Page 89 of Devil's Vows
But if Franco Fiore really is dead, then the chances are Randazzo’s vow—his deal with that Russian—has died of natural causes. All my ideas of him hunting me down may be mere fantasy.
When I say nothing, trying hard to get my head around this reality, Dominic clears his throat.
“There’s something else I thought you needed to know.”
“What?” I ask, my voice strained.
“There’ve been four more murders, similar to Mother Lucia’s, in Italy. Women tortured, and then torched.”
“Oh, my— Are you serious?”
Maybe it was just fluke and Mother Lucia’s death wasn’t my Russian. Maybe all of this is nothing. An assassination disguised among killing many.
“They thought they caught the culprits, but news of aserial killer is making headline news. Four women are already dead, and whoever their killer is, they have very diverse tastes.”
I drag a hand down my face, goosebumps riding down my arms. “Why?”
“This time, it’s been in prostitues or young female porn stars.”
I stop breathing.
Chiara.
45
GABI
My stomach turns as I clutch my phone, dread washing in hot flushes through my body.
“Gabi?” Dominic’s voice sounds through the phone. “Are you still there?”
“Yes. I—” I break off and drag in a breath, my chest constricting with the pain that comes from restraining a sob.
What if they came for Chiara? Somehow linked her to me and tortured her for information she doesn’t have? She knowsnothing.
I’d like to think it’s impossible, but I just learned I don’t know half of what’s going on in this mess, as if I’m standing in the eye of the hurricane.
Someone needs to find Chiara and make sure she’s safe. If she isn’t dead already.Tortured. Torched.Because ofme. It’s too much. I won’t be able to live with myself.
“Nicky,” I croak, knowing I will forgive him everything and more if he does this one thing for me.
“Yes,cara?”
“I have a friend…it’s a long story, but I need you and Ariana to find her. To make sure she’s safe. Find out who the four murdered women are and make sure she isn’t on that list. I beg you—” I break off to bite my knuckles, to transfer my pain to something I can control.
“Who is she?” he asks.
“A friend from the convent in Potenza, Chiara Bellini,” I choke on my hand. “She went into the porn industry in Rome. Got a small apartment in Tiburtino. Don’t ask. Please. Just find her for me and get her to safety,” I say, not pausing long enough for him to ask how I, the sweet, protected sister they all thought they had in the bag, straight from the convent, knows someone who works in the adult entertainment industry. “I know you know how to find her.”
All the strings he pulled to get me out of Italy in just two weeks showed me the underground power my brothers wield. I have no doubt he has the know-how, influence, and connections to make this happen.
“Consider it done, Gabi,” he says, not even questioning. “Anything for you. I’ll get on it immediately and let you know everything I find out. Keep your phone close. If this will help you to forgive me?—”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Nicky, honestly. Just get her safe.”
“You know I will.”
We end the call, and I throw myself to my knees, praying that she’s alive, begging to God to keep her safe. I can hardly breathe with the anxiety over her safety pressing on my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I find solace in God’s gentle hand that seems to sweep over my hair.
