The Midnight Club

by Love, Michelle

  Chapter 4

  MIDNIGHT

  Florence.

  Now.

  Maceo Bartoli felt as if his eyelids were glued open. His eyes felt gritty and dry; his entire body felt frozen. The air ambulance that had flown him and Ori to Florence had been a godsend, but he could barely register anything else but the stillness of her. He had never known the meaning of the word desolation until that day. He saw the horrified looks on the face of the paramedics, the look that passed between them that said, “We can’t save her.”

  They had to pry him away from her so they could try. One of them pressed down hard on her torn belly, trying to keep the blood inside her body, he supposed. He felt numb. How? How in the few minutes between him filling the car and going into the gas station to pay had someone stabbed Ori so brutally, so mercilessly? Why hadn’t she screamed?

  The police were kind; he supposed the only reason they hadn’t arrested him was that Ori had clearly been okay before he stepped into the gas station; she’d waved happily to the owner.

  You saved me, again, he thought. I would give my own life to save yours, my precious Ori. Please hold on. Please.

  They had rushed Ori into surgery, promising they’d try, but Maceo knew it was a long shot, that soon the surgeon would come out and tell him that they had done all they could, but she had been too far gone. He got up from the plastic chair he’d slumped into and walked towards the operating theaters, pushing through the restricted door. A nurse stopped him.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, you’re not permitted to be here.”

  Maceo looked at her wildly. “She’ll die. She’s going to die, and I want to be there for her. I don’t want her to die alone … I can’t, I can’t …”

  The nurse, her face full of sympathy, held him as he began to sob. “Ori, oh god, Ori, please, please … this can’t be it, this cannot be the end …”

  Kate Garcia lay under Lisander Duarte, kissing him, his cock plowing deep inside her as she moaned happily. Would she ever get enough of this man? God, now he was rubbing her clit … Kate came with a cry of ecstasy and Lisander gave a groan as he pumped his semen deep inside her. They were breathless by the time they had finished, stretched out next to each other, laughing and talking.

  They had decided to stay in Venice for a few days after Maceo’s party. Kate had never been to Italy, and Lisander had set up some meetings for some designers while he was there. Yesterday he’d dropped her off with Lucia, Maceo’s friendly and fun assistant, and the two women had done every tourist spot Lucia could think of.

  They were sitting in a small trattoria when Lucia smiled at her. “I remember doing this with Ori … God, was it really less than a year ago? So much has happened.”

  Kate smiled at her. “How long have you two been friends?”

  “A long time. Since college.”

  “Ori’s really lovely.”

  “Yes, she is...” Lucia smiled then her smile faded. “Considering what she’s been through in her life, it’s a damn miracle.”

  Kate nodded, but said nothing. Lucia shook herself. “She speaks very highly of you too. I know she’d like to get to know you better, especially now that all the crap with Janek is over. She’ll always be grateful.”

  Kate shook her head. “I didn’t do anything; Maceo was innocent.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Lucia said in a low voice. “Who do you think killed him?”

  Kate sighed. “I honestly have no idea, and I think I could care less. Tyson Janek was scum.”

  “Agreed.” Lucia scooped the last bit of her gelato into her mouth. “Mm, heavenly. So, how are things with Lisander?”

  Kate flushed red, but laughed. “Good. Very good. I do feel a little shell-shocked. His world is a lot bigger than mine ever was.”

  Lucia grinned. “Yeah, that takes a bit of getting used to, even for those of us who aren’t romantically involved with one of the Midnight Club.”

  Kate looked at her curiously. “You know, I keep asking Lisander about their boys’ club, but he just keeps saying that they’ve all grown too old for that nonsense.”

  “Huh,” Lucia said, raising her eyebrows. “That’s a new one. I don’t think Maceo feels that way.”

  Kate sipped her now almost cold coffee. “I’d like to know how they started.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know, but obviously, it’ll only be from Maceo’s point of view, because he’s the one I heard it all from.”

  “That’s okay, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Well, where to start ...”

