Page 4 of Blood & Heartache

“That would be welcome, thank you,” I whispered, then continued down the hall.

The trick was going to be if the guys would leave me alone. In preparation for that, I locked the door, knowing Glenda would knock and I could let her in, but I wasn’t going to risk being ambushed by the guys. They meant well, but a tiger can’t change their stripes just because they want to. It was going to take time and trust. Going through this had helped with the trust factor, and none of them were keen on the time request. Hopefully, Ryker could help them understand and respect my wishes.

Reaching the massive carved wooden doors, I stood using my cane to lean on as I pressed my hand to the sensor. The screen flashed green, and the sound of a lock disengaging could be heard. While I was still up, I shoved one door open, making it easier to maneuver with the wheelchair. Once inside, I set the lock and closed the door. This space was a secure room that no one could gain access to unless the correct code was entered. This room held so many secrets it would ruin everything if the information got into the wrong hands. Of course, they’d need to figure out how to break the secret language we used when writing this information.

Taking a breather, I looked up at the room’s vaulted ceiling and the library on the second level of the space. Hidden among those books was something so important Daddy needed to make sure I looked for it. Everything—he’d said it held everything I needed to know, and that terrified me. What could be in that journal that I didn’t already know? Was there another layer to this world I’d been groomed to take over? Just how many more secrets was I going to uncover?

Locking the wheels, I shoved myself up and grabbed the cane for my slow ascension up the stairs. While I’d been in this room a few times, I hadn’t had the chance to explore this part of it. Daddy had sent some of these journals for me to read and learn from growing up but seeing them all in one place was impressive. Scanning the first row of shelves, I tried to gauge what the system of organization was. Reading the cipher we used was now second nature, like being bilingual. Here were the accounting reports and numbers for the family business we didn’t report to the government. Turning to the other side, I found catalogs of business deals, security agreements, and other sources of income some might qualify as racketeering.

Seeing as the information you might need more regularly when working on business was toward the front, I took a wild guess that what I needed was all the way in the back. Hobbling my way to down there, I found an armchair tucked away between two rows of stacks. It looked as if it’d seen its fair share of use, and seeing as all the journals and memoirs were here, I could see why. This was exactly what I needed—a place to hide from the world and get lost in doing something else.

The books were various kinds of hard-backed journals in all sizes and thicknesses. It was an interesting collection to be sure, but there wasn’t much in the way of telling you who’d written each of them. Pulling off one from the shelf that was covered in soft brown leather, I opened to the first page and found a name scrawled on the inside.

Gillo Caprioni 1956 -1957

Journal Twenty-Five

This was one of my grandfather’s journals, and by the looks of similar style books, he’d written quite a lot in his years of being the head of the Caprioni Family. Seeing that this was twenty-five, then thirty-four had to be close. Letting my fingers drift over the books, I counted ten, then pulled another off the shelf to make sure I understood the system.

This journal was different. It looked like it should be a classic written novel with the beautiful filigree detailed all over it. Opening the journal, I found my father’s handwriting scrawled over the first page.

Colmazio Caprioni 1967 - 1968

Journal Thirty-Five

First entry of the tenth Caprioni Boss

Tears welled in my eyes as I saw the familiar way he wrote, a mix of print and cursive that always seemed so elegant to me. Stroking the page gently, I fought back a sob threatening to escape from my chest. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more thankful for this strange custom that the first Caprioni boss put into place. Now, whenever I needed to hear from Daddy, I could come here and read his journals. It was like there was still a piece of him living within these words.

Clearing my throat to fight back the emotions, I placed that journal back on the shelf and pulled out the one to the left. If their numbering were correct, then it would be journal thirty-four. Yet when I opened it, that’s not what I found. Instead of a journal, it was a hollowed-out book with a small lockbox tucked in the cutout space. Dumping the box into my hand, I moved to the armchair and sat heavily, my leg screaming at me for standing so long.

The lockbox was the size of a glasses case and had a numeric scrolling lock on it. I’d need five numbers to open this, and I didn’t know where to begin. Resting my elbow on the armrest, I propped my head on it, staring at the small box. Flipping open the hollowed book, I tried to see if there was something else that would give me a clue. Then I realized it wasn’t a journal, it was an actual book that had been recovered to hide what it really was. I flipped back the first page that hadn’t been cut up revealing the title—The Count of Monte Cristo. It was my mother’s favorite book, or at least that’s what Daddy used to tell me when he read it to me as a little girl.

