“Ouch!”
What on earth?
Pitch-black, her opened eyes were of no damn help, but she knew just to wait. Be patient.
Sometimes the blackness wasn’t quite so very black. Gingerly, she tested her body. Arms and legs, though aching, appeared to have movement. She turned slowly and with as much stealth as possible, as she had no clue if she was alone or was being guarded. Her head hurt like a bitch from whatever they’d clocked her with and that pissed her off, big time. Memories of what her new sister-in-law went through last summer flashed through her mind, but she steadfastly blocked them out.
That was then, this is now. Focus!
Caro forced herself to relax the tensed muscles in her shoulders and neck and use her senses to determine her whereabouts. Slowly adjusting to the darkness, she became aware of a certain rim of lighter black to her right. Maybe a doorway. She inhaled and almost choked as the damp, musty stench caught in her throat. Okay, then, breathing through my mouth it is, she told herself.
Closing her eyes, despite the fact she could see practically nothing, allowed her to hear faint sounds. Far-off sounds – maybe voices and some thuds. But still no clue to where she was. No notion of how long she’d been unconscious. Grateful, stupidly grateful to her kidnappers, she realised she wasn’t bound or gagged – was that a good sign? Or not? Good, she decided. And if that means I’ve already got Stockholm syndrome before I’ve even met them, that’s fine with me.
Slowly, shapes appeared in the dark. It was a door. And it looked like some kind of table in the centre. She was half-sitting, half-lying on some old, smelly hessian sacks and as no sound other than her ragged breathing was heard, she took the chance to try to stand. Her ankle was a bit sore but not twisted and she hauled herself upright without too much difficulty.
Panting, more from ever-increasing fear than exertion, Caro stepped forwards and carefully, one small step at a time, edged to the table. It was rough and uneven on the surface, but she used it as a brace as she moved ever closer to the doorway. Hands outstretched, she reached the hard wooden structure and felt about for a latch or handle. She found both.
Now, the big question – do I dare try to open it and maybe alert my captors, or do I sit here and wait? Wait for what, exactly? She had absolutely no clue what her immediate future might be but suddenly, she was eerily calm. Right. Toby needs me out of this mess and if, God forbid, I die trying, he’ll know I didn’t give up on him – he’ll know I fought. For him. For us. Even as she came to the decision to move forwards, a stray sob of pure terror escaped, but she gulped it back.
Later, she thought, I can fall apart later.
And damn if a vision of Nick and all his warmth and strength didn’t flood her mind as if to give her courage.
Ah, God, she swallowed hard tears, I wish I’d told him how I feel.
Blowing out a deep, albeit shaky, breath, Caro unlatched the door.
“Ah, you are awake, Miss Fitzgerald.”
Elena’s harsh voice reverberated around the open space Caro stepped into. The sound of the door opening had been loud and creaky, and the bright light from the fluorescent lamp hanging over a long table almost blinded Caro. A hand up to shield her eyes, she took in what she could of the scene before her.
Lounging back in an old carver chair, Elena held a glass of amber liquid in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Tommaso sat to her left, hunched over the table, his head dropped into his hands. He looks wretched, Caro thought absently. A tall, very tall, man stood behind Elena, to her right, his arms folded defensively across a ridiculously broad chest. He reminded Caro of Vito in size, but this man’s eyes were hard as steel.
“And you have decided to join us, have you?” the harsh voice continued.
“Obviously,” Caro agreed, “and I’d appreciate if you would show me the way out. Now.”
Caro hoped her voice didn’t sound as trembly as she felt, but she was determined to face this nastiness, whatever it was, head-on.
Elena slammed her glass down on the table and crushed her cigarette out on the floor.
“Oh you would, would you? Well, not yet. Not until I know what you know.”
“It doesn’t matter what I know,” Caro dared. “What matters is who I’ve already told, don’t you think? Not just Nick and my brother, but also Inspector Nero Conti of the local police force. They all know what you did to Toni and they’ve reopened the investigation.”
