifth time but he was relentless, taking her in every way he could imagine. Fucking her perfect ass brought new pleasure to them both, Ori telling him that she’d never tried it before and Maceo schooling her gently as they moved together.

  Finally, as dawn was breaking over Venice, they held each other and slept, exhausted and sated.

  Maceo studied the face of the woman he had known he was in love with that same night. If it hadn’t been for her paleness, the machinery keeping her alive, he could almost have seen her as he did that night, sleeping peacefully.

  Except ... he would never get over the sight of her in his car that night, stabbed, bleeding, dying. The sound of her breath hitching and catching as she struggled to drag oxygen into her lungs. Maceo squeezed his eyes shut and willed the images to go away. What was worse was he imagined the killer stabbing her, her fear, terror, pain.

  “Stop it,” he groaned to himself. He couldn’t change that. But he could do everything in his power to find out who did this to Ori. He was convinced, utterly sure, that he knew who Ori’s would-be killer was. He was sure.

  Alex.

  Lisander and Kate had talked all night after Maceo’s accusation. “He’s serious,” Lisander said without rancor. “So we should take it seriously.”

  Kate nodded. They had ordered room service, and Kate had spent the night writing notes as they tried to figure out who and why. At one point, Kate had written Alex, Seth and Benoit’s names down and pinned them to the wall. Lisander, in a move which shocked her, wrote his own name down and Maceo’s and added them. Seeing her expression, he half smiled.

  “We look at all the evidence, Kate. Which means all of us need to be looked at. I know I didn’t stab Ori or kill Viola, but we look at everything. For your own peace of mind, if nothing else.”

  Kate smiled, her eyes filling with tears. She touched his face. “I know you didn’t do this. I know it in my bones. But, you’re right. Let’s do this properly.”

  “Start with me. Hopefully, counselor, you can rule me out pretty quickly,” Lisander grinned, but a few minutes later his smile had faded.

  The night Ori had been stabbed, he had been with a designer at a small gathering at the designer’s studio but had left and decided to take a stroll through the streets of Venice. He’d gotten lost and ended up a long way out of the city.

  “Still, there’s no w
ay you could have gotten a car, driven all that way just to stab Ori, and then made it back to me,.” Kate shrugged it off, but Lisander sighed.

  “But you didn’t notice I was back until the next morning.”

  “Did none of the hotel staff see you come back?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Okay, so that’s something to check. The hotel’s security cameras would have picked you up and provided a time stamp.”

  “What about Viola?”

  “When was she killed?”

  “September fifth, last year.”

  “Where were you?”

  Lisander nodded, sure of himself this time. “Paris Fashion Week. Viola was apparently murdered during the daytime in New York; there are myriad photos of me that day in Paris.”

  Kate wrote this down and pinned it under his name. “See? We’re making progress already. Now, when you were in Paris, did you see Benoit?”

  Lisander shook his head. “No. Benoit at a fashion show? He was working, but I don’t know where. We didn’t meet that time; we’d just come back from a boys’ trip to Crete, so we didn’t bother arranging anything.”

  “Boys’ trip,” Kate scoffed, and he grinned at her.

  “You betcha.”

  “Well,” Kate stuck her last notes up. “That’s you. Plus, the whole you have no motive’ etc. Who shall we do next?”

  Lisander’s brow furrowed. “Maceo. It makes me feel nauseous even to consider him, but he’d feel the same as me. Get the whole picture.”

  Kate nodded. “Well, we know for sure he didn’t stab Ori. God, can you imagine? The gas station’s security cameras show him talking to the owner when the masked man attacked Ori. But, yeah, he had a fling with Viola.”

  Lisander sighed. “Which gives him the motive to keep her quiet. But, like when he was accused of killing Janek, Maceo just doesn’t have it in him.”