  Harvard University, 20 years ago …

  Lisander watched, amused, as his young Italian friend was berated in the middle of the cafeteria by a gorgeous young undergraduate. Lisander would have bet good money that Maceo didn’t even remember the girl’s name, let alone her phone number to call her again. He had never known anyone as blatantly charming or irresponsible as Maceo, but the other man had made his first semester in a new country a lot easier. And definitely more fun. They’d started talking at a bar during Fresher’s week and had hit it off straight away. Maceo’s roommate, Seth Cantor, a tall, quiet Canadian, had become a good friend too. That they shared a birthday was just a weird but cool coincidence according to Maceo, but Lisander, always superstitious, wondered if there was more to it.

  “Hey...” Seth poked Lisander on the shoulder, jolting him from his reverie. “Is Maceo winning or losing the argument?”

  Lisander chuckled as they both watched Maceo gesticulating wildly, trying to explain himself to the angry girl. “Losing, of course,” Lisander said with a laugh. “I’m waiting for the slap.”

  As if on cue, the girl cuffed Maceo around the face and darted off in tears.

  Grinning ruefully, Maceo made his way back to his friends. He shrugged when he saw them laughing. “Collateral damage,” he said, showing them the bright red palm print on his face.

  “Do you even remember her name?” Seth shook his head, laughing. Maceo grabbed a can of soda from Lisander’s tray and popped the tab, completely unrepentant.

  “Listen, doesn’t everyone come to college to get stoned, educated, and laid? They should know the rules by now.”

  Seth and Lisander exchanged a look. “One day, Bartoli, you will meet a woman who will slay you. Utterly slay you.”

  Maceo stole Lisander’s apple too and crunched into it. “I doubt that day will ever come, my friends …”

  Florence.

  Now …

  Maceo felt like he was broken. He thought if he opened his mouth to speak then all that would come out would be gibberish. The nurse who kept an eye on him in the waiting room was casting worried glances in his direction.

  It had been hours, and they were still trying to save Ori’s life. Every time they came to update him, he steeled himself for the news that Ori was dead. The strain was almost unbearable.

  She could die. My darling girl could actually die.

  “Are you sure I can’t call someone for you?” The nurse had a kind, sweet face and he tried to smile at her.

  “I can’t remember any of their numbers.” God, he was out of it. The nurse got up and came to sit by him.

  “They will be on your phone, I think. May I look?”

  He handed her his phone disinterestedly, then an idea started to form in his mind. “Yes,” he said, his voice gruff. You can call four people for me. Ask them to come. Ask them to come together.”

  The nurse was flicking through his contacts. “And the names?”

  Maceo smiled without a glimmer of humor. “Seth Cantor, Lisander Duarte, Benoit Vaux … Alex Milland.”

  Venice

  Lisander put the phone down and drew in a deep breath. He stood in Maceo’s office in The Floating City Galleria with a pale, shaken Kate and a tear-stained Lucia. Ori had been stabbed. She was dying.

  “Jesus,” he finally said, the word coming out in a rush.

  “Sander? Does Maceo want us to go there?” Kate put her han
d on his arm.

  Lisander nodded. “Yes … he said to use his private jet – Lucia, can you arrange that for us? He wants us to come together, so we’ll have to wait for Benoit, Seth, and Alex.”

  “Why does he want to wait for all of us?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

  Lucia, who looked like she might pass out any moment, tried to stop the tears from falling, and Lisander put an arm around her shoulder.

  “I knew,” Lucia sobbed. “I knew one day someone would get to her. I thought with Janek dead that she’d be safe for a little while.”

  Lisander met Kate’s eye. “She’s in the best place, Lucia.”

  “Where was she stabbed?”

  “Belly. Multiple times. She lost a lot of blood.”

  Lucia turned and threw up into her trash can. Kate rubbed her back. “Oh, sweetie.” She looked at Lisander, desperation in her eyes. “Sander … what are we going to do?”

  Lisander nodded. “We wait for the others. Then we go to Maceo and hope we’re not too late.”

  Florence

  The surgeon rolled his shoulders and stepped back from the table. “That’s as much as we can do until she gets stronger.”

  He looked down at the beautiful woman on his operating table, her body the scene of unthinkable violence. “Who would do this to you, little one?”

  “Will you update the fiancé, Dr. Gialli?”

  Gialli nodded. “Let me change my scrubs. He won’t want to see her blood all over me. Take her to recovery, please, but be gentle. I don’t know if that artery will hold. And if it bursts then she won’t stand a chance.”

  Gialli scrubbed out and went to find Maceo Bartoli. The young man looked like a zombie. “Mr. Bartoli?”

  Maceo scrambled to his feet, his eyes searching the doctor’s face. “Dr. Gialli? Please, tell me she’s okay.”

  Gialli steered Maceo into a seat. “Mr. Bartoli, I have stabilized Ms. Roy as best as we can, but she’s not out of the woods yet. She lost almost half her blood volume, which is normally fatal, but I think the blood loss was slowed by the fact that she was motionless when she was stabbed, and you applied pressure nearly as soon as the incident happened. The medics who came to the scene started the blood bag, so I think that’s what saved her.”

  Maceo was listening intently, but when the doctor paused, he stared down at his hands, dyed dark red with Ori’s blood. He remembered the seconds after he’d realized she’d been stabbed, screaming, screaming for help, his hands automatically pressing down on her belly, desperate to keep the precious blood inside her. Her stillness …

  “Doctor, be completely honest. Will she live?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Bartoli, and that is the truth. We’ll know more in the next few days. Have the police talked to you?”

  Maceo nodded. “They say they have CCTV from the gas station and are going through it now. Whoever stabbed Ori must have been following us.”

  The doctor frowned. “It wasn’t a robbery?”

  Maceo shook his head. “No. Someone has been threatening her for months. I promised her I’d protect her, and I failed her.”

  The doctor didn’t know how to reassure the devastated young man. He patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll come find you when I know more.”

  “Can I see her?”

  The doctor hesitated. “She’s in the ICU at the moment. I’d rather you wait, but if you insist …”

  Maceo nodded. “Whatever you think is best for Ori, doctor.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll forgive me if I ask you to wait for a while—at least until we have her settled and she’s stabilized...”

  “Okay. Thanks, doctor.”

  The doctor nodded and walked slowly back to his office. Why did these cases always get to him? The violence, the cruelty of it all.

  When he went home that night, he hugged his wife even tighter than usual.

  She was hovering on the edge of death. Ori knew that and yet she wasn’t scared. She could feel people’s hands on her body, could feel the excruciating pain of the knife wounds, but everything else was numb. Blood loss, she supposed. I’m dying. She could accept that if it hadn’t been for Maceo. His grief had echoed through her unconscious mind, him begging her to live. I will try, my love …

  She could still recall the lethal blade running her through, the way all the breath in her lungs had been pushed out with the force of the blows. The killer’s kiss. She tried to recall that kiss—tried to remember if anything about it was familiar. It was a tender counterpoint to the brutality of his knife. Why? Why would anyone who claimed to love her do that to her?

  Obsession …

  A scintilla of an idea floated across her consciousness but was soon lost in the dark swirls of coma that took over her mind then and sent her spiraling down into the blackness.

  Benoit and Shiloh were the first to arrive in Venice, shaken and disbelieving, then Seth, and lastly Alex and his half-sister, Netta. All of them were pale and sickened by what had happened. Lucia arranged for all eight of them to fly to Florence that evening.

  On the plane, they discussed who should go to the hospital. Lucia was adamant. “Ori was my friend long before any of you met her.” There was some anger in her voice, which Lisander, if no one else, understood. He nodded.

  “Of course. Then perhaps Alex and I? Seth and Ben—perhaps you could go tomorrow?”

  Benoit was texting. He showed them his phone. “I’ve been talking to Maceo via text. He wants all four of us at the same time. I’ve told them Lucia is insisting, and he says that’s okay.”

  Seth sighed. “Shiloh, Netta, do you mind if we leave you at the hotel?”

  The two women shook their heads. Netta squeezed Seth’s hand, “We’ll be the relief guard,” and grinned at him. Seth smiled at her. “Thanks, Nets.”

  Two town cars were waiting for them on the runway. Shiloh and Netta got into one headed for the hotel; the others piled in together to drive to the hospital. They sat in silence as the cab drove through the outskirts of the city.

  A nurse greeted them at the reception. “Miss Fernando, you can go straight up to the ICU. Mr. Vaux, Mr. Cantor, Mr. Duarte, Mr. Milland—Mr. Bartoli would like to see you alone. Please come with me.”

  The men exchanged glances. What the hell was going on? They followed the nurse up to a conference room. “Please wait here for Mr. Bartoli.”

  They were left alone. Benoit frowned at his friends. “What is all this?”

  The others just shrugged and, a moment later, Maceo came in. His clothes were still bloodstained, his T-shirt covered in dark brown splotches. His eyes were hooded, angry, grief-stricken.

  “Jesus …” Lisander couldn’t help the exclamation; he had never seen his friend so devastated and yet so wild with anger that his whole body seemed to vibrate with it. Maceo gripped the back of a chair for support and seemed to be struggling to speak.

  “How’s Ori?” Seth said gently.

  “Alive. Just.” Maceo’s voice was gravelly, rasping from fatigue and despair. “She was stabbed eleven times in the belly. They had to remove her spleen and a kidney. Her abdominal artery was damaged; so was her liver. She lost two liters of blood, and she’s in a coma. She may not make it.” He looked up finally, lingering on each of his friend’s faces. “Eleven times. She’s survived rape, abuse, being physically and verbally assaulted, and someone decided she hadn’t been through enough and stabbed her eleven times. A defenseless woman. I just have one question to ask you all.”

  His face hard, his green eyes burning with fury, he studied the face of each of his oldest friends and asked the question that had been roiling inside of him for the last twenty-four hours.

  “Which one of you tried to murder my beautiful girl?”

  Benoit wrapped his arms around Shiloh’s waist as she hugged him and buried his head in her hair. “How did it go, darling? Did they let you see Ori?”

  Benoit shook his head. “No. We just met with Maceo.” He told her about
Maceo’s anger, his utter conviction that one of them was responsible for stabbing Ori and killing Viola. Shiloh listened with growing horror.

  “He can’t mean it, surely? This is the grief talking, the shock?”

  Benoit met her gaze. “I don’t think so, ma chére. I’ve never seen Maceo like that before. So angry, so sure.”

  Shiloh was silent for a long time, just holding him. “This is a nightmare.”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “And he won’t let any of us near Ori except you, Kate, and Netta. But not yet; she’s in a too delicate condition.”

  Shiloh stroked his hair. “It’s not looking good, is it?”

  “From what Maceo said, I’m surprised she made it at all.” He described what had happened to Ori and Shiloh looked sickened.

  “God.” Shiloh felt nausea rising in her throat. Unconsciously she touched her belly, the bump where their daughter lay sleeping. “Benoit … is there any chance, I mean, do you think there’s any chance one of you could have done it?”

  Benoit’s eyes were full of pain when he looked at her. “I don’t even want to think about that possibility but if I’m honest … yes. Yes, I think one of us could have. And, god help me, I think I know who.”

  The doctor finally gave his permission for Maceo to sit with Ori. She had stabilized overnight, but Maceo still had to have his vitals checked to make sure he wasn’t carrying a virus before going to see her. There was so much risk of infection.

  His whole body trembled as he pushed aside the sliding door to her room. Ori, her dark hair spread about the pillow, was pale, her usually golden-honey skin yellow and wan.

  “Mio caro,” he whispered to her as he bent over her to kiss her cool cheek. The bleep of the machines reminded him what was keeping her alive, and the pain was intense.

  Maceo pulled up a chair next to her and stroked her hair. He let out a long breath. Since confronting his friends, the fight had gone out of him. The shock on some of their faces, the agreement on others. He knew who had done this; he was just waiting for him to confess. Viola. Ori. There was only one person in Maceo’s mind, one suspect, but he wanted the killer to confess. He had no proof of anything other than that Ori was here, and she might not wake up.