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The fact that Alessandro’s finger is now massaging my clit momentarily distracts me and I say slightly breathlessly, “Of course. I can’t wait.”
Jasmine catches my eye and smiles reassuringly, and I am looking forward to spending time with her, too. She is my family now, along with Louisa, and it’s good to have female company at last.
It’s obvious the two women adore their husbands. Even the short time I’ve spent with them tells me that. I don’t miss the lingering looks and lustful glances that they share, and I’m happy Angelo and Flynn are happy at last. Angelo in particular is not only my brother but my best friend too and even the fact my memory has deserted me doesn’t change that. It’s as if I knew immediately. We share a deep connection that runs in our blood and that will never change.
“It’s about time.”
Flynn says with a growl, and I hear the harsh accent of our Russian friend say crossly, “Nobody set a time for this. You’re lucky we made it at all.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ivan, don’t embarrass me.”
I’m surprised to detect a different accent and from the amusement on everyone’s faces, there’s a reason for that and as I turn to witness it for myself, I blink in astonishment.
I can’t help the loud gasp that makes it from deep inside, and the room spins as I look at a face from my nightmares.
“What is it, baby?”
Alessandro’s words cut through the lifting fog and my voice shakes as I try to form a sentence. “I… I… I…”
The atmosphere shifts and the tears blind me as I stare at a memory that hits me hard.
Standing before me larger than life is a living work of art. I’ve seen her before and as the memory returns, the tears pour down my face as I whisper, “Imogen.”
Ivan steps in front of her and shakes his head. “No, Winter. This is Charlotte, Massimo’s daughter.”
“But…” I am so confused and then the black memory sharpens, and I see the glass coffin with the mummified remains of the woman in the painting.
“She’s dead.”
Alessandro grasps my hand and Angelo says with a growl, “Take her somewhere quiet. It’s too much.”
Alessandro pulls me to my feet, and I shout, “No!”
The word bounces from the walls, causing the room to still as I stare at the woman cowering behind Ivan.
“I want to see her.”
Angelo nods and as Ivan pulls her gently forward, the tears flow as I stare at the image of the woman in the painting. I see a room. A white room. I see Massimo and I see pain. A lot of pain and fear. I whisper, “He loved her.”
Nobody speaks and Charlotte looks fearful and as I stare, the image changes to the one back in the restaurant. I see the same image. Ivan and Charlotte walking hand in hand and Massimo’s anger reaches out to strangle me again.
My hands fly to my throat as if he’s squeezing the life out of me and I gasp, “He thought you were his wife.”
Charlotte’s tears match my own and she whispers, “He was wrong.”
I nod and, as if a veil is lifting, everything is clear. The journey to Scarpetta. Massimo’s anger and his plan to kill them all.
The entire room waits for me to speak and yet I can’t as my memory starts coloring in the missing pages and as the full horror of the past two years returns to me, it brings the last puzzle piece crashing into place.
“Oh my God!” I scream so loudly it causes everyone to jump up, and as Angelo and Alessandro reach for me at the same time, I struggle to stay conscious.
I can’t even speak as an agonized sound makes it out from the deepest part of my soul and I scream as the full horror hits me.
“What is it, baby?”
“Tell us, Winter. What can you see?” Angelo sounds fearful and then I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around my body as I sob, tortured cries of the damned.
Alessandro drops to his knees before me and pulls me roughly into his arms and I detect the fear in his voice as he says, “What is it? Tell us.”