“Bah!” declared the irritated older woman. “Can money buy nothing or no one any more?” She turned to her fellow conspirators. “Could neither of you idiots get me what I wanted?” she demanded.
Caro figured it was time and she spoke clearly, in perfect Italian.
“I heard you and Tommaso in the attic, Elena, and I passed that information on to the authorities. So regardless of what you do to me, your nasty, deceitful, vengeful game is finally up.”
If the situation were different, if her life wasn’t feeling threatened, Caro would have found amusement in Elena’s shocked anger at this revelation. And at Caro’s “sudden” fluency. The string of curses that followed rent the air blue. Then the older woman straightened her shoulders as her attention swung to the gardener.
Tommaso looked beaten and when he spoke, he sounded as weary as an old bone.
“It is over, Signora. Over. I cannot do this. Not any more. Not to my little girl. Not to my son.”
What?
Caro’s head swung to Tommaso.
“Who’s your little girl? Mia?”
“Do not say another word, you imbecilic fool!” Elena roared at him. “She doesn’t know anything unless you tell her! God, do I have to do everything myself?”
She reached for her handbag, lying carelessly next to her chair. Caro ignored her.
“Tommaso, please, talk to me,” she begged. “Innocent people are getting hurt because of stupid pride and greed. Surely that’s not what you want? I’ve seen you with Mia and with Toby – you’re so thoughtful and kind. Why would you hurt them? Why Toni?”
Tommaso’s dark eyes filled with tears and he scrubbed his hands over his old, wrinkled face.
“She is my granddaughter, my sweet little bird; her papa is my son. Not di Lucas’. My son’s,” he rasped out among huge gulps, emotion and exhaustion taking over.
“Your little bird!” scoffed Elena. “She is more like a fat pony! That girl is a disgrace to the Rossi name. She has no decorum and no respect. Obviously, she gets it from your family!” she practically spat at the old man.
So it’s true, then, Caro thought. Mia’s not Toni’s daughter. Oh, dear God. What a bloody awful mess.The di Lucas will be heartbroken– they adore her, everyone adores her. She was such an original and so totally herself – not unlike her own Toby. How strange that these two now unrelated youngsters were actually quite alike.
“Why?” Caro turned to Elena. “Look, whatever you wanted for your life or your daughter’s, why did you drag an innocent child into it? She’s a victim in all this and she’ll be devastated to find out the truth.”
Caro moved towards the table and without waiting for an invite, pulled out a stool and sat before her knees gave out. Pretty crappy manners for thugs, she noticed, and almost snorted out a laugh, of the hysterical variety, as she realised she was trying to amuse herself. Well, what the hell else was there for her to do? Until Elena played her cards, the ball was totally in her own court.
“And how on God’s earth did you manage to get Marianna to play along? To convince Toni Mia was his? Oh! Christ. They never slept together, did they?”
Caro could feel the blood drain from her face, feel her skin go clammy. She awaited confirmation, she needed confirmation, from Elena.
“My daughter is a fool! And that idiot, Toni, had only puppy-dog eyes for you. He was supposed to marry my girl! It had been arranged since the cradle. The Rossis and the di Lucas were to be united, one big hotel empire.” Elena rose from her seat and began striding about the cool, damp space, her eyes fl
ashing with anger, bitterness and disappointment. “Once he fell under your spell, Toni was not even aware of Marianna any more. They had been destined to be married. Destined, I tell you!”
Shit, she was losing it.
Caro winced as the volume rose with each word that was spat out. This woman needs help and if she keeps going, she’ll need medical help, too.
Tommaso’s head had dropped to the table, his sobs less audible but no less disturbing. The giant who’d presumably whacked Caro on the head in the attic remained like a statue, seemingly uninterested in any of the unfolding drama. But something was bothering Caro about all the planning and subterfuge. The diary entry came back to her and inspiration dawned.
“How did Toni suspect he had a son?” she asked as calmly as she could, going with her hunch.
