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He spins the monitor around and I stare with interest at the picture of the detective playing a game of poker. That’s not unusual. He often gambles here but never to extremes. Most of Vegas plays the tables, but it’s who else is at the table that interests me more.
I nod to Pasquale, who peers closer, and I know he has noticed it too as I growl, “This is your evidence?”
Sylvester nods vigorously. “Keep watching.”
He forwards the recording and I stare as the detective stands and throws in his hand, gathering his chips before draining his glass and without another look, heads for the exit. The other person at the table does the same and follows him out.
Sylvester says with excitement. “Now look.”
He taps on his computer and the next image of the two men is at the staff exit out the back of the club. Their faces are turned away from the camera, but it’s obviously them. As Sylvester turns up the volume, there is no doubting whose voice it is, even though the words are too low to comprehend. Mario Bachini.
I share a look with Pasquale, who stares back with a grim determination. A silent message passes between us because that man is walking with the biggest fucking target on his back right now. The fact he was even in one of my establishments is like acid pouring into my heart, and the fact I wasn’t even notified has sealed Sylvester’s fate.
“When was this?” I snarl and Sylvester says confidently, certain he’s done enough to get him off the hook.
“Three days ago.”
“And you’re telling me this now?”
I bite back and the fear increases in his eyes as he senses he’s only made things worse.
“I… I…” he stutters, but I push his excuses aside and growl, “Sit down and write these words on your desk blotter.”
He starts to shake as he lifts a pen and I say slowly, “I’m sorry.”
He lifts his eyes in confusion. Probably wondering if that’s all it will take and as he pens the words, I hiss, “Sign your name.”
As he does so with a flourish, I nod to Pasquale, who wastes no time at all in pressing his gun in Sylvester’s hand, raising it quickly and using his own finger to blow his fucking brains out before he even knew it was happening.
As the shot finds its mark, I stare at the wasted life before me, his blood dripping down onto the polished wooden floor.
Then I stand and without looking back, we all exit the room as if we’d never been there.
* * *
We makethe short journey down in the elevator to the basement and as the door opens, it appears I have a welcoming committee because standing waiting with a team of officers is Detective Woznowski. Before I can ask what he wants, he steps forward and says loudly, “Domenico Ortega. I am arresting you for the murders of Senator Billings and Desdemona Gray. You do not…”
As he rattles off the caution, I whisper to Pasquale, “Protect Flora. Take her to the retreat.”
He nods and as the cops slip the cuffs on my wrists, I know exactly what I must do next.
CHAPTER35
FLORA
It’s good to chat about normal things with Gretchen. I help her clean up and ask her about her family. Normal stuff that calms the fear building inside me that won’t go away after Diana’s visit.
The fact I am in love with Dom is the sweetest antidote. Through all this madness grew something pure, and it has been totally unexpected.
It must only be less than an hour after Dom left that one of the soldiers heads into the kitchen with the detective we met after the Gala.
Gretchen appears as surprised as I am, and the soldier is obviously on edge about the invasion.
“What can I do for you, detective?”
I inject some steel into my voice because there is something about this man I don’t trust and he smiles kindly, making a mockery of my suspicions and glances at the two staff listening intently nearby.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid I have bad news.”
