I never left my phone anywhere, especially given the sub rosa nature of my business. There was a reason why so many in the underworld trusted me with their secrets. I held my tongue because I valued it. Even though Tigran could snoop all he wanted, I still didn’t like leaving my cellphone. Especially if he answered and someone he didn’t like was on the other end.
Or what if my sister called? It wasn’t something she needed to know about. That I’d just screwed her uncle-in-law.
By the time I reached his penthouse, I’d ditched my coffee cup and bagel wrapper and was out of breath. It wasn’t because of the walk. Being lost in my feels had me off balance.
“Tigran!” I banged on his door. “I know you’re in there. Let me in!”
At first, I thought he’d opened the door, but the door was already open when I’d hit it. It slowly moved, and I let myself in. Right away, a chill moved up my spine. I’d been around this life long enough to know when to listen to my gut. It was screaming at me. And besides, my gut couldn’t come up with that smell. It wasn’t rotten, but fresh.
Blood. And lots of it. It’s hard to put into words the scent of it when gallons of it has been spilled.
I covered my face with part of my blazer. “Tigran,” I whispered, taking slow steps toward his room, my heart stuck in my throat. If it beat any harder, it would have jumped clear out of my mouth. I could usually detach myself from these situations. And had on many occasions. I knew this man, though. I’d just slept with him. The smell of his cologne and sweat still wafted off my body.
My hand reached out to grasp the doorframe when I came to the bathroom. The scene was a literal bloodbath. I couldn’t even see the tile floor. Tigran lay in the middle of it, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling, his face contorted into a frozen mask of pain. Steam wafted in the air, carrying the scent, making it stick to me like perfume created from a massacre.
A knife had split his chest open, and where his heart should have been, there was a void. Except it wasn’t totally empty.
The picture of Rosaria Caffi took its place.
TWO
AVA
Okay,Ava, you’ve been around dead bodies before…nothing to be bothered about. Take a deep breath and take control of the situation.
But…I knew this man, and outside of being intimate with him, he was my sister’s uncle-in-law. That made him family. And whenever I took a deep breath, it felt like the smell of his blood clung to the inside of my nose.
What was making me feel even worse?
I couldn’t stop thinking about the picture of Rosaria Caffi that had been left in the space where Tigran’s heart should have been, which meant I was thinking indirectly of the Fausti family.
They had probably been there only minutes after I left. Knowing I was standing where whoever had stood and done this sent a sudden thrill through me. Anytime I came close to them, the same thing happened. It was a natural reaction. I couldn’t seem to help it.
My meek conscience was getting rowdy on me, though, because of Tigran. He didn’t deserve the death he was doled out. His face was frozen mid-scream, all twisted and nightmarish, and his hands had turned into claws. Even with the steam from the bathtub, he couldn’t relax, not even in death.
The Fausti family was known to steal the hearts of enemies who had personally wronged them, and if Rosaria Caffi’s photo has been left in its place, they were sending a clear message.
Tigran had gotten too close to Rocco Fausti’s wife.
My mind went into journalist mode while I considered a few different scenarios.
Was he in love with her?
Had an affair with her and was setting her up for some reason?
Even though Tigran was a decent man, he was still part of a dark world, and the Faustis were a huge target.
Did he sleep with her and become as obsessed as I was with that family?
Rosaria wasn’t my favorite character, but she was beautiful and talented. Then again, she also seemed high-maintenance and a bit manipulative. From all the research I’d done, I knew most of their marriages were arranged, and like a royal family, Rocco had been first in line to the bloody throne. Rosaria was supposed to be the queen on his arm. Even though everything about her appearance was warm, all I got was a cold feeling from her.
No one really knew what was going on behind closed doors, but I was willing to bet Brando Fausti threw a wrench in the family plans.
Brando Fausti was the first-born son of Luca Fausti, therefore Rocco’s older brother, but Brando had been estranged from the family as a child. Everyone always assumed Rocco was the oldest, but Luca had hidden his oldest son for years.
The Luca-Brando-estrangement situation was a riddle. I had a feeling it had to do with a woman I’d located in Louisiana through my research. Margherita Granchio. She was Brando’s mother, and if my gut feeling was correct, she had probably been Luca’s mistress. Brando was born only a few months before Rocco.
All of that was why I was so curious about them. The Fausti family had a long and twisted history. Enough to fill books with factoids and stories about them. They had this thing about being both ruthless and romantic. Part of their legacy was that they revered women. Which was why Tigran was killed the way he was. It was in Rosaria’s honor and out of respect for her husband.
