“Please, Dad,” I beg him, tears spilling down my cheeks. “This baby is your flesh and blood, too.”
Dad’s jaw bunches, but misgiving flickers in his eyes. Like he’s experiencing an emotion he detests. Like compassion.
“If there’s any way out of this, tell me now. You must be able to think of some way of persuading this man. By blackmailing him, maybe. If you tell me who he is then maybe I can help you think of something.”
Dad opens his mouth, and my heart swells—but then he closes it again.
“Dad, we have to put the past behind us. It’s you and me against…” But I trail off as I hear something that makes all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Someone’s coming down the stairs.
One person, walking with slow, deliberate footsteps. A moment later, the door to the basement swings open. A man enters, dressed head to toe in black with his face and hair covered. I can’t even see his eyes. He’s lean and holds himself with chilly stillness. He slowly scans the room, left to right, like he’s the Terminator, taking everything in. This is the man that Salvatore described the night Lorenzo was nearly taken.
“Dad?” I whisper, staring at the figure. “Is this him?”
The man takes a step toward me and regards me, his head tilted to one side. A predator assessing his prey.
Chills sweep over me and my chest lifts up and down with short, frightened breaths. “This is the killer, isn’t it? The Black Orchid Killer.”
The man rolls his shoulders and pushes his chest out, as if pleased I’ve recognized him. He takes a step toward Dad, whose eyes are filled with wariness.
“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at,” Dad growls. “We had an agreement that—”
The killer draws back his fist and sinks it into Dad’s belly. He doubles over as much as the ropes allow him to and he groans.
“You moron,” Dad says, panting through the pain. “Who’ll protect you if I’m gone? Have you thought of that? Answer me.”
Apparently, the killer has decided he doesn’t care anymore and he turns to me. Immediately, his gaze seems to zero in on my baby bump.
I shake my head from side to side, trying to push away from him with my feet. “No, please, leave me alone.”
“I told you, Chiara has to stay alive until after the election,” Dad shouts.
The horror of those words chill me to the bone. Chiara has to stay alive until.
“You never had any problem discussing this before. What the hell has gotten into you?” Dad frowns, and he examines our captor closely. Suddenly, his eyes flare with anger. “Wait, you’re not—Who the fuck are you?”
The man in black stares at him.
I look from him to Dad and back again, frowning. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”
“Go on,” Dad says to the killer. “Say something. Let me hear your voice.”
Silence rings through the basement. Nobody breathes.
Dad says in a cold voice, “You’re a fucking fake.”
The figure in black scratches the back of his head. Then he shrugs, grabs his mask and pulls it off, revealing thick blond hair, bright golden eyes, and a clean-shaven jaw.
He smiles, revealing pointed canines. “Hey, kitten. How are you doing?”
I stop pretending to struggle against my bonds and sit back with a sigh. “Oh, I’m fine. We nearly had him.”
Dad is spluttering with indignation. “Chiara? Vinicius Angeli? What the hell are you two playing at?”
“That was an Oscar-winning performance,” Vinicius tells me. “From the cage fight to now, you never broke character.”
It was the only way I could be sure that I’d convince Dad. He’s known me all my life and always seemed to be able to catch me out in a lie. “Thank you. Telling the media I had been kidnapped was inspired. It really added authenticity.”
“That was Salvatore’s idea. The journalists had no idea what it meant, that a missing girl had been kidnapped, but they were hungry for stories about Miss Chiara Romano.”
Dad’s jaw is so tight his teeth might shatter. “Don’t bother to congratulate yourselves. Your dirty trick didn’t work.”
Vinicius turns to him and spreads his arms. “What gave me away? My body’s too perfect, isn’t it? Go on, I can take constructive criticism.”
Dad glowers at him.
“I suppose you’re not going to tell us who the Black Orchid Killer is? No?” Vinicius turns back to me. “I could just torture him until he tells us what we want to know. Most men will sing like canaries if you take a bolt cutter to their ball sack.”
There’s a voice from over by the doorway. “Did someone say torture?” Acid prowls into the room. “I’d be happy to oblige, your highness.”
Thane stands next to him, staring at the mayor with a glacial chill in his dark eyes and examining Dad’s body as if he’s wondering where to get started.
“Can one of you untie me, please?” I ask.
Thane steps forward, his eyes glinting. Vinicius stops him with a hand on his chest. “Not you, pervert.”
He hunkers down next to me and cuts through the ropes, and then rubs warmth back into my hands. His eyes are gentle as he gazes up at me. “I’m sorry it didn’t work. It was a good plan. What do you want to happen now?”
He’s my father, so he’s leaving the decision to me. All my men plus Acid and Thane would be more than happy to go to town on Dad with knives, pliers, bolt cutters, and their fists, but it’s not what Mom would have wanted. She believed in justice.
“Torture is probably what he deserves,” I say, looking at Dad. “But I want the mayor found out, not secretly ripped apart in a basement and dying a martyr to everyone in Coldlake.”
“It’s been nine years since those women were murdered, your highness,” Acid says, leaning against the dank walls of Strife’s basement, his green eyes glinting. “You still think you can solve these murders yourself?”
I take a long, slow look around the room. This is the second time I’ve been in this basement, and while I know it’s not the basement, the one where the Black Orchid Killer killed the syndicate’s sisters, I feel like it’s trying to tell me something. The feeling isn’t déjà vu. It’s more like there’s something on the tip of my tongue that keeps slipping away.
A memory? An idea? Two dots that I need to connect?
Dad is gazing at me speculatively as if he too is wondering whether I can solve this puzzle. Thane’s task these past few months has been to scour Dad’s devices for any strange conversations about murders. When Acid and Thane snatched him tonight, Thane was going to check for any other phones or tablets he might have missed.
I raise a questioning brow at Thane. He gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and disappointment washes over me. I traded the favor owed to me by the Strife men for a kidnapping bounty and Thane’s precious time and skills, and I’ve got nothing to show for it.
“Don’t be squeamish, your highness. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”