What had David said? There’s an auction.
Is it the same auction that boat of women was heading to? Women and girls. And Lenore’s granddaughter, Mara is there. If David is telling the truth, that is. Why wouldn’t he, though? Why would he lie about that? There’s no reason to lie to me about it.
But he knew about Mara all along and never told Cristiano or Dante or even Lenore? He knew she was alive?
No. It’s worse than that. He’d planned it. They’d just screwed up and taken the wrong little girl.
He’d planned for Elizabeth to be kidnapped. Cristiano’s little sister. His niece. Which means he was involved in their massacre.
Why?
I drop my head, shake it. The why doesn’t matter, not anymore. Did Cristiano find out at least? Before he died? No. He couldn’t have.
I steel myself and raise my head. No time to mourn. I look straight at the camera. Straight at the cowards on the other side of it.
I can die quietly. Or I can try to do something to help Mara. To help those women. To avenge Cristiano at least a little.
So, I settle into my seat. I look straight into that lens and I plot, raising my middle finger at whoever is watching.
Because I’ll fight.
Because I’ve never been the quiet type.
31
Cristiano
I don’t know how long I fight for. All I know is every time I regain a modicum of consciousness, I’m right back where I was when I heard Dante. Charlie. Right back to fighting this fog.
David has Scarlett.
Those are the three words that repeat in my head every time I feel the weight of life. Of waking. That and dread. Dread for her.
Something cold and wet touches the back of my hand. I turn my head toward whatever it is even though I can’t yet open my eyes. That cold and wet turns warm and soft and I realize it’s Cerberus. He’s nuzzling his head into my hand.
I feel myself smile just a little. This one comfort. I move my fingers as much as I can, and he must feel it because I hear him whine then let out a small bark.
“Cristiano?”
Keeping my hand cupped around Cerberus’s head, I draw my other arm up. It feels like I’m dragging it through mud.
“Fuck,” Dante mutters, but I hear his relief.
I touch my face, my head. And somehow, I force my eyelids to open. I see my brother peering down at me, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. Shadows darken the skin beneath his eyes. He hasn’t slept.
“How much time?” I ask as I try to push myself up to a seat. It’s fucking impossible. My side hurts like a mother fucker. I push through it and Dante adjusts the pillow then hands me a glass of water.
“Three nights since you killed Rinaldi.”
“He’s dead.” It’s a fact. I don’t need confirmation. I will never forget his eyes. I won’t forget the feel of the knife cutting into his throat.
“Yeah. He’s dead,” Dante confirms anyway.
I take a sip of the water then push it away. I look at Cerberus who is half sitting by the bed, tail wagging behind him as he nuzzles his nose into the palm of my hand. I pet him but turn to my brother.
“Scarlett,” I say.
He runs his hands through his hair again. Turns away momentarily. “He stabbed you where you’d been shot. It’s why it’s so bad.”
“Scarlett.” I think about how she calls me a Neanderthal. I sound like one.
Dante turns back to me, expression dark. “Gone.”
“Of her own free will?” I’m not sure why I ask. I know the answer.
He shakes his head. “David took her.”
“And you let him?”
He has the decency to look down. “Charlie told me what he thinks about David. But it can’t be true, Cris. He wouldn’t do anything against us.”
I push the blanket off. The pain when I swing my legs off the bed causes the room to go black for a minute.
“You’re in no shape—”
“It was him,” I cut Dante off, shove his hand away and grip the edge of the nightstand. “It was him who ordered it.”
“Ordered what?”
I stand. Stop again. Wait for the room to stop spinning. I press my hand to my side. It feels hot but a glance down confirms it’s not bleeding.
“Ordered what?” Dante asks again this time through gritted teeth. Because he’s got to have put some things together too if Charlie talked to him.
I look at my brother. I swear there’s more gray around his temples. Fuck. He’s only twenty-six.
“He was behind it. He ordered it. He murdered our family.”
Dante’s eyes betray his emotion, betray what he knows deep down, but he closes them, shakes his head. “No, Brother. Rinaldi lied to you.”’
“He knew that bastard had—” I stop. Dante doesn’t know about the rape. I hadn’t realized my uncle knew and he’d been so smooth in covering up how when I’d questioned him.