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“Mr. Santoro? Everything is in place, and they’re loading your order into the delivery van now.” I don’t know which of us is more relieved, me or the hostess, as she returns to her stand.
“Thanks.” I shake Barrett’s hand again and promise to touch base when we’re home. It’s the sort of promise people make whether or not they believe there’s any chance of making good on it.
I do hope to meet his wife, Lourde, who might be someone Emilia would get along with. Eventually, there will come a time for us to live in the world together instead of being secluded. I want her to have a social life if that’s what she needs.
With everything in place, I head out to the car to drive back to the house. I’ll distract Emilia upstairs while the staff from the restaurant and the florist set up the downstairs. I wanted to fill the first floor with roses since the ones at home made her so happy. I sure as hell spent enough on them, but then there’s no such thing as too much when it comes to her.
The velvet box in my pants pocket gets heavier the closer I come to the house. I planned to ask after dinner, though now I wonder if I shouldn’t get it over with. I don’t know if I’ll be able to enjoy the meal, running through what I want to say in my head.
I can’t believe I’m this nervous. It’s crazy what she does to me. I’m practically beside myself with anticipation. She’ll say yes. I know she will. That doesn’t mean I don’t want everything to be as perfect as she deserves. I want her to remember this night for the rest of her life.
It’s almost eight now. Emilia will be ready, waiting for me, though she doesn’t know she’s waiting for something else. Something we both want.
Forever.
It’s the open door that stops me as I pull up. The sight of it flips a switch in my head. The anxious, lovesick fool is gone, and in his place is the man I was before I ever set eyes on Emilia Washington. As if on autopilot, I reach into the glove box and pull out the Glock, checking to make sure the safety is off. Then I get out and jog up to the porch, taking in everything.
“Emilia?” The house is silent and dark. I reach inside far enough to turn on the lights, and my gaze is immediately drawn to a black stiletto lying on the floor in front of the stairs. The second one lies on the third stair.
The smear of blood dripping down the riser above makes the world stop turning.
In the blink of an eye, everything changes. A heart-stopping moment of panic sets in as I take the steps two at a time, shouting all the way. “Emilia! If you’re here, tell me where you are!” A quick search of the bedrooms yields nothing.
“Emilia!” I rush down the stairs, and now headlights are sweeping over the front courtyard. The fucking florist. I run out, waving my arms. “Don’t go in!” I bark without slowing my pace, heading for the guest house. I know what I’m going to find before I make it there. There is no way Emilia is missing from this house unless somebody has already taken care of them.
By the time I reach the door, an icy sweat coats my skin, and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind. It doesn’t get any better when I find the corpses of my bodyguards sitting at the kitchen table, both of them face down with half of their heads missing and their brains splattered on the wall beside them. They were having dinner. One of the windows across from the table is blown in from the outside, glass littering the floor. Motherfuckers had the audacity to walk straight up to the window and fire.
I take it all in, then run back to the house. By now, the restaurant crew waits with the florists, everybody standing around, looking anxious.
“Get out of here, everybody. The plan has changed. You’ve all been paid, so go.” Their confused, surprised objections ring out behind me, but it’s about as important as the buzzing of a gnat in my ear. Back inside, the bloodstain glares sickeningly against the white paint. It’s an accusation.
You couldn’t keep me safe.
You were never good enough for me.
My hands shake with helpless rage as I pull out my phone, hitting the contact for my father’s cell while quickly searching the first floor in case I’m missing something. There is nothing beyond the broken lock on a door leading out to the beach. The alarm wasn’t set. Why didn’t I tell her to set the alarm? Why didn’t I do it myself? Because the guards were outside, that’s why, and I would only be gone for an hour. Because this wasn’t supposed to fucking happen.
“Papa,” I bark when he answers. “He took her. He fucking took her.”
“I know.” His resigned sigh almost drowns out my gasp of sick surprise. “There was a call to the main house number a few minutes ago. They said they had something that belongs to you, and they’ll get in touch when the time is right. I told myself it was a prank if you hadn’t already called here.”
Now he knows better. My world is crumbling around me, and the most precious thing I’ve ever known is out there somewhere, needing me. “He has her. Papa, he has her.” I can’t stop saying it. I can barely hear myself over the roaring in my head.
“Come home,” he urges. “Come home, and we’ll get her back.”
Yes, we will, but that won’t be enough.
I won’t be satisfied until the flesh is peeled from his bones while he watches on in horror.
17
EMILIA
Everything hurts.
My body is a symphony of pain.
What a first thought to have when regaining consciousness. But it’s true. I’m aching from head to toe, shivering before registering the unforgiving cold I’m in. The throbbing in the back of my skull is the worst, consuming most of my attention, but virtually every joint is throbbing.
