The decisiveness in his tone irritated me. I didn’t like it when Jett handled me as if I had no say in the matter.

“Don’t treat me like I’m some fragile butterfly, Jett.” I folded my arms over my chest and regarded him. “I’m going to make myself useful by returning to my apartment to find out whether Sylvie was right about the handwriting. I think I know where Clarkson’s letter is. Brian can accompany me.”

Anger crossed his features before he shook his head.

“No.” His voice was forceful. “I’ll be back before evening, and we’ll go together. First I’m dealing with my father, and then we start digging into Clarkson.”

“You’re worrying about me when you’re the one walking around with a gun,” I murmured dryly.

“I’ve heard women like a guy who knows how to fight and defend himself.” A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. He was trying to be funny by pretending he had everything under control, but the cagey expression in his eyes gave away his real thoughts.

I ignored his statement.

“Not when you intend to hurt someone.” My fingers brushed his cheek gently. “Promise me you won’t hurt him. He’s your father, and you’ll only end up hurting yourself.”

“I can’t make that promise. You know that,” he said. “But I can promise you I won’t do anything I’d live to regret.”

He pushed my hand away and walked over to retrieve the phone on the sideboard, then handed it to me. “I want you to carry this with you. If something happens, call me. Okay?”

He kissed me on the cheek, and then grabbed his jacket. I watched him walk out the door and close it behind him.

“I’d rather you gave me a gun than a stupid cell phone,” I muttered, and pushed the cell inside my handbag. It was true. I never would’ve imagined I might want to carry a gun. In fact, the thought of having a weapon in the house used to scare me. But now, after seeing what had happened to Liz and having been subjected to violence myself, I had never wanted anything more than to be able to defend myself.

Chapter 28

JETT’S WHOLE “WEAK woman/strong man” attitude was ridiculous. I didn’t want to feel useless while he did all the hard work. If Jett thought he could treat me like some fragile flower that had to be protected at all costs, he was wrong. I harbored no plan, no intention, no desire to be that way. The thought alone made me livid. I, weak? I could take care of myself. Besides, Jett wasn’t the only one who needed answers. I, too, sought to get rid of the nagging questions inside my head. I wanted to find out if Sylvie was right about the handwriting and maybe shed new light on the whole Lucazzone secret.

Peering through the window, I watched him leave with Kenny, and then grabbed my handbag. The kitchen was empty. Jett’s buddies, Brian included, had gathered in the open-space living room slash hall on the floor below Jett’s room. Thank God for football games accompanied by the usual male shouting and yelling. I sneaked past them and had reached the first floor when I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Tiffany, Brian’s girlfriend, asked. Regarding her oversized turquoise sweater and her short black hair with violet streaks, I begged my mind to come up with a good lie.

“Jett wants me to get a feel for his car. You know, acquaint ourselves.” I groaned inwardly at my lame excuse.

“Cool.” She shrugged. “But you can’t drive it.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.” I rolled my eyes in mock irritation, ignoring her patronizing tone. “I’m just going to sit in it for a while. He’s an amazing driver, and it looks so easy.”

“It’s not.” Her lips curved into a fake smile and disappeared a second later. “The keys are in the locker room in a box on the wall. Have fun!” She walked away. We had been staying for a few days, and I still didn’t know what her issues were. I climbed down the stairs, passed the security cameras, and let myself out.

The buildings looked more ominous than ever—maybe because it was a cloudy day promising a rainy night.

I crossed the backyard and reached the gate. The guard frowned but didn’t comment as I walked through and called a taxi.

During the drive to Sylvie’s apartment, I could no longer ignore the thoughts inside my head. There were too many loose ends, especially the part where Alessandro Lucazzone worked together with Robert Mayfield. If I didn’t get answers, I’d never find peace. My fear would continue to consume me. I couldn’t spend my life hiding. I missed work, shopping, and meeting for coffee with Sylvie, and, most importantly, I wanted a normal life with Jett so I could prepare for motherhood.

Eventually we reached the apartment, and I let myself in. Everything was quiet, but the air smelled of Sylvie’s perfume and memories. So many happy memories.

Fighting the sudden onset of nostalgia, I removed my shoes and walked barefoot to my former room. Everything was tidy, the bed made. Just like I had left it when I moved in with Jett. I headed for my desk and began sorting through the mail pile Sylvie had kept for me. And there was a lot of it. It took me a while to find Clarkson’s letter.

I scanned the old-fashioned writing. The “B” and “S” were curved—as though he was into calligraphy. There was little doubt the owner of the book was the same person who’d written down my name and address on the envelope.

