“Gone? What do you mean, she’s gone?”
“I found Martha half naked and tied to a chair in her bedroom. Martha claims Amara overpowered her and took her uniform.” A muscle in Benny’s jaw jumped. “Given Martha’s expertise in Krav Maga, that seems highly doubtful.”
“Goddammit.” Emilio glanced at the man sitting on his couch. “Sorry, Father.”
“Just make sure you’re in my confessional come Sunday,” Father Russo replied, taking another casual sip of his whiskey.
Ignoring the jab, Emilio turned back to his right-hand man. “She went home, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m inclined to agree. Should we go and fetch her?”
Emilio was already across the room by the time Benny asked the question. “Bring two extra men. And have Alex stay with Martha. When we have Amara back safe and sound, you can deal with Martha.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Benny disappeared to gather the men they needed while Emilio paced the front hall.
“Are we ready yet?” Emilio snapped when Benny joined him in the hall once more.
“Max is pulling the car around now.” Worry colored Benny’s tone. “You don’t think he’d hurt her, do you?”
“Two days ago I would have said absolutely not. But now...” He trailed off, letting the implication hang between them.
“I hope you blister her bottom good and proper when we get her back,” Benny mumbled.
Emilio couldn’t help the bark of laughter. “The last time I wanted to do that, you talked me down to a few measly taps with the cane.”
“Obviously I was remiss, and Miss Amara requires a much firmer hand than I believed.”
“Well, no need to worry about that. She won’t sit right for a month after this little stunt.”
Assuming, of course, they were able to get her back in one piece.
No. If he allowed himself to think that way, he’d never keep his shit together long enough to get her out of there. Right now, Amara needed him, and he’d be damned if he was going to let her down.
* * *
Of all the ways she’dimagined her own death—and in her line of work there’d been plenty of scenarios she’d run through her mind—she’d never pictured herself staring down the barrel of a gun in her own home.
“Uncle Gio. What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her voice as level and neutral as possible.
“Fixing my mistake. I’ll have to find a way to pin it all on Rinaldi, of course, but that shouldn’t be too hard.” He smirked, an oily, self-satisfied smile that coated her stomach with ice. “Some planted evidence, money in the right hands, and I should have no problem convincing everyone of my version of events.”
How had she never seen this side of him? She’d known he could be ruthless. Any man in his position had to be, but this went beyond ruthless straight to evil. The knowledge of what he’d done and what he was threatening to do had her heart splintering. One wrong move and it would shatter. If she let herself break now, she would be toast.
Holding herself together through sheer will, she shook her head. “I don’t understand. What does my death gain you?”
“Two birds, one stone. Neither you nor Rinaldi would have accepted the changes I’ve painstakingly implemented, and I couldn’t just take Rinaldi out without putting a target on my own back. But, if Rinaldi killed the adopted daughter I loved like my own child?” He placed his palm over his heart in a sickening mimicry of grief. “Who could blame me for wanting revenge?”
“Bastardo. How long have you been planning this?”
“Oh, about twenty years.”
The room spun around her when his implication hit. “My parents.”
“Yes. And you, originally, but you just had to get sick that night. You really don’t know how to die, do you? Ah, well.” He shrugged. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. You gave me an excellent assassin as well as the perfect scapegoat. I suppose you were more useful alive than dead after all.”
He’d killed her parents. Arranged the accident that ripped her world apart, and then turned her into his own personal, deadly little puppet. Red colored her vision and she took a step forward.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Gio raised the revolver, leveling it with her chest. “Careful,topolina.”