The entombment complete, our pastor and the funeral director left so we could have privacy. I removed my arm from Elena’s grasp and wandered the marble floor, reading the inscriptions of my ancestors. The realization that I would someday reside inside this silent house gave me chills. I returned to my family, removed a rose from one of the wreaths, and carried the flower to my grandmother’s crypt with the intention of honoring her memory. Up close, the marble slab sealing her place of rest was sitting at a slight angle. I slid my fingers along the right side and the slab moved, emitting a screech.
The noise caught the attention of Lennox and Luca who trotted in my direction, but the rest of my family paid no attention. When they were by my side, I showed them the opening. “The cover’s been moved. Do you want to open the crypt ourselves or call the police?”
Luca advanced. “We’ll do it.” He elbowed me out of the way and yanked on the stone.
The stone shifted and Lennox caught the other end. I reached in between them and together we lowered the cover to the ground. Rising on tiptoes, I inspected the interior for damage. Blanketing the top of the casket was an enormous canvas.
Luca started to drag the canvas off the top, but I stopped him. “Don’t touch. The oil from your skin could ruin the paint.”
I put on the gloves from my coat pocket, and he did the same. Using extreme caution, we slid the canvas out and placed it on the floor. The sweet face of the Baby Jesus stared at us.
The missing Nativity of St. Francis and St. Lawrence.
Vincent came up behind us. “I should’ve known.” He ran his fingers over the inscription on the marble slab. “A place we hold precious.”
Chapter 11
On the way home, I rode in Deloris’s armored SUV with the painting spread in the cargo area behind me. My fingers itched to touch the canvas and study a work completed by a master such as Caravaggio. Having the masterpiece in my possession helped me understand why my father had intercepted—and hidden—the canvas. I’d been angry at him for becoming involved with the Cuccia family, even though he’d been blackmailed, but discovering he’d done the honorable thing by the painting renewed my respect for him.
The other vehicles parked in the drive, but Deloris drove into the garage and lowered the door before I exited. She took gloves out of her pocket and helped to lift the canvas. Handling the painting like it was hot, we carried it up to my studio and laid it on the floor. Elena followed close behind, helping to stretch out the canvas.
The detail stole my breath. Next to this artist, I was nothing but a hack. Careful to do no more damage, I photographed it from every angle. When completed, I removed my gloves and texted the pictures to a friend who worked as an art historian so he could authenticate the painting.
Lennox and Vincent joined us while we admired the artistry. We discussed strategy for either returning the painting to Sicily or turning it over to the Cuccia family.
Lennox stood with crossed arms as each person stated their case. Once all opinions were expressed, he said, “Returning the painting would be the noble thing to do, but doing so will result in Bettina going to jail.” He uncrossed his arms and squatted next to the painting. “How long do you think it will be before they’re aware we have the painting?”
Deloris, who’d been staring out the window, spun around, her gloves dangling between her thumb and forefinger. “Less than a day. They have eyes everywhere. My concern is how they’ll tell us they know. They’ve proven they’re willing to kill for the canvas.” She returned to the window and peeked out before speaking again. “How long before we lower our guard and they come for us? The girls are the weak link. They got to Bettina and we didn’t even know. What about little Caterina?” She held her palms out in a helpless gesture. “Sure, they call themselves honorable, but they’re ruthless.”
My conscience warred within me. “If the Cuccias framed Bettina, shouldn’t there be evidence to prove her innocence? Shouldn’t there be evidence to prove who was guilty?”
Deloris frowned. “Past history indicates they’re willing to stop at nothing to succeed. If we resist, likely more evidence will be found against Bettina.”
I digested the sage advice. “This boils down to a question of what I value most. Returning a priceless masterpiece to the rightful owners or protecting my sister.” I rubbed my forehead where a headache had pitched a tent. “Bettina and Cat will always be first in my heart. They have my loyalty and love.”
Lennox stood. “Fine. Let’s begin the process of turning this over to the Cuccias.”
