He showed her the photo. “It is time I deal with this.”
“Are you sure? I understand if it’s not.”
“I still love her. I always will. But she wanted me to carry on with my life, and I have.” His voice thickened. “You own my heart now.”
Kate set the laptop aside and popped up out of the chair. She was in his arms in an instant. “Mio caro, you don’t have to say that. I know your heart is big enough for both of us.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “For all three of us.”
He smiled, tears pricking his eyes. “My heart is no longer divided. It belongs to you now. You and our baby. I hope you know that.”
She slipped her hands into his hair and drew him down for a kiss. “I am so very lucky to be loved by you.”
He couldn’t speak, his throat was so tight. Instead he kissed her. How he loved her. More than he’d ever thought possible. More than he’d ever hoped for. When they parted, he wiped his eyes. He looked down at the picture in his hand. “I would like to leave one photo on display, if you do not mind.”
“Not at all.”
He took her hand. “Will you help me box up her things?”
She nodded and followed him down the hall toward the stairs.
Enrico surprised himself by not shedding any tears while they worked. Instead he told Kate stories about Toni as they came to mind, mostly funny or romantic things. She’d had a good life with him. They’d had a good life together. It had been too short, but now he had Kate. “I feel like I have been given an incredible gift, mia cara. This chance with you.” He touched his chest. “I used to have this horrible aching hole here. But now it is gone.”
He stroked a few hairs out of her face. How he’d once longed to do such a simple thing. Now this precious creature was finally his. And she knew him, knew who he was. What he was. And still she loved him.
Kate smiled, her eyes blurring with tears. She took his hand and pulled him close, then leaned against him, listening to him breathe. For the first time in a long time, she felt at home.
He held her for quite a while. When he released her, he got down on one knee and produced a small black velvet box from his pants pocket. He opened it, revealing a ring inside, its diamonds sparkling. “I have been carrying this around with me since just after we got out of the hospital. I was going to do this someplace romantic, but now…” He gestured around the closet. “For some reason, this feels right. Marry me, Kate.”
Her chest filled with warmth. “Of course I will.” She held out her hand, watching as he slipped the ring on her finger. Then he stood and took her in his arms, kissing her. “You didn’t have to ask me again,” she said when they parted. “I already agreed. In fact, I believe I asked you.”
He looked down at her, amusement on his face. “I know. But I wanted to do it right this time. With neither one of us bleeding or drugged. Or recovering from surgery.”
She smiled. “Traditionalist.”
He laughed. “Nothing about the two of us has ever been, or will ever be, entirely traditional.”
“And isn’t that what you like about us?”
He grinned and pulled her into a kiss. “That’s what I love about us.”
EPILOGUE
Dario Andretti leaned against the windowsill, looking at what was now his view of the lake. Turning his eyes to the west, he spotted the Lucchesi villa. How should he proceed?
His father had failed spectacularly and nearly gotten them both killed.
But Carlo had proved to be a father to him in the end. He could have revealed Dario’s role in Rinaldo’s death, could have condemned him and ruined everything. But he hadn’t.
Dario’s heart still ached. Lucchesi believed he’d given him the Andretti cosca, that he hadn’t earned it with his father’s consent. But better to live to see another day than to die over his pride. At least it was some consolation that Lucchesi hadn’t seen what had happened right under his nose. Lucchesi was so sure he knew Dario, so sure he wasn’t like his father.
But he was his father’s son. He hadn’t lied about that. And he’d put a plan in motion some time ago, a plan that would bear bitter fruit for Lucchesi. If it worked. The odds of success were slimmer now that Franco Trucco was dead.
Someday Lucchesi would learn who he truly was. Someday he’d see the truth.
But by then it would be too late.
THE END
Thank you for reading Revenge. I hope I have entertained you.
Writing a book is a rather crazy endeavor, similar to trying to put together a thousand-piece puzzle with no picture to guide you. When I started this series, it was going to be only one book. Then two. Then four. Now it’s grown to five. (I’m pretty sure it’s set at five, but who knows what these characters will demand of me next!) I hope you’re having as much fun as I am on this journey.
If you enjoyed Revenge, please consider writing a review to help others learn about the book. I’m a new author, so every recommendation truly helps, and I appreciate anyone who takes the time to share their love of books and reading with others. (And feel free to friend me on Goodreads—I love seeing what everyone is reading!)
To hear about my new releases, you can sign up for my mailing list at http://www.danadelamar.com/newsletter_signup.html. (I send it out only 3-4 times a year, if that. I hate spam as much as you do.)
Thank you for your support!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Due to the high level of secrecy maintained by the ’Ndrangheta (the Calabrian Mafia) and the relative scarcity of former members turned state’s witnesses, there are few resources detailing the inner workings of the society. Therefore, I have used artistic license in portraying certain aspects of the ’Ndrangheta, particularly as regards La Provincia.
Until July 2010, it was widely believed that there was no overarching body in charge of the ’Ndrangheta. However, with the arrest of several prominent ’Ndranghetisti, it is now believed that there is a capo di tutti capi (boss of all bosses) who oversees a commission (La Provincia) with direct power over the individual families. Revenge does not reflect this type of organization, though the formation of such an organization comes into play in later books.
