A second later, one of Luciano’s men steps out of the shadows. He’s so huge, he barely fits between the cars, and the cut of his suit jacket is so tight it looks like he might burst outof it if he flexes. “Miss Ricci,” he greets me, real formal, but his lips twitch, as if he knows he’s been caught out. The other one, I see now, is across the lane, arms crossed, scanning the lot with bored and predatory eyes.
“Names?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.
“Franco,” the first one says.
“Roman,” the second one has his phone in his hand, no doubt calling Kian or Luciano.
“Throw your phones toward me. Smash them,” I demand.
Neither of them moves, so I hit the unlock button on the key fob and yank open the driver’s side door. When I lean in and lift the console lid, the black pistol, which is exactly the same as the one I have hidden at home, gleams under the dim lighting.
Even though Knox and his brothers taught me how to shoot with several different calibers, my nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson is my favorite.
With my fingers wrapped around the cold metal, I pull it out and straighten, then walk to the end of the SUV, where both men are standing a few feet away.
I feel terrible, but I raise my gun, pointing it at Roman. “Smash it. Now.”
Roman narrows his eyes, but he finally tosses his phone onto the ground at my feet, the screen shattering.
Then I turn to Franco. “Now you.”
Franco eyes Roman, then sighs, and throws his onto the ground, sending it flying into a million pieces.
“I’m leaving this garage, and the two of you aren’t going to follow or try to stop me. Are we clear?” I ask.
“Mr. Savage isn’t going to approve of this, Miss Ricci,” Roman says as he takes a step toward me. I swing the end of the pistol toward him, and he stops in his tracks, holding his hands up.
“I’ll deal with Kian and Luciano later,” I answer.
“We’re only here to protect you, Miss Ricci,” Franco says. “If you need our assistance with whatever you’re doing, we will help you.”
Shaking my head, I take a step back. I’ve come this far on my own, and I’m not stopping or letting anyone take this away from me.
“If you want to help, tell my cousin to send a clean-up crew to my mother’s house.” Then I get into the SUV and lock the doors before I start the engine and pull out of the parking spot, neither of the men getting in my way as I drive away.
Luciano is going to besopissed. And I’m not sure how Kian will feel, but I hope he’ll understand. Of all people, he should. His father was murdered, too, only not by his mother. And despite what the news reports say about what happened to Jack Savage’s killer, I have no doubt that man died at the hands of Kian and his brothers.
I drive out of the city, following the narrow, winding road into the hills, where the mega-mansions are tucked behind hedges and gates that cost as much as most ordinary people’s homes. My mother’s estate is perched high, a marble monstrosity that I’m pretty sure she insisted on my father buying. Thankful that she isn’t smart enough to change the entry code, I watch the iron gates slowly open before I drive through. I pass the stone fountain and park at the edge of the circular drive.
The same code that got me into the gate gets me into the garage attached to the house, and I slip in through the entry door. As I walk, I don’t make a sound. Years of ballet taught me how to stay quiet on my feet. At the landing, I pause, my ears straining. Nothing. Not a sound. My mother’s housekeeper will be here at eight o’clock sharp to prepare her breakfast, so I still have a couple of hours.
I take the stairs two at a time, the pistol heavy in my hand. My palms are clammy, and my heart is beating so hard, I’msurprised it isn’t echoing off the walls. I pause at her bedroom door, listening.
Quiet as a mouse, I grab the handle and slowly push the heavy door open. It’s dark in here, only the beginnings of morning light starting to creep under the heavy silk curtains. Just enough that I can see where I’m going as I make my way over to one of the hideous gold velvet chairs near her bed.
Sitting down, I watch her, unmoving as she sleeps peacefully, as if she didn’t actually kill her husband and attempt to kill her daughter.
Finally, I clear my throat. “Hello, Mother.”
As soon as I speak, she startles and bolts upright, looking around the room as her arms flail around.
When her blinking gaze lands on me, she puts a hand to her chest, panting, and something on one of her fingers sparkles. A pear-shaped ring. Just like the one in my nightmare. The one I thought was a hallucination.
My blood runs cold. She didn’t just pay someone to kill me. She tried to finish the job herself.
CHAPTER 42
Kian