I jumped in my skin when something clicked in the hall and footsteps thudded on the hardwood floor.

“Sylvie?” Pressing the letter against my chest, I peered out the door. “I didn’t expect you home so early. Kenny said—” I broke off as I stared at the one face I never expected to see. In front of me, standing near Sylvie’s large bookcase, was Nate, his hands buried in his pockets.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?” I asked, unable to hide the shock in my voice. For some reason I thought there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“The door was open.” He pointed behind him.

“Are you looking for Jett? He’s not here, but I can call him.”

“No need.” He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

It was the strange smile on his face that made my heart beat frantically in my chest.

“Why?” I whispered.

The apartment felt small, the air too thick to breathe.

“I knew you’d be coming.” He took slow, measured steps forward, his blue eyes scanning me. I inched back.

“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?” I was missing something; I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Oh, Brooke.” He laughed, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “I have answered your question. Weren’t you listening?” His tone was contemptuous. “I said I was waiting for you. You walked away from me last time, and I had no choice but to wait for you. After all, I paid a lot of money to have you. Your behavior didn’t please me, but I’m willing to look past your indiscretion.”

What indiscretion?

My body froze, and my chest began to tighten with fear. Alarm bells rang in my head.

“You—” I choked on my breath. The thought was horrible. It couldn’t be true. I couldn’t even speak it out loud. He nodded encouragingly, and his eyes flickered with knowledge and pleasure. I stared at his evil smile, thinking how much he seemed to enjoy the moment he disclosed his identity.

When Danny claimed a man paid for me, I imagined him to be older. Never Jett’s attractive brother. Clearly, he was a sociopath—charming and likeable on the outside, but twisted and sick to the core.

“You’re Dante?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. My voice was shaking and my throat was so tight I felt like I was being strangled.

“I am Dante.” His eyes flashed with pride, as though the name had a special meaning. And it did, somewhere at the back of my mind; my paralyzing fear just wouldn’t let me grasp it.

“You work for the club and the charity?” I asked in disbelief. On the rare occasions we had met, he had always been friendly, helpful even. He had claimed to be close to Jett. It had to be a misunderstanding.

“Not working.” He shook his head slowly. “I’m leading the club. I think there’s a difference, Brooke. Clarkson convinced Lucazzone to leave everything to the charity, and the charity’s mine.”

My mouth went dry. The person I had been fleeing from had been among us all along.

“You seem surprised,” Nate continued. “Didn’t you think I’d be capable of such a grand scheme?” The expression in his eyes changed from pride to amusement, and back to pride. “My brother’s so blind in love with you he even told me where you were staying.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked again. I hoped it was the book, but in some way I knew he hadn’t arranged to kidnap me because of it.

“You know the answer, Brooke. Deep down.” He took another step forward and stopped, like he had all the time in the world. “The estate. You. The company. All the things I worked hard for. All the things I deserve. I’m here to take them all.”

He pulled out a hunting knife.

He was going to kill me.

The realization kicked in hard. I had to stall until I found a way out. “I don’t understand.” I took another step, and my back hit the wall. The living room was to my right. This was my last chance to run. Turning, I dashed past him in the hope I could lock myself inside the living room and open the window to call for help. I hadn’t even reached the door when he slammed me to the floor and, turning me around, his hand tightened around my throat.

“We’re not finished.” His grip was so tight I thought I might pass out. My palms flew upward to push him away as my eyes filled with moisture from the lack of oxygen. His face inched closer until I could feel his breath on my lips.

“Right from the beginning, you were nothing but a millstone in my big plans, Brooke. You die. And I get everything. Simple as that,” Nate said. “I bet you didn’t see that coming.”

His hands released my throat. I pulled myself up on my knees, gasping for air, ignoring the pangs of pain shooting through my ribcage. So the car chase in Italy hadn’t been about the book; our pursuers wanted to kill me. Nate flung me on my back and held the knife against my throat. Tears began to trickle down my cheeks, not out of fear but out of shock.

“Now, don’t cry, little one. All those years, Alessandro had the choice to pass the estate on to me,” Nate began. “But he kept looking for an heir, leaving me no choice than to trick him and everybody else. So I bought his late wife’s favorite charity organization and made sure that Clarkson squeezed in a clause that if anything happened to you before you signed the inheritance papers, everything would fall to ETNAD. Then, after he signed the will, Lucazzone died.” Watching me, he tilted his head. “That was a few weeks ago, right before I convinced Jett to meet with you to discuss a potential partnership.”

I shook my head. It wasn’t possible. While I knew the will was drawn up prior to my meeting with Jett, Alessandro hadn’t died. Thus, the timeframe was wrong.