My friend texted back as we moved the canvas out of the center of the floor. I told the group about the text, then read the message out loud. “Everything points to the real deal, but I’d need to view the canvas to be sure. May I ask if it is in your possession?”
Deloris barked a command before I could react. “No. Tell him you were researching a…I don’t know…style, and wondered if this was a good enough imitation.” She balled a fist. “Don’t under any circumstances tell him you have the canvas in your studio.”
I did as she asked, hoping my friend wouldn’t press me on the matter. “I can trust him.”
Lennox pointed an accusatory finger in my direction. “What were you thinking by showing him the painting? Trust no one.” He hurried out without saying goodbye.
Elena lightened my mood when she whispered close to my ear, “You can always trust me.”
Vincent went in search of Lennox. Deloris returned to the office saying she wanted to find out if any of Bettina’s friends had sent a picture of the new boyfriend, leaving Elena and me alone in the studio. I dragged Elena to the couch and tugged her onto my lap. The feel of her curvy body against mine helped to calm the anxiety.
“Are we committing blasphemy if we engage in sex acts in front of a masterpiece?” She cast a cautious glance at the canvas. “I need to get out of these clothes. I feel like I’m being punished.” She hopped out of my lap, taking her warmth with her.
“Where are you hiding your clothes? You keep changing outfits, but I haven’t seen a suitcase.”
She chuckled. “I’m a master of disguise and an expert bodyguard. I cannot reveal my secrets.” She gave me a sly grin. “Or…I hung them in your bedroom in the small closet where you keep your workout clothes. Unused workout clothes I might add. Some of them still have tags.”
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug, stalling while I formed a suitable answer. “I’m too sexy for gym clothes?”
Her laughter echoed down the hallway.
If the painting proved to be an impediment to my sex life, I would need to hide it. Replacing my gloves, I gently inched the painting into the secret hidey-hole behind the bookcase where I stored my paintings before I sent them to the gallery. Relieved that the canvas fit, I checked the bookcase to make sure it was in the right spot.
Out of sight, out of mind.
I removed my tie and jacket, then wandered to the easel containing the nude I’d just finished. The easel sat close to the window overlooking the driveway and I caught movement near the street. I opened the curtains and had an unobstructed view of Bettina climbing into a blue pickup truck. Dread chilled my bones. I reacted on impulse.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I charged out the front door as the pickup backed away from the driveway. Elena’s rental car was parked in front of the garage and I had no way to move my car. I raced back upstairs and dug through the laundry basket for the pants I’d worn when I’d driven her car to the Hudson. I found them and prayed the key and fob were still in the pocket. I jammed my fingers inside and touched cold metal.
Shaking, I snatched them and bolted toward the driveway. My nails ripped as I yanked on the door handle. I jumped into the driver’s seat and rammed the key into the ignition. I missed and the key fell to the floor. I bent to retrieve it, hitting my forehead on the steering wheel. Snagging the key with two fingers, I tried again. This time the car roared to life. I stomped the gas pedal and drove in the direction of the pi
ck-up.
Only when I was several car lengths behind the truck did I realize I should’ve yelled for Elena or Deloris. I ran a hand over the pocket of my trousers. No phone. As a crime fighter, I lacked finesse, but I had Bettina in my sights and I meant to keep her safe.
Following at a sedate pace—like I’d seen on TV crime shows—allowed me time to ponder Bettina’s actions. While incredibly stupid, I assumed she suffered from the teenage affliction of young love—rendering her brain completely useless. I intended to follow until they made a stop, then collect my sister and haul her home.
Fifteen minutes into our unscheduled double date, the pickup nosed its way into the parking lot of a boarded-up gas station. The building sat near a busy intersection and cars zipped by on two sides. I stopped Elena’s car on the shoulder a hundred feet from the parking lot, but the heavy traffic blocked my view. Horns sounded when I swerved back onto the roadway, attracting the attention of the young Romeo who held Bettina by the arm.
