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“Why are you so interested in this? It’s not as though anyone in the Florida State Senate was involved. At least not as far as I’m aware.”
“Exactly. None of us know for sure. I want to keep my state clean, which is why I offered to be part of the investigation commission. If I can get to the mole, we can ensure that there are no Golden Wizards lurking around just waiting to strike again.”
“You might not like what I have to say.”
Excitement surged through Brinkman. Instinct had led him to Jessica Hewitt. Now, he would know who fucked him over. The wheel always turned, and for whoever the bastard was, the axle on his was about to crumble.
“I assure you, learning the identities of everyone who was involved in the first fiasco tore me in half. At this point, I doubt if anything would shock me.” He folded his arms over his chest, resting them on his bulging stomach. “I’m listening.”
“No. I’m not saying a word until I have a written exoneration from the Chief Judge, signed, sealed, and handed to me. I was fucked over once. It’s not happening again.”
“Jesus Christ, Jessica! You’re wasting time. Don’t you realize how important it is to catch that motherfucker? I made a promise and…” Brinkman realized his relay was falling on deaf ears. Ex-Attorney General Jessica Hewitt was too clever to fall for pretty words.
“Very well. I’ll be back in the morning.” His gaze turned glacial as he heaved his body forward to stand up. “I’m warning you, Jessica. Have your facts straight. If I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure you’re transferred to a hellhole in Russia to live out your sentence.”
Brinkman stomped off, highly annoyed but secretly elated. He might not walk away today with the information he was after, but by tomorrow, he would have all the ammunition he needed to unseat Salvitore Sanchigo from the top-dog rung of the Golden Wizards. He was on friendly terms with the Chief Judge, and he would ensure he gave him more than enough proof to exonerate Jessica.
Once he got rid of the mole, every one of the revived Golden Wizard group would be too happy to crown him king as the one who ensured all their future endeavors would be successful and watch the money roll in.
Finally, he would have power. Not only as a state senator, but as a lord of the white-collar criminal world. A world that would ensure he would be set for life.
“Yes. Money will never be a problem for me. I’ll be able to retire in less than five years and live a life of luxury.”
If Jessica Hewitt knew what was good for her, she better not lie to him. He had enough contacts to make her remaining years a living hell… before he got rid of her for good.
Loose ends never bode well for someone playing on both sides of the fence.
“At least it was the one good thing I learned from Sanchigo.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mayan King Ranch, Santa Cruz, Belize…
“Chiara Sanchigo. Chiara Sanchigo. CHIARA SANCHIGO!” The young voice rose with every uttering of the name. No matter how many times she said it, she couldn’t get used to it. In fact, she hated it more and more with each passing day.
Driven by fear that soon there would be nothing left of the young girl she used to be, Rose Martens, she refused to accept the name as her own. Of course, only in her mind. She didn’t dare say anything to her hated and newly adopted father.
“And I abhor this white hair!” Her voice sounded strained as she pulled at the short ends that kissed the collar of her sleep shirt. Gone were her long blond tresses—the color of the early morning sun, her mother used to say.
Chiara clung to visions of her adoptive parents, terrified if she didn’t, Sanchigo would obliterate every memory she had of her prior life. Suspicions that somehow, he was involved in their deaths kept gnawing in her mind.
“Oh, God!” She forced down a cry pressing its way up through her chest. It was probably true, but she couldn’t risk his displeasure. He demanded absolute obedience from her, and she had no choice but to comply. Not since she had witnessed firsthand just how cruel and inhumane he truly was.
With a sigh of defeat, she turned away from the mirror and stared listlessly around the room. Like with everