Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Mary has never been enthusiastic about anything, at least not since you moved her in here.” Bertrand tips his head sideways and glances at the ceiling as if deep in thought. “Come to think of it, she had a strange look about her ever since your cousin visited. She almost had a feverish light in her eyes. She didn’t just seem excited. She appeared downright ecstatic.”
“Hold on. Back up one second. My cousin?”
“Yeah.” He gives me a quizzical look. “Tall guy, brown hair, dark eyes, fancy suit?”
“But…” I stare at him, confused. “I don’t have a cousin. My mom has no other family but me.”
“Are you sure?” he asks slowly.
“Of course I am.”
He closes the box. “We’ll have footage of him on the security camera.” Pushing to his feet, he says, “Come.”
I follow him to the office where he leaves the box on a table with an urn and mugs before waking up the computer on his desk. “He came around the day after your wedding. I presumed it was to reassure her after the attack that was all over the news. Let me find the recording for that date.” Fingers flying over the keyboard, he continues, “Now that I think of it, Mary escaped the very day after his visit. I didn’t put two and two together at the time, but now it seems strangely related.”
I hold my breath while he opens a folder and plays a video. After fast-forwarding a few times, he freezes the frame.
“There.” He points at the screen. “That’s the guy.”
I lean closer, and then I go cold.
Dear God.
It can’t be. Yet there he is, staring straight at the camera with a smirk on his face.
My head spins. Suddenly dizzy, I grab the edge of the desk to support my weight.
“Do you know him?” Bertrand asks, studying me with a concerned expression.
“That’s Raphael Morelli,” I say, my voice hoarse, “my husband’s worst enemy.”
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Saverio
* * *
When Anya tells me what she learned from Bertrand, I put word out on the street that I’m looking for Mary, offering a reward for any information that will lead to finding her. Then I do something I was saving for later, something I wanted to relish when I dealt the death blow. I sit down behind my desk in the study and call Raphael Morelli.
“Took you long enough,” he says, his tone smug. “I thought we were friends. Forgive me, but I took your absence to mean you’re not interested in working with me at Obsidian any longer. I think it’s better for everyone that I took over the reins.” He adds with a grin I can fucking hear in his voice, “As well as Luigi’s old territories. I reckoned with all the time it’s going to take you to become a man again—well, more or less, seeing how many holes and punctures you have in your body—you’d appreciate it if I handled things.”
His day will come. I’ll see to it if it’s the last thing I do. “You’re a traitor, Morelli, the lowest of the low.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” he asks with mocked surprise.
“Everyone knows who broke a sacred vow to shed blood at my wedding. Only a greedy man with no honor would do that.”
“Oh come on.” He chuckles. “That’s speculation and, may I add, very unfair. Where’s the evidence?”
“When I’m done with you, everyone will know without a doubt what a dishonorable man you are.”
He’s quiet for a moment, the tiniest sliver of uncertainty palpable through the line. “Is there something I can do for you? My wife is pregnant, as you know, and she’s as sick as a dog, poor thing. It’s rather cute how affected she is with my seed in her womb. At least I’m man enough to impregnate a woman.”
Getting a rise out of me isn’t going to work. Our vendetta has gone way beyond that. He’s already dead to me. It’s just a matter of finding the right moment to plant a bullet in his brain.
“To make a long story short,” he continues, “I should get back to her. I do enjoy fucking her with her protruding belly, especially when she’s lying so limp and washed out on the bed with no willpower to fight me.”
“You’re a sick prick,” I say. “I’m going to keep this short because your voice is giving me heartburn and spoiling my lunch. What was your business with Mary Brennan? And before you deny it, I have the video footage of you at the rehabilitation center.”
“Oh,” he drawls. “I heard she escaped. Too bad.”
My tone is icy. Measured. “What were you doing there?”
“I thought I’d visit your mother-in-law and get to know the family. I wanted to show some support after everything blew up in your faces.” He laughs. “Excuse the pun.”
“If you know where Mary is, I’m giving you one chance to tell me.”