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 spreading 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 infor
mation. 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.”
“I agree.” Enda wrapped his arms around her. “Call me selfish or call me a terrible friend, but I never want to have to make that call about you, Ama. And I’m terrified that you’ll do something stupidly selfless and get yourself killed.”
Ama cried silent tears. “What if he does that to Selima? I cannot live with that, Enda.”
“We’ll figure something out, baby.”
“How?”
But he didn’t have an answer for her.
Raff was waiting in the relatives’ room with Gajendra and Omar. His phone bleeped and he checked it, relieved at something to do. It was a message from one of his contacts.
Yes. I know these men. Call me back when you can. I hope your lovely Inca pulls through.
If Raff hadn’t been so gut-wrenchingly terrified right at that moment, he would have punched the air. Finally, a lead.
The surgeon, exhausted and tired, pushed his way into the room, and Raff tried not to see the blood on his scrubs. Inca’s blood. The doctor nodded at him.
“She’s stable. We found the bleed; we had thought her spleen hadn’t been damaged initially, but that was where the bleed was.”
“Will she be okay?” That was Omar; Raff was too relieved to speak.
The doctor hesitated. “We’ve stabilized her. That’s as much information I can confirm. I’m hopeful. Let’s say that. You can see her in the morning, Mr. Winter. Until then, I suggest you go home and get some rest.”
Raff, of course, went straight to the home of his contact, where he found out the names of the men who had attacked Inca and could finally see a way to fight for the woman he loved.
Enda put down the phone in frustration and Ama rubbed his back. “What is it?”
“I have to go to New York for the day. The business goes on, even if we’re out of action, and I can’t ask Raff to leave Inca’s bedside right now.”
Ama hugged him. “Of course you can’t. I have Trevor and Dustin, the silent twins. You go, baby. We can’t let this whole thing stop our lives entirely.”
Enda kissed her. “Have I told you I love you today?”
Ama grinned. “Well, no, but you certainly showed me. And, if you like, you can show me again before I go to work.” She lay back, still naked from the shower, and Enda grinned, covering her body with his and hitching her legs around his waist.
“Is that right, Bella?”
Ama grinned and sighed happily as she felt his cock begin to swell, pressing hard against her thigh. “Put that in me, Gallo.”
“Such a nag,” Enda chuckled and thrust his cock deep into her, making her gasp. In moments like these, Ama pretended that the rest of the world went away and that she and Enda were the only two people alive.
They made love slowly, until Enda brought her to a shattering orgasm. She was still glowing when she walked into her office an hour and a half later. Lena grinned at her.
“You look radiant, boss. Anything to do with that gorgeous man of yours?”
Ama grinned, but they were soon bogged down in work. Enda called her as he was about to catch his flight.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I’ll be back around ten tonight.”
Ama smiled down the phone. “Honestly, baby, I’m fine. We have a ton of work, so I might be working late myself.”
As it turned out, she was right. The paperwork involved in her handing over her classes to the new teacher which kept her busy all day, and she blinked up at Lena as she came into the office.
“Lena, go home. I got this.”
Lena shook her head. “Nah, you stay, I stay. I thought I might skip out and get some coffee for us and Trevor and Dustin. Maybe a sandwich?”
“God, that sounds good. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Lena grinned. “Not at all.”
Ama grabbed her purse. “At least let me give you some money.”
“Don’t worry about it. Be right back. Ham and turkey on rye, right?”
“You’re an angel.”
Lena gave her a strange smile, then left. Ama pondered her expression for a moment, then shrugged and went back to her work.
She was so absorbed in what she was doing, that when Lens brought the food and coffee back, she forgot about the drink until it was cold. She picked idly at the sandwich.
“Isn’t it good?”
She looked up to see Lena at the door. “No, it’s lovely, Lena. Sorry. I got distracted. Did you eat?”
Lena nodded. “I’ll put that coffee in a microwave if you like? Reheat it?”
Ama glanced at the cold coffee cup and wrinkled her nose. “No, it’s okay. It’s never the same. Sorry for forgetting about it.”
Lena shrugged. “It’s no problem.” She hesitated at the door and Ama smiled at her ruefully.
“Seriously, Lena, you should go home. I’m almost done here.”
“Then I’ll wait.” She went out of the door and Ama frowned. Lena was acting …weirdly? Was that the right word? Usually her younger friend would be out of the door as soon as office hours were over, ready to party all night with her friends. Ama didn’t know how she had the energy to do that and still be early for work every morning.
Ama stood and stretched her aching body. The two glass walls of her office, which looked over the conservatory’s atrium, reflected her own image back at her now that the atrium was in darkness.
A thump came from outside of her office, and she glanced around, expecting Lena to poke her head around the door and apologize for dropping something. Instead, she heard a muffled cry and darted to the door. Tugging it open, she saw a masked man grabbing Lena.
“Hey!” Anger and adrenaline rushed through Ama as she went to help her friend, wondering where the hell Trevor and Dustin were. She body-slammed the guy, who was twice her size, and he dropped Lena, but grabbed Ama and tackled her, shoving her back into her office.
Ama staggered back, and the man was on her, driving his fist into her stomach. Ama couldn’t get her breath and Lena attacked the man from behind as Ama tried to stand.
The man knocked Lena across her desk, and as Ama rushed at him, he grabbed her and slammed her down onto her desk.
Amalia kicked him hard in the balls and the man went down. Ama slid from the desk and ran to help Lena. She almost made it. As Lena screamed, Ama was grabbed from behind.
“No! Don’t hurt her!”
But her attacker threw Ama full-force through the plate glass window. The glass shattered and Ama slumped to the floor.
Pain. So much pain.
Her attacker rolled her over, and Amalia realized she had been impaled on a shard of glass which now protruded from her side. She felt faint. Her attacker ga
ve what sounded like a laugh and yanked the glass out of her. More pain. But she couldn’t scream or move. Then she heard Lena screaming. “No! No! Don’t, please don’t. I did what you asked me to do!”
Ama gave a gasp, pushing herself up into a sitting position just as the man drew the lethal edge of the glass across Lena’s throat. Ama screamed at him.
“No!”
But it was too late. Lena’s throat split open and she clutched at it as it began to gush blood. She looked at Ama, her eyes huge with terror and sorrow. “I’m sorry,” she croaked, and then slumped to the ground, pumping red, hot blood onto the floor. Ama tried to move, but the pain of the wound in her side made her struggle and her attacker easily picked her up. As he threw her over his shoulder, she caught a glance of Trevor and Dustin slumped outside the office. Were they dead? There was no one else in the conservatory this late, no one to know she was being taken. She screamed and yelled, but then her assailant slammed her head against the wall and knocked her out.
The news broke as Enda was driving back from the airport and he nearly crashed the car. “No, no, please …”
All the radio report said was, “Murder at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music …two young women attacked. One has been confirmed dead. The other is missing …”
He knew instantly. Ama. Jackson had followed through on his threats. As he turned towards the conservatory, he strained to hear the radio through the roaring of blood in his ears. Please no …
His cell phone buzzed loudly and he pressed the hands-free. “Gallo.”
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