I had to admit it had become a favorite of mine. I’d always felt like Edmond and I had much in common, being trapped in a prison we didn’t deserve. During that time, we’d both plotted and planned our revenge on the world and people who turned their backs on us. While I wasn’t looking to kill those who’d wronged me, I certainly had dreamed up many other horrible things I could do to make them pay. Now Daddy was gone, making it seem pointless to hold such a grudge when he’d done it to keep me safe. Daddy might not have chosen the best way to handle the situation, and it hurt like hell to find out about Casimira being more than just his mistress. Then there was Liu, who’d been added into the mix without warning. Daddy wanted a family, a large family it would seem, but it killed something inside me to know he could have brought me home sooner. If he was willing to risk Casimira, Jamison, and Liu being out in the open, what made me so different?

Blowing out a breath, I decided to try the first thing that came to mind—Mother’s birthday. It was five numbers and one thing Daddy and I would never forget. Sitting up, I set the book aside and scrolled the wheels up and down to the right numbers, then gave the lock a tug. It didn’t budge. Okay. I really shouldn’t be surprised that date was something everyone knew and would think to try. What I needed was something only Daddy and I would know. What connected us in such a profound way that I could break down into numbers?

Then it hit me.

Clearing the lock, I then input the numbers, and this time when I tugged, it opened. Inside was a folded note, a USB memory stick, and a picture lying facedown. Flipping the picture over, I found my mother holding a baby with Daddy’s arms wrapped around her and Casimira hugging tightly to both of them. Everyone seemed so deliriously happy and so in love I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks. This was the family I was supposed to have, and someone took it away from me. I didn’t give a fuck that Daddy had two wives. What I was pissed about is that I never got to understand and know that part of his life. A life I should have been a part of all along. This image proved to me that there was genuine love between all of them, and it wasn’t just some ploy for my father to have his cake and eat it too.

Without bothering to wipe the tears away, I picked up the note and unfolded it. I wasn’t surprised to see my father’s handwriting. I’d assumed it would be from him. What I was struggling with was getting my eyes to stop filling with tears long enough for me to read it. Using the back of my sleeve, I rubbed at them, but it didn’t help.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Glenda’s soft voice said, then the next thing I knew arms were wrapped around me. “It’s okay… let it out. Let the tears fall, sweetheart.”

Everything fell off my lap as I wrapped my arms around Glenda’s waist. Sobs racked through my body as I gasped for air, trying to keep from drowning in this overwhelming grief. I was alone in the world now. No mother, no father—they’d both been killed because of me. I should never have let him come to that meeting. There was no need. If we’d had a little more time, we’d have figured out the plot, and he’d still be alive.

“No, Astin, that’s not true,” Glenda argued. “Your father was killed because of two men who wanted power more than they valued friendship. They betrayed your father long before you caught wind of what they were up to. It’s thanks to you we know there’s trouble brewing, and the Colmazio I knew would never blame you for his blind trust. His health wasn’t good, and it was making him miss things that he normally would have seen. This isn’t your fault, and I don’t want to hear you say that ever again.”

Clearly, I hadn’t kept that thought to myself in my grief, but it didn’t really matter what she said. I knew she loved me too much to tell me the truth, and that was okay. We all had our roles to play. So I clung to her and let the sobs run their course until I could once more take a deep breath. Glenda pressed tissues into my hand, and I started to mop up the mess I’d made out of my face.

“How did you even get in here?” I asked once my brain was clear enough to realize I’d set the lock when I got in here.

She didn’t answer but instead helped me to my feet and guided me down to the large conference table where a bowl of steaming soup waited for me. “That’s for me to know and you to just accept. Don’t worry, those boys of yours won’t be getting in. The entrance I used is for trusted members of the family only. Now eat, young lady.”

In my entire life, there was only one person other than my father who I’d allow to speak to me like that, and it was Glenda. She’d raised me, changed my diapers, and put up with the hell that was my teen years. I’m pretty sure they were made worse with all the training I got, but she loved me all the same.

So, in gratitude, I never argued when she put me in my place and did as she instructed…