Gravel flew and I skidded to a stop beside the pickup, narrowly missing a head-on collision with an eighteen-wheeler. Throwing the car in park, I wrenched open the door and vaulted feet first onto the driveway. Losing traction in the gravel, I slipped as I tried to stand. By the time I manage to right myself, Bettina and the boy were gone. Air whistled from my nose as I careened toward an opening in the front of the building.
I plunged into the shadows, searching for my sister. The dark interior reeked of stale cigarette smoke and urine. Dread rose and sucked the air from my lungs, but I continued into the bowels of the building. Scurrying sounds surrounded me, and I had to force my body to move forward. A loud squeal, like a chair being dragged, propelled me toward the back of the building. Dripping sweat burned my eyes, further hindering my vision. A dim light burned behind a black cloth draped across a doorway. Beyond the makeshift door, voices echoed.
Feeling my way with a palm against a wall, I yanked back the cloth. A single overhead lightbulb illuminated the room. Two older men towered over a shackled and cowering Bettina while the young man—likely boyfriend, John Smith—stood off to one side. The larger of the two raised a fist to strike her, and I lunged. Barely two feet into the room, something hard slammed into my shoulder blades, knocking me to the ground. Harsh laughter rang in my ears while I struggled to catch my breath. A man walked into my line of vision.
How stupid of me to fall into the trap.
“Young Mr. Costellah. What a pleasah to finally meet yuh.” The voice belonged to the man who’d hit me. About the same age as my father, his stiff posture and sneer made his demeanor appear cocky and arrogant. The expensive shoes and haircut pegged him as the leader. “I am Sergio Cuccia.”
Clutching my chest, I tried to stand, but failed. “Let…my…sister…go. I won’t cooperate until she’s safe.” I rolled into a sitting position and glared into his empty eyes. “What do you want from me?”
“Why, The Adoration, of course.” He ambled closer and towered over me. “Once I have that, we can discuss yuh new duties. You’ve inherited yuh fathah’s debt.” He motioned to the two men who now had Bettina pinned, and they bent to unchain her.
“Are you willing to sacrifice everything for yuh family like yuh fathah did?” He crossed his arms across his oversized gut and nudged me with the toe of his shoe. “Are yuh?”
My mind raced. My father had not only sacrificed everything for his family, he’d also endured an agonizing death. “Yes.”
Bettina’s eyes were wild and they swiveled from me to her boyfriend and back. Blood oozed out of her nostril and a handprint glowed red on her cheek.
“Yes,” I repeated, louder this time.
“Excellent. Yuh sistah can retrieve our paintin’. I have a perfect place to keep yuh stowed while she performs hah duties.” He nodded at John Smith who immediately grabbed Bettina by the arm and half dragging, half shoving, forced her to move.
Bettina whimpered as she passed, her terrified gaze boring into mine. “I’m so sorry, Dante. I love you.”
“Oh, wait.” Sergio tapped a finger to his lips and studied Bettina. “How remiss of me. I fahgot to mention that yuh dear brothah will perish in less than six hours if the paintin’ is not returned. May I trust that yuh will not fail?”
Bettina dragged in a ragged breath and nodded.
“Six hours. The clock starts tickin’ now, young lady. You must communicate this to yuh family.”
Sergio put a gun against my temple. “Get up.”
I did as I was told, frightened that Bettina would suffer if I didn’t cooperate.
Using his phone app to light the way, we trooped across the litter-strewn concrete floor and exited the same way I’d come in. Cuccia’s thugs disappeared behind the building.
John Smith hiked Bettina into the passenger seat of his truck, forcing my blood to flash freeze in my veins. Traffic whizzed around us, yet no one paused in their evening commute to come to our rescue. The truck whisked Bettina away, and a blue Cadillac drove into the vacated spot. The trunk lid popped open and the two thugs who’d intimidated my sister hopped out of the car. Each grabbing an arm, they hauled me to the back of the vehicle and forced me into the trunk. The biggest one produced a roll of duct tape and slapped a piece over my mouth, then bound my feet. He yanked my arms behind my back and taped my wrists together. After wrapping me up like a day-old corpse, he slammed the trunk lid, throwing me into abysmal darkness.
