by Fawn Bailey
"In Italy?"
"In Venice. Her eyes lit up when she talked about it."
"I can't see how she'd get out of the country," I said worriedly. "They took her when she was admitted into the asylum."
Jonathan looked away, and I could tell he felt guilty about something. Desperate, I reached for his hand, imploring him to tell me what happened.
"After you left town," he said, his voice shaky, "I took care of what was left. The estate… even though it was burned to the ground, I still try to keep it tidy. Some personal belongings, the things that survived the fire. Things your father kept in a safe."
"Yes?" I urged, knowing he was working his way up to a big reveal.
"There were some documents among them," he confessed. "Including your sister's passport. Allegra Adley."
"You gave it to her," I said softly, and he nodded, the weight almost visibly shifting from his shoulders.
He must've kept that secret for a long time.
"When?" I barked. "When did you give her Allegra's passport?"
"After the fire in the asylum. She was waiting for me when I got home after helping at the scene."
He'd betrayed us. Again. Betrayed not only me but Astor's twin sister, and our parents. He'd helped their murderer.
He wasn't a good man. He was the enemy.
I needed to know more though, so I swallowed my anger and offered him an icy smile that was meant to be reassuring. I hoped he hadn't noticed what my true thoughts on the matter were.
"Did she ask you for it?" nn
He nodded, his head sagging as he did, then stared at his wrinkled hands peppered with liver spots. He really was just an old man now. An old man who had been alone for a very, very long time.
"Did she say she was going abroad?"
"She said she was going to Italy," he replied. "She said it was time to start a new life. I gave her some money for the ticket."
I couldn't believe his naivete. He'd been played by Astor, just like I'd been, believing my whole life that Allegra, her twin sister, had been the bad one.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked pointedly. "You have no reason to help me. You always liked Astor best of all."
"There was something wrong that night," he said, shaking his head. "Something about her didn't seem right."
There was something very obviously wrong with my sister, but I wasn't about to point that out. Instead, I waited patiently for him to go on.
"She didn't seem herself. She seemed… strange. Snappy. Not the way she usually was with me."
"That was years ago now. I have no idea if she's still in Italy."
"You need to find her," Jonathan said, and I raised my eyes to his.
"Why?"
He looked at me, then, as if changing his mind, stood up and started digging in a drawer.
"I'm going to give you some money for the plane ticket to Venice, like I did with her. It's time this ended, that this curse was finally lifted."
"Curse?" I repeated, but he ignored me, seemingly lost in the past.
I approached him slowly, and when I touched my hand to his, he jumped, his eyes wide with fear.
"Why do I have to find her?"
"Because," he insisted, softening after a moment of my inquisitive glaring, "she sent me a package too. And I'm afraid she's going to kill again."
6
Ginger
I hadn't been on a plane in a very long time, not since I'd left Ryker's home all those years ago.
It felt strangely mundane, waiting to board the flight, eating stale croissants at the airport. I palmed through the magazines on the plane, impatiently waiting for the landing.
Jonathan had stayed true to his word, insisting on paying for my ticket to Venice, claiming he'd saved up a lot over the years. I had some meager savings of my own, and I told him as much, but he wanted me to keep it. He said I should save it for a rainy time, and a part of me agreed. I didn't know what I'd be walking in on in Italy; I assumed I'd need some time, some resources before I found Astor. She always liked making things difficult for me.
Sitting next to a handsome businessman on the flight, I saw him sneaking glances at me from the moment boarding started, but I tried to avert my eyes whenever he was looking. When I realized we'd be sitting together, I put earbuds in my ears and kept them in for the whole flight. I didn't need another problem on my hands, and the onyx-haired, chiseled gentleman next to me definitely looked like trouble.
He seemed to understand I wasn't interested and wore an amused smile on his face for the rest of the flight. I didn't acknowledge it, instead staring out of the window, watching the sun rise over the sea as we made our way to Italy.
I'd never landed in an airport like the Marco Polo in Venice.
Until the very last second, I was convinced we weren't going to make it, as the runway on which the pilot had to land was just a thin strip of land with water on both sides. But he landed perfectly, and I barely felt us hitting the ground.
I rushed off the flight, exhausted after two connecting flights and eager to get to the hotel. After shelling out a small fortune in euros to a not very trustworthy-looking cabbie, I was left with my small suitcase, standing in front of a crumbling building a fair bit out of the city.
Once I walked inside the hotel, I realized it was stuck perhaps twenty years in the past. I didn't even dare ask for Wi-Fi, happy enough that the bed and bathroom seemed clean, if modest.
I thought I'd be able to start exploring right away, trying to get on my sister's trail, but I was weary from the two full days of travel. Before I could let myself get anxious or nervous, I'd fallen back on the bed, my eyelids heavy as I drifted off to an exhausted sleep.
I woke up with a start in a completely dark room.
Rising from the bed, I felt around for the light switch and found myself checking every hidden area in the room to make sure I was still alone.
The fear was still there, deep in my bones, the thoughts of being found by Astor, of being hurt because of what I'd done to her, seemingly impossible to get rid of.