“He found a stash of your letters and telephone messages that I stupidly saved. Yes,” she glared at Caro, pure hatred in her eyes, “I made a stupid mistake of saving everything. I should have burned the lot. Marianna and I were already moved into the palazzo, and I stole Toni’s computer, pretending it had crashed after getting a virus. He got a new one and, of course, changed his email account, as I told him the computer man who had tried to fix it said that was what caused the laptop to crash.
“Silly boy – no technology skills at all, he believed me. Many days he would write you letters and leave them on the hallstand to be posted. I simply took them and hid them away. Toni found those, too, and realised you never knew about his marriage, about Mia.
“When he found yours to him, and that photograph, in Tommaso’s old shed, he . . . ” Elena paused, her lips so thin all colour was gone. “He was very angry – he showed more emotion than I had ever seen in him. And he threatened to tell Marianna. He still did not know Mia was not his. That came later.”
Elena walked slowly back to the large chair and hauled up her oversized handbag.
“I have kept them all with me since, not let them out of my sight. But of course once Toni knew about your brat, I knew he would want to meet him and that maybe, just maybe, he would leave my daughter. That was unacceptable. Then this stupid, stupid man . . . ” She gestured wildly towards Tommaso. “He told Toni about Mia – told him that she was his granddaughter and no blood relative to Toni, none at all.
“Really, Tommaso.” Elena reached into her bag again and pulled out a small pistol. “You are the cause of all my troubles. You and your nasty, thieving bastard of a son! And you couldn’t even get the right mushrooms for the boy to eat – all you do is fail me. It is all. Your. Fault!”
Before Caro could even leap to her feet, the gun fired and Tommaso, who’d raised his head in shock at her vitriolic spiel, lay bloodied and quite dead on the floor.
“No!”
Caro stood, rooted to the spot, her shaking hands covering her mouth. No. This can’t be happening. It’s like I’m in a very bad TV drama. Eyes swinging from the body on the ground to a triumphant Elena, Caro could only stare. It was obvious Tommaso was dead – a clear shot to the head – but Elena seemed frighteningly cool.
Giant behind her hadn’t even flinched. Shit and double shit. This was undoubtedly the worst thing she’d ever seen. A part of Caro felt sorry for Tommaso and she knew she would, if she lived to tell the tale, feel very sorry, indeed, but now? Now, all she wanted was to get the hell out of Dodge and get this lunatic locked up. But, realistically, that didn’t seem very likely.
And that hard truth was absolutely terrifying.
She turned and faced the stone-cold Elena and despite her heart leaping from her chest, she stared her down.
“Now what? Are you going to kill me, too?”
Chapter 25
Nick stopped in his tracks.
“Did you hear that?” he asked the inspector. “It sounded like a gunshot. Shit! Come on, this way.”
And he sprinted towards the copse of trees, his flashlight throwing shafts of eerie white light in sharp angles about the grass and shrubs. Skidding to a halt on the damp grass, he assessed the grouping of trees and did a mental recall of place and position.
“Here.”
He reached the third tree on the left of the circle from where he entered and began feeling his way around the earth beneath his feet. He struck something metal and, crouching, asked the older man to direct his light to the ground. A rusty iron ring lay nestled in the weeds. Nick twisted and turned it several ways before a clicking sound was heard.
“Got it,” he declared and, shoving back on his haunches, he yanked hard.
A large rectangle of earth lifted from the ground, revealing a dark tunnel and ladder facing directly down. He caught Nero Conti’s eye in the beam light.
“We need to climb down quietly – it can be weirdly echoey down there, if I remember.”
Without further ado, he shifted himself over the opening and started down into the darkness. The inspector spoke quietly into his walkie-talkie and prepared to follow.
The hard surface beneath his feet was uneven and damp in patches, but Nick kept his light on low and tried to feel his way along the passageway. Voices came nearer now, but he couldn’t figure out who was talking. It was Italian, but that didn’t mean Caroline hadn’t been found out. God, he hoped like hell she was okay.
He literally tried to put the terror from his mind – he simply had to find her – everything else could wait. If she was shot – injured, or . . . Fuck! he couldn’t let his mind go there.He just couldn’t.