Chapter 12
The rocking motion of the car nauseated me, but giving into the luxury of retching would cause me to choke to death on my own vomit. I tried to memorize the turns and keep track of the time, but after a while, I got lost. I discovered truth to the saying that your life flashed before you as you prepared to die. I had visions of my childhood, Dad’s wedding to Serafina, the births of my sisters, and the short time I’d shared with Elena.
Cold chills racked my body by the time the car stopped. I strained to hear any conversation, but the only sounds were of water splattering against a stone. I sniffed, but didn’t detect the scent of a rainstorm. The cramping from my bound wrists and legs sent fire shooting through my nerve endings. I wiggled into another position, but my calves spasmed. Writhing in agony, I couldn’t defend myself when the trunk lid cracked open and two huge men in suits dragged me out and slammed me onto a gurney.
Heat flooded my body as I struggled to free myself. Someone pressed a beefy arm to my neck, pinning me to the gurney. Above me, I made out the roof of a carport. Panic rose as the wheels churned over an uneven surface and past a large decorative water fountain. My skull slammed against the gurney when the back end was lifted and hauled over a small set of steps into what appeared to be an old house. The musty odor combined with a strong perfume of flowers reminded me of a funeral home.
My head bobbed and weaved as the gurney rolled along a carpeted hallway and into a stark white room with steel tables. An astringent aroma stung my nostrils.
Embalming equipment?
My mind cartwheeled with an array of possibilities for my impending death.
Is this how Dad felt as they wrapped the chain around his body?
Struggling was useless, yet I kicked and flailed as panic shut down my reasoning. The gurney kept up the steady pace and passed through the embalming room into a windowless storage room filled with caskets. My heart rate accelerated at the sight.
“Which one would you like? Your choice. They’re all metal and have an end crank to pressurize the lid when closed to ensure an airtight seal.” This terrifying information came from the older of the two guys wheeling me.
I tried to scream in rage, but the duct tape muffled the sound.
“Can’t decide? Not a problem. I think you’ll look good in the blue.” He grabbed me under the shoulders and the other man lifted my feet in a vise-like grip. “Alley-oop.”
My body slammed onto the thin satin cushion so hard my teeth ground together. I struggled, kicking one of them with my bound feet. Four meaty hands speared my body,
pressing me into the pillow.
“Breathe easy. A young fella like you probably only has about five hours of oxygen in that thing.” He ripped the tape off my mouth. “Don’t use all your oxygen screaming. No one can hear you.” He reached out and grabbed the edge of the lid.
The cover crashed over me and my world went dark. Thrashing only resulted in increasing my panic and causing the steel box to sway.
Shards of sheer fear took hold and my fingers found their way to the side seams. Clawing and scratching, I only managed to rip off the material. Claustrophobia captured me, bringing with it a return of the chills and my rapid breathing. Remembering the words of my personal undertaker, I forced my muscles to relax and concentrated on slowing my breathing.
Calmer, but still freaked out, I decided to try rocking the casket until it fell over, hoping to force the lid to pop open. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I rammed my body from side to side. Each contact with the box burned against my shoulders. My efforts produced a seesaw effect that set the casket in motion. Banking on the momentum, I braced myself, smashing my body against the side. My prison listed and rolled, crashing to the ground. My skull made contact with steel.
I awakened upside down with my nose planted in satin. Frantic, I tried to determine how long I’d been inside the box. Rotating to one side, I stretched my arms as far as I could and used my fingers to search the pocket of my trousers where I usually kept my phone.
Nothing.
I’d forgotten I’d already checked for my phone. Heat wrapped around me like a hug, and I began to shake. How much time do I have left? Hours? Minutes?
Infidelity: Inheritance (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 9