But she couldn't know I was in the city. She couldn't possibly be keeping tabs on every single American tourist who came to Venice.
There was a long search ahead of me, but I knew I'd needed my rest, so I tried not to berate myself too much over the much-needed sleep I'd had.
I pulled the curtains back on the windows, admiring the beautiful view of the city lights sparkling in the distance, the water surrounding them. The room was high up in the old townhouse, and while I'd cursed the rickety stairs a thousand times on my way up, I was now grateful for the gorgeous view. The receptionist had shown it to me with such pride earlier, but I was exhausted by that point and couldn't think of anything other than a soft pillow to rest my head on.
I stared outside for a few minutes before I was interrupted by the insistent rumbling of my stomach.
I was painfully hungry, but the receptionist told me their kitchen closed at 6:00 p.m., and they didn't offer dinner or room service. Knowing I had no other choice than to venture into the streets, I sighed and changed from the leggings and sweater I'd traveled in into a dress and ankle boots. I took my handbag with me, stuffing it with some euros I'd exchanged at the airport.
The hotel room door creaked when I looked it, and I eyed it doubtfully. I wasn't so sure it could withstand an attack; someone could probably take it down by knocking a little too hard.
But I didn't dwell on the thought too long. I knew my sister was more subtle, that she would never come crashing into the hotel where I was staying. And like she'd said, she'd wait for me to find her, not the other way around.
With those thoughts running through my head, I left the small hotel. The reception area was deserted, but I managed to hail a cab outside. The next twenty minutes were nerve-racking as I watched the Italian curse and drive with trepidation. Some of the alleys were so tight, I was convinced the car would never make it throug
h in one piece, but my driver seemed skilled in navigating the streets of Venice, and we arrived at our destination safe and sound.
I gave him a small tip, for which he thanked me profusely, then climbed out of the cab.
Despite my fear when I thought about crossing paths with my sister again, I was excited. I'd never been abroad, and the promise of seeing Italy sent excitement running through my veins.
I walked around for a while, drinking in the beautiful city. I was enamored with the impressive architecture and falling for every landmark that made Venice the treasure it was.
Treasure. Tesoro.
With a start, I remembered the nickname Ryker had for me all those years ago. A part of me wondered whether he called all his conquests by the name, and my hands formed angry fists at my sides when I thought about it. I was jealous, I realized. Painfully jealous of the woman who stood by his side now.
I'd made it a point not to check up on him. It was better to stay behind, in the shadows. It was better for both of us if we didn't cross paths again. And I knew if I looked him up, I wouldn't be able to stay away for long. He was like a drug that I got addicted to time and time again. I needed to stay away, for my own good.
I managed to find a small restaurant that was still open and didn't look too expensive.
The overly enthusiastic waiter showed me to a small table with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth, listing the specials with so much excitement that my mouth watered at the thought of all the delicious dishes he had mentioned. I settled on the lasagna, and he reappeared a moment later with a glass of chilled white wine. I'd only ordered water, but he said it came with compliments from the chef.
Gratefully, I accepted the drink and relished the taste of wine on my tongue. It was delicious, making my head spin after only a couple of sips. After the day I'd had, it was no wonder. I was exhausted from the flights, from sleeping at odd hours in my hotel room. But I had more important things on my mind than spending the day nursing my jet lag.
I needed to find Astor, and I needed to do it fast.
I remembered everything Jonathan had told me, including the card he'd received from her, which was just as cryptic but not as threatening as mine had been. It thanked Mr. Smith for all he'd done for her over the years, and claimed justice would soon be served.
I assumed that meant she was going to hurt me. And by flying over to Italy, I was heading straight for the hornet's nest.
I couldn't stay away, and I knew why.
Astor was my only remaining family member, and I felt an obligation to help her. I loved her when she was okay. When she wasn't, she turned my life into a living hell.
But there was another thing, and it was something I didn't admit to myself all that easily.
I felt responsible for the people around Astor. Surely they didn't know about her dark past. She'd probably surrounded herself with people who hadn't known her in Hollyhock. I was sure she was trying to move on, but that was never going to work. Not unless she stayed on her meds and avoided trouble, and I had a feeling she was doing neither of those things.
“Signorina?”
I looked up to find the waiter standing before me with a plate of cheesy, delicious-smelling lasagna. I smiled and he placed the dish in front of me.
“There was something else,” he said awkwardly after setting everything up.
“Oh?” I gave him a curious glance, imploring him to go on.
“Someone stopped by.” His eyes never quite met mine. “A woman. Bella, così bella. Looked like you, signorina, but with darker hair. Black.”
Time stood still in that moment as I just stared at him, my heart pounding a million times a minute as I waited for him to deliver the news.
“She sent you the wine,” he said, motioning toward the now-empty glass.
I stared at the drop of liquid still in it. What if she’d put something in my drink? I never knew with Astor. She was unpredictable, crazy impulsive. It was as if someone had wrapped thick, strong fingers around my throat. I was struggling to breathe, not sure whether the effects were from my anxiety or whatever had been in that white wine.