Additionally, to make this series easier to read for American readers, I have used the term cosca rather than ’ndrine to indicate an individual crime family. I have also greatly simplified the organization of individual crime families and have chosen to name crime families after their capo’s blood family; in real life, a cosca’s name may consist of a region or place, or a hyphenated combination of the names of the two or three primary blood families that control the cosca.
In Italy, women typically don’t take their husband’s last name; for simplicity’s sake, I have chosen to reflect the traditional American practice of taking the husband’s last name upon marriage.
Please note that where actual businesses or locations are mentioned, no real-life Mafia connection is alleged or intended, past or present. These businesses and locations are used in a strictly fictional sense.
All persons mentioned in this series are fictional; no resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is intended. The family names used in this series were deliberately chosen not to reflect names of actual crime families.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dana Delamar is the author of the “Blood and Honor” romantic suspense series, which is set in Italy among the Calabrian Mafia. An avid traveler who loves to learn about different peoples and cultures, Dana often sets her books in exotic locales.
She grew up in the Midwest and Pacific Northwest, and today makes Seattle her home. She’s an omnivorous reader with overflowing bookshelves, a passionate love of “Supernatural,” “Firefly,” “True Blood,” “Mad Men,” and a zillion other TV shows. Where she finds the time to sleep is a mystery.
You can visit her at www.danadelamar.com.
CLIFFS OF STARSDALE
Tallulah Grace
Seeking a fresh start after her mother’s death, Ch
elsea Bates lands in the picturesque town of Starsdale, California. Nestled amid the peaks of the High Sierras, Starsdale defines the term ‘small town’ with well-meaning residents who always seem to know everyone’s business.
The one thing no one knew, couldn’t have predicted, was the evil lurking beneath the surface of Chelsea’s ex-fiancé. Preston Beecher follows her to Starsdale with the intentions of taking everything she owns, including her life. Will Preston destroy her dreams before they begin, or will bonds forged in a small mountain town be the pathway to her future?
Copyright© 2013 Tallulah Grace
The names, places and events contained within this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including recording, photocopying or any other information storage and retrieval system without prior, written permission of the Author.
Prologue
“But I can’t leave her. She’ll be all alone.” The voice was weak and hoarse, but the sense of urgency came through.
Chelsea heard her mother speak as she came into the bedroom, a small bowl of ice cream in one hand and a best-selling novel in the other. Since moving into hospice care, ice cream was the only thing her mother would eat.
“Who are you talking to, Mom?” Placing the book and the ice cream on the nightstand, Chelsea checked the morphine drip that offered only minimal relief to her mother’s cancer-ravaged body.
“Your grandmother. She insists that I come with her.” Catherine Bates looked up at her only daughter, a mixture of love and sadness filling her eyes.
Chelsea gasped and felt her heart clench. She knew her mother was close to the end, but she still wasn’t prepared to let her go. She doubted if she would ever be ready.
“Is Grandma here?” Chelsea’s voice caught on a sob.
“Yes, she’s right over there.” Catherine sounded a bit exasperated that Chelsea had to ask. “She says it’s time.”
Feeling her knees give way, Chelsea sank into the chair at her mother’s bedside. Reaching for her hand, she didn’t even try to stop the tears from flowing. Searching her mom’s face, she saw lines of pain, etched there by months of debilitating, intense torture. The cancer in her bones had stolen any semblance of the full, rich life she had once lived, leaving no hope for a future and no peace in the present.
The beautiful woman who loved and nurtured Chelsea all of her life now needed something that only she could give. She needed Chelsea to let her go.
“Then you have to go, Mom. It’s okay.” Chelsea clutched her mother’s hand in both of hers.
“No, I can’t leave you, honey.” Catherine’s voice was becoming weaker, but her grip was fierce.
“Yes, you can. I’ll be okay, Mom, I promise. You taught me how to be strong.”
“I’m so sorry, Chelsea. I wanted to see you marry, play with my grandchildren…” her voice trailed off, silent tears streaking hollow cheeks as her eyes refocused on the corner of the room.
“Oh, Gary,” her eyes lit with sudden joy. “You’re here.”
“Dad?” Chelsea followed her mother’s gaze, but saw nothing.
“Yes, honey. Your dad’s here too. He says that he loves you and that you’ll be fine.” Catherine’s face glowed with love for the man who had left her so many years ago.
“I love you, too, Dad. And Grandma, I miss you both so much.” Chelsea felt the warmth of peace and instant serenity stream through her soul.
“Mom, go with them. It’s okay, really. I love you; go and be happy.” Her tears hadn’t stopped, but the gut-wrenching pain diminished in the light of her mother’s joy.
“I love you, Chelsea; please take care of yourself. Remember that life’s too short, enjoy every moment.” Taking a final gasp, Catherine released her grip on life and on her daughter’s hand.