A doorway was up ahead to his left and he could make out muffled sounds as if furniture was being moved. He glanced back, to find Inspector Conti close on his heels – that man could move silently, thank goodness.
As they stopped together outside the door, Nick tightened his hold on the gun and two sets of brown eyes met each other in the almost darkness. A slight nod from the older detective and Nick unlatched the door as quietly as he could.
Surprisingly, it opened easily and without the expected squeaking. The scene that met Nick’s eyes had him riveted to his place for a mere second – and in that second he took in Caroline’s rigid, upright body, standing next to the table, an equally rigid Elena almost opposite her, arm outstretched, a pistol pointed steadily at Caroline’s head.
Elena was talking but the buzzing in Nick’s head came from the instant relief that Caroline was alive – oh, thank you, Jesus – and appeared unhurt. A great hulk of a man was bent over what looked like an old sack and was dragging it across the floor.
Nick’s gun aimed directly at Elena as Inspector Conti intoned, “Signora Rossi, put the gun down. You are under arrest for kidnapping and a series of other charges, to be decided.”
Startled, the two women both swung to face the newcomers.
“No!” yelled Elena.
“Yes!” yelled Caroline, and several gunshots went off simultaneously.
Caro opened her eyes slowly, her head aching and her throat once more dry as a desert. Brown, ah! gorgeous brown eyes stared right back into hers and Nick smiled. Just a little one, but enough to reassure her she was okay. She was wrapped in his arms and he was seated on the old wing chair where Elena had sat. Of her there was no sign. Nor of Tommaso, the Giant or the other man she assumed was Inspector Conti.
“Hey,” she said, a fine use of her education always to the fore, “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Not half as glad as I am to see you, my darling.”
Nick sounded odd. Rough and husky as if he hadn’t spoken in years. She reached up a hand and traced her fingers along his hard jaw.
“I’m okay. Honestly. What happened?”
She tried to sit up a bit but Nick’s hold tightened.
“Just another minute,” he murmured. “I can’t. Not yet.”
And he laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. Beneath her ear, pressed to his chest, she could hear the fast thrumming of his heart and it made her feel safer than she’d ever have imagined.
“Thank you,” she whispered, suddenly overwhelmed at the whole blo
ody thing, and tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes. “I was so scared,” she said unsteadily. “I thought this was it.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know. When I heard that gunshot I, too, for just a second, thought . . . well, it wasn’t good.”
The arms, banded about her, tightened some more and he shuddered.
“Tell me . . . ” She let her hand scratch along his face, touching him for a reality check, she supposed, and loving the feel of him, the smell of him, the fact of him.
“Hard to know where to start.” Nick released one of his arms and stroked her hair back from her head. “You have a sizable bruise coming here,” he said absently and then looking back down into her eyes, he continued, “Elena tried to shoot you but you ducked to the side, tripped over the stool and hit your head on the table on the way down.
“As soon as she saw that wasn’t working, she swung the gun on Nero. I was already aiming at that other chap, the big guy, who’d aimed directly at you lying on the floor. In the end, both of them were injured, but neither fatally. That was Tommaso, on the floor, wasn’t it?” he asked sadly.
“Yes, poor old man. He was caught up in a mess not of his own choosing, I think, and then Elena was so controlling he couldn’t find a way out. But . . . ” She paused to take a breath. “I’ve so much more to tell you. So much more has been uncovered.” She studied Nick closely, wondering what he knew. “About Mia? And Toni?”
She waited a beat as he closed his eyes briefly, covering the sorrow she glimpsed there, just for a second.
“I’m so sorry, Caroline,” he said, setting her on her feet, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “I should have told you in New York. This last mess could all have been avoided.”
Caro narrowed her eyes at him, awareness dawning.
“Damn, Nick. You knew!” she accused. “You knew Mia wasn’t Toni’s daughter. Why the hell didn’t you say so?”
She pulled away from his grasp, reaching out a hand to grip the table, her head swimming.
Roman Holiday Page 34