Page 32 of His Brother's Wife
In her office, Lena hugged her too. “So good to have you back, boss.”
Ama smiled. “Sorry to have abandoned you for so long. But I come bearing more news.”
Lena studied her. “You’re leaving for good, aren’t you?”
Ama nodded. “I am. I’m sorry, but I want to be with Enda, and I want to be in Italy. He and Raffaelo Winter are opening music schools across the world, and I’m going to help them.” She smiled. “So, if you feel like a change of pace or of country, we could always use superb administrators. But don’t tell the dean I said so. I’m already in trouble for giving notice.”
Lena nodded, but her eyes were sad. “I’ll miss you.”
Tears threatened again. “Don’t make me cry.” Ama smiled at her assistant. “Come on, boss me around for a bit. I’ll feel like I’m home then.”
Lena grinned. “Okay, well, there’s your email folder. Don’t even ask how many unread you have. I’ve tried to sort them into folders in order of importance, and I deleted all the spam, but still. Any marked private, I haven’t opened. I promise. They’re in a folder on your desktop.”
Ama sat down at her desk and flicked her work laptop on. She had left everything behind when she’d fled to Italy, including this old machine, and it took a while for the computer to boot up. She went to put a fresh pot of coffee on and noticed the fine layer of dust covering everything. With a note of sadness, she realized this place was a stranger to her, and she to it.
She had given the dean her notice—three months—and he had been sad, but understanding. Enda had already spoken to him about the extra security, telling him in confidence the situation with Ama and her sister. The Dean had been appalled, of course, and promised to do everything in his power to protect Ama.
Ama sat back down at her desk and clicked open the private email folder. Private messages from an ‘unknown’ addressee filled the screen. Ama swallowed, knowing they all had to be from Jackson. The first one was dated the night she left him, and it was a rambling, venom-filled email telling her she was a whore and that Enda was a bastard who was only romancing her to pay Jackson back. All vitriolic swill, but nothing Ama wouldn’t have expected. She almost deleted it, then paused. It was still evidence, wasn’t it? There were a few more angry rants around the same date, but then, for a period of some months, nothing. Then, the day Jackson had abducted Selima, the email started again. Ama clicked on the first one.
Time’s up.
With the short phrase was a photograph of the inside of Christina’s apartment, trashed, with the bloody messages scrawled across the walls. The second email was a photo of a small fire being set in the music rooms in the conservatory. So, thathadbeen Jackson.
Ama didn’t want to think about what was included in the few emails left, but she made herself click on them in order.
She gave a squeak of distress. Chase Caplan lying on the sidewalk, blood spread across his t-shirt, his eyes closed. The moment Selima had gone missing.
The next email showed Selima chained to a bed, looking cowed, but thankfully not bruised. Ama studied the photo of her sister minutely, trying to see the expression in Selima’s eyes, then trying to place the bedroom. She shook her head, her chest hurting with the pain of knowing her sister was somewhere and she couldn’t get to her.
The next email took her breath away. A woman she didn’t know lay slumped in the front seat of a car, her dress soaked in blood, the hilt of a knife protruding from her stomach. Dark red stab wounds covered her torso. The woman’s soft caramel hair hung to her shoulders, her eyes were closed, and her pretty face still contorted with pain and horror, even in death.
Penelope.Oh, Jesus Christ, Oh, god, oh god …Ama felt nausea rise in her throat.
The last email she hesitated to open. When she did, she saw this one was a video file. From the screenshot at the start, she could see the outside of Inca’s teahouse in Naples and knew instantly what she would see. Ama closed her eyes.I don’t know if I can do this …
But maybe there would be some clue …
She hit the play button. Someone, obviously wearing a camera, walked into the cool, shaded lower floor of the tea house. Ama saw Inca cleaning up alone. God, she looked so happy and so beautiful in her little tea-dress. She smiled at the men with the cameras, and Ama heard her say “Hey, fellas, come on in. We have plenty of room. Upstairs or down. I’m Inca, so if you need anything just ask.”
Another man, who was with the cameraman, grabbed Inca so quickly it made Ama jump back from the screen. She saw him pull Inca’s arms behind her, then saw the confusion and fear in Inca’s lovely face. With increasing horror, Ama watched the cameraman pull out the knife and plunged it into Inca’s belly. Inca gasped in agony, and Ama gave a moan as she watched her friend being stabbed again and again. When he had finished, the men lay Inca on the floor of the tea house. The whole attack took less than fifteen seconds. The cameraman lingered over Inca’s prone body. She was conscious, her eyes confused, gasping for air and for life. The camera zoomed in on her wounds, the blood pooling around her. So much blood. She heard a voice speak gently, almost tenderly to the dying woman.
“Jackson Gallo sends his regards.” Ama gasped in horror as the man stabbed Inca one last time, leaving the knife on the floor next to her body. Then the video ended.
Ama didn’t even realize she was screaming until Trevor and Dustin burst into the room, and she collapsed to the ground, sobbing.
Raff watched the video over and over again, his heart shattering. Enda and his security team had told him about it, and Raff had demanded they send it to him immediately. Enda had cautioned him. “Brother …don’t watch it. Please. I can’t imagine anything worse than seeing the woman you love attacked like this. It’s horrific.”
“Inca had to live it.Liveit, Enda, not just watch it. I have to do this; there maybe something, or someone I might recognize. You forget I know most people, good or bad, in Naples and Sorrento. This is my home. If they’re locals, I’ll know it.”
After failing to dissuade him, Enda sent the video over, and Raff had watched it. The first time, the shock of it had been ice in his veins. The pain on his beloved Inca’s face—the disbelief that this was happening to heragain.The knife slicing through the white cotton of her dress, the deep claret red of her blood spreading across it. The absolute cruelty of the man who was stabbing her.
He watched it again and again, trying to get used to the horror of it. When he realized that would never happen, he took himself out of the role of husband and tried to focus as an investigator. When the man spoke at the end, Raff heard the accent of the region. Good. That was something he had been right about—theywerelocal. In his old life, before Inca, Raff had opened nightclubs, and had enough underworld contacts that he could show this to them and hope against hope they would recognize someone. His contacts would know he wasn’t about to go to the police with that information. Raffaelo Winter had every intention of getting everything they knew about Jackson, and then, without hesitation, he would make them feel the pain they had inflicted on Inca tenfold.
Inca knew something was wrong when she woke after napping all afternoon. Her body felt heavy, almost as if it was waterlogged. Her belly screamed with pain, and she felt hot. Too hot for this air-conditioned room. She leaned over, reaching for the call button, then felt herself slip and roll. She slammed onto the floor with a moan and then all was darkness.
Ama woke in Enda’s arms as the phone rang loudly. Enda groaned and rolled over to answer it as Ama glanced at the clock. No news is good at three a.m., she thought and sat up. Enda was rubbing his eyes.
“Yeah? Oh, hey, Raff …what? Oh god …how? When? Jesus …what does the surgeon say?”