Chapter One
Looking up at the dilapidated façade that was the face of the antique Craftsman bungalow, Chelsea wondered for the thousandth time what had ever possessed her to buy the thing.
Shutters swung loosely astride tall, paned windows, now backed with plywood to keep out varmints and the weather. Layers of flaky paint dotted portions of the wood siding; three colors were evident at first glance, but Chelsea knew the home had boasted many different shades of the rainbow during its hundred year history. The deep front porch spanning the length of the home was more akin to a rutted country road than a place to relax and sip tea in the evening shade.
Sighing, Chelsea closed her eyes and visualized the home as it had been nearly a century before and would be again, no matter how challenging the prospect. All it needed was a little love and a lot of elbow grease. And money. Lots and lots of money; more than she would ever have access to, if the last contractor who quoted the job could be believed.
“No,” she said aloud, squaring her shoulders. “It is possible, it can be done, it will be my home.” Repeating the mantra silently, she hefted the bag of cleaning supplies and made her way gingerly up the front steps. Someone, the realtor she supposed, had braced the ragged wood with planks to make entry possible.
Careful to balance on the two four-by-six boards stretching across the rotten porch, Chelsea pushed open the thick, mahogany door to what had once been a grand foyer. The gently curving staircase, once elegant with carved spindle railings and lush carpeting, now sagged in the middle, threatening bodily harm to anyone who dared to ascend. A few of the railings remained intact, enough so that Chelsea could have new ones fashioned to mimic the old design.
Leaving the front door open wide, she set about turning on lights and opening shades that covered the few windows still in one piece. Dust particles danced in the light, prompting a sneezing fit as Chelsea made her way across the parlor, through the dining room and into the kitchen.
Dropping the cleaning supplies near the sink, she ignored the 1950’s era cabinets and walked swiftly to her favorite room in the house, the sunroom. Originally a sleeping porch, the sunroom looked over the back gardens, which led to a sweeping panoramic view of the snow-capped Sierras.
Opening the windows, Chelsea breathed in the fresh mountain air that rushed in to displace the stale, dusty interior. A feeling of peace settled over her soul and she knew without a doubt that, of all the places in the universe, this was her spot. It was the same each time she came; all of the misgivings, the warnings, the dire predictions of financial ruin fell away as she stood gazing onto natural beauty that never failed to take her breath away.
In the distance, granite peaks, more white than blue, kissed a nearly purple sky. Two crystal clear lakes nestled in the hills between her and the granite mammoths reflected a border of lodgepole pines and subtly changing streaks of feathery white clouds. Closer still stood a grove of bristlecone pines, their gnarly, bare branches appearing as sentinels in the afternoon sun.
“That’s quite a view you’ve got there, Missy.” The voice startled Chelsea from her reverie, making her jump and twirl to face the intrusion.
“Sorry, there. I didn’t mean to scare you. We had an appointment. I’m John Mills.” The man looked nearly as weathered as the house, but a lot more sturdy. Towering almost a foot above Chelsea’s five and a half-foot frame, John Mills looked like he’d just stepped out from the very mountains they both admired.
“No, it’s fine,” Chelsea gathered her wits and extended her hand. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I would’ve knocked, but I was afraid the walls would cave in,” grinning, he took her hand. “I called out, but you must not have heard me.”
“I do tend to get a little lost back here,” Chelsea grinned back.
“I can see why; that’s one amazing view. This place must have been a stunner, in her day.”
“And she will be again.” Chelsea infused confidence in her voice. “This is why you’re here. So what do you think?”
“I think
you’d be better off with a bulldozer first, a contractor second. It would be a lot less expensive to start from scratch, than to re-do everything that’s wrong with this place.” John looked around, then down at the inspector’s notes attached to the clipboard he carried.
“So I’ve heard,” Chelsea didn’t bother concealing her aggravation. “Thank you for coming out, Mr. Mills, but I’m not interested in a rebuild. Sorry to waste your time.”
“Now hold on a minute, Missy. I didn’t say that’s what I’d do, just that you’d save money on new construction.” Tucking the clipboard beneath his arm, John walked the length of the porch, studying the rafters and pressing the walls as he moved. “No, if it was me, I’d want to bring the old girl back to life. She’s got good bones, just needs shoring up here and there, and a facelift overall.” He stopped inspecting the walls and looked back at Chelsea.
“That’s what I intend to do, bring it back to life. I plan to open a bed and breakfast, so I’ll need to modify a few things. Each bedroom upstairs needs a private bath and the maid’s room downstairs needs to be enlarged, as that is where I will live, but the main footprint can remain intact.” Chelsea stopped herself before she began gushing about her plans.
John appreciated the spark in the young woman’s eyes when she talked about the ramshackle house. He liked the idea of preserving a bit of history, bringing beauty back in place of the decay. It would be his final project; a gift to the town he’d called home for the bulk of his lifetime. Though she hadn’t a clue of his purpose, this project would also be a gift to the determined Miss Chelsea Bates, whose ambitious plans were the butt of many a joke around the tables of the town’s only diner.
Killer Romances Page 39