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Elisabetta stared across the square, her trained eyes skimming over groups of tourists and school children, seeking only one person. She had Jane’s physical characteristics at the forefront as she swiftly took in the entire scene. A café, the post-lunch scene dwindling to a few tables. The church? Unlikely. She began to move through the square, her eyes never stopping moving. Where the hell was she?
Jane froze, her eyes enormous behind her glasses.
“Do I know you?”
His smile now was not kind. It was laced with purposeful impatience. “No.”
“But you know me?”
“Not really. I know you are of value to someone I have long wanted to hurt.”
Jane’s heart squeezed inside her chest. For surely he could only be referring to one person. She thought of Carlo and adrenalin spiked inside of her. The idea of any pain befalling him was anathema to her.
“I know that hurting you will send a message to the top.”
Jane was afraid, but she was also strangely calm. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, I’m sorry. But hurting me will be unlikely to send any message to anyone.”
He leaned closer, his expression chillingly intense. “You are the daughter in law to Tony Parelli. You are the wife of his only son. The son is too powerful to touch. But you… sweet Jane Lang… you are always alone. So very vulnerable.” He lifted a hand to the column of her neck, and tightened his fingers a little. It hurt, but Jane didn’t flinch.
“Have you seen this woman?” Elisabetta demanded of a nun, holding up her cell phone and the most recent picture she had of Jane. The nun shook her head, and Elisabetta pushed away, moving swiftly towards the café. While Jane was not outside, it was possible she’d chosen a table in the small restaurant, away from the crowds. Her eyes continued to move through the square, even as she pushed through the doors of the restaurant. A quick scan confirmed that Jane was not inside. She approached the bar, and cut in front of a man mid-way through ordering.
“Scusa,” she said in a tone that was scarcely apologetic. “Have you seen her?” She lifted the cell again, and the waiter lowered his eyes to it. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, then beckoned to his colleague. In Italian, he said, “This is the woman that you served earlier?”
“Si,” the woman confirmed. “Is she in trouble?”
“I hope not,” Liz muttered. “Was she alone? What did she do?”
The woman shrugged. “She had a coffee. American style, frothy milk.” She rolled her eyes in disapproval, then lowered her gaze to the photo. “I think I saw her with a man. I was cleaning up another table.”
Liz’s heart began to race. “The man. What was he like?”
“Mmm, very good looking,” she grinned and shrugged. “Brown hair, nice body, you know?”
“No,” Liz shook her head. “When did they leave?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the cops.”
Liz fought the urge to snap. “Okay, when did you see them talking? How long ago?”
The woman looked at the large brass clock that hung over the door. “Maybe ten minutes? Fifteen at most.”
Liz spun around and ran towards the door, calling a hasty ‘thank you’ over her shoulder as she pushed back into the square. Where was she?
“You’re wrong,” Jane said huskily. Speaking was difficult when his grip was around her vocal chords. “My ex-husband is an orphan, like me.”
“Your ex-husband is the son of one of the most despised criminals in the country.”
Her fingers began to tingle with shock. “No. That isn’t true.”
His laugh was thick with derision. “I am his cousin, Jane Lang. I grew up with him. I know Carlo Santini and Carlo Parelli are one and the same. And I know that if he married you, he must value you. If I want to truly send a message to the Parellis, you are… I’m sorry to say it… the best target available.”
Jane blanched. Fear for her safety bubbled inside of her, but shock and confusion were jostling for a place, too. And, in the back of her mind, she knew that if she could keep him talking, someone would notice that he was almost strangling her. On the edge of a busy square, in broad daylight. “You just said that Carlo is your cousin. So aren’t you a Pa… Parelli? Why would you want to hurt them?”
“Carlo’s father killed my father. He is a bad man, and he needs to be… broken.”
Jane shifted a little and his grip tightened around her neck. Her eyes flew to his, and the cold hatred she saw there was her undoing. “You’re wrong about all of this. Carlo and I are divorced.”
His smile was maniacal, tight and wet against his even white teeth. It reminded her of a hideous ghoul now. “I know.”
