For once in my life, I don’t argue. Angelo needs to focus on finding Fina, which means he doesn’t need me to distract him.
“Be safe,” I tell him, my eyes glassy with unshed tears. I hate feeling so powerless, but there’s nothing I can do to help.
“Always,” he promises.
39
Angelo
I’m struggling to deal with the fact the day has gone so badly wrong, and it’s not even eleven a.m. yet.
The coppery scent of blood lingers in the air, even though someone has opened the sliding doors to the terrace where gauzy drapes flutter in a gentle breeze. The dark red-brown stain on the powder blue antique Persian rug jars.
It may never recover.
Like Matteo.
A maid appears in the doorway with a cleaning cart. She follows my gaze, and the color leeches from her face.
“Not now,” I bark, raking my hair with my fingers and wishing someone would bring me a coffee. I didn’t get the chance to drink mine earlier, which is why I have a thumping headache.
Caffeine dependency is a bitch.
“Any idea how the suspects accessed the private elevator?” Kane shakes his head. We have very little to go on so far. Matteo is in a coma. The doctors say it will be touch and go for the next seventy-two hours. At least.
It’s sheer luck he’s not dead. Although he may wish he had died if he does wake because there’s a strong chance he’s sustained brain damage.
But I’m more concerned about my sister.
“I’ve sent the images of the two men to Milo to see if his facial-recognition program scores any hits, but they must have had help from someone in the hotel. Someone who could override the elevator security system.”
That narrows the list of suspects down.
“Let’s go and have a chat with Roman.” He’s the hotel’s head of security. I don’t imagine he’s betrayed us, but he’ll be able to pinpoint who else it could have been.
Roman called in sick, the manager tells me, which makes him a person of interest.
“I need an address.” The manager nods and taps a few keys. Sweat beads his brow, and when he hands over the printed sheet of paper, his hand trembles.
The man’s terrified.
Persons unknown took my sister from the hotel on his watch. The buck stops with him, and he knows it.
“I want a list of all staff on duty last night. Email it to me.”
The manager nods. “Yes, sir.”
I’m about to step out of his office when a thought occurs to me.
“Has my father been here in the last week?” Dad usually stays at our flagship hotel when he’s in the city; it’s closer to Remington’s sordid club, where he’s a regular patron.
Which reminds me… I need to investigate why my father is suddenly so pally with Tim Remington. Dad never cultivates friendships unless there’s something in it for him.
“Um, yes. He was here two days ago, sir.”
“Wednesday evening?”
“Yes. He arrived around seven p.m. and left a couple of hours later.”
