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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 aliveuntil.
“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.”