“She also paid for your food. Whatever you want.”
“Did she say anything else?” I rushed to ask. “Anything at all? Is she gone now?”
“She is, signorina,” he said regretfully. “But she left something for you.”
He gave me another curious look, probably trying to connect the dots between Astor and me.
How did she know I was there? She must’ve been keeping tabs on me to be aware I was in Venice. God, she was so conniving. But the worst part was I was afraid of what she might do.
Hurt me. Kill me. Punish me.
Those outcomes almost seemed better than facing her.
I’d been living with my guilt for a long time, and I had no idea what it would be like to see her face-to-face. To talk about why she’d ended up in that asylum.
“What did she leave for me?” I asked the man, trying to keep the shakiness out of my voice and failing miserably.
He handed me another small package, just like the one I’d received at Petale. The man nodded at me politely, wishing me buon appetito before disappearing inside the kitchen.
I ignored the sound of music, the delicious smell of the food before me. I’d lost my appetite. All that mattered was the box in my hands.
I traced the cardboard with my fingertips, stopping short when they ran into a series of ridges on the paper. Turning the box around, I peered at the word embossed in the creamy paper.
L’Imperatore.
I had no idea what that meant.
When I opened the box, it had the same contents: a tarot card and a note scribbled in Astor’s handwriting. That time the card wasn’t blank.
Six of Cups.
I remembered what the card meant. The three of us used to play with them all the time. The Six of Cups signified childhood, innocence, growing up. It also meant a reunion was coming.
I shivered as I picked up the note.
Silly little Ginger, walking right into the trap. Welcome to Venice, sister dearest. Dinner’s on me. Eat up while you still can.
7
The Emperor
Life without Astor was missing the thrill she'd always given me. And yet I wasn't tempted enough to return to her.
I'd had my fill of the little Snow White. Now I wanted my real queen back.
I couldn't get Ginger off my mind lately. Even at the best of times, she wasn't far away from my thoughts, but lately it seemed even harder to block the memory of her. To pretend I wasn't still longing after a relationship. That ship had sailed a long time ago, when she left me and told me she never wanted to see me again.
I guess part of the problem was that Ginger never told me the real reason she left me. She just grew quieter and quieter, retreating into the recesses of her mind and not telling me a thing about what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.
I still wasn't sure why she'd dropped me like that. In fact, I didn't even know if it had been my fault or an issue with her. Maybe I'd crossed a line. Maybe she had someone else waiting for her back at home.
All those years ago, I'd tried to get the truth out of Kain. I'd begged, groveled for her last name, for an address. But he was adamant about not telling me, saying he'd made a promise to Ginger and he didn't want to break it. Later, I'd even hired a PI and sent him after her, but he didn't find a thing.
Now, seven years and five PIs later, I still didn't have a clue about Ginger's whereabouts. No idea of her last name, fucking nothing. She'd come out of thin air and then disappeared back into it. It seemed like I would never see her again. And I was fucking stubborn—my pride wouldn't let me pursue a woman who so obviously didn't want me.
When Astor walked in, she was a distraction I didn't welcome. I resisted her as long as I could, though by the point we slept together, she was practically sitting in my lap begging for it.
I knew she was attracted to me. Perhaps it
was my position, my money. Maybe my appearance, or my dirty fucking mouth.
None of it mattered.
She wasn't the one I wanted.
My thoughts slipped to Ginger again and again, until Astor reminded me of her so much that I knew I had to sever ties before I hurt both of us.
A few months after Ginger disappeared, I left the States. When my father, Michael, died, I inherited everything, including a priceless collection of art that I couldn't bear to look at anymore. I sold it at auction, and only after discovered my father had another collection, this one hidden, stolen, and bought on the black market. It was how I discovered a new world, one of art deals that dripped with crimson blood, brighter than any that had ever been painted. Through the art business, I entered a black market where there was a need for everything. Wanting to stay away from the drugs and murder—I'd had enough of that in another life—I chose the finer things in life, like art and jewelry. The diamonds were a newer addition, but the Cursed Beauty had held my attention for a long time before it came into my hands.
I'd traced our family history back to our first ancestors in the States, and even further down memory lane to Italy. The earliest mentions of our family name went to Venice in the eighteenth century, I devoured every bit of that knowledge with hungry eyes.
My ancestor, Massimo Marino, had been a successful merchant in those times. After a particularly eventful journey, he boasted to his wife that he had defeated a pirate at sea and brought their treasures back to Venice, where he was celebrated for his braveness.
However, only his wife, Anita, knew of the secret they'd both sworn to take to the grave.
When Massimo defeated the pirates, he kept the most valuable piece they owned to himself, to be sold by one of his sons when the air cleared and make him a fortune. The piece of treasure was called the Cursed Beauty, a breathtaking blue diamond with an unprecedented size.
Massimo also told his wife that the pirates had cursed the diamond before he killed them. In the beginning, the couple laughed at their threats. But soon enough, it turned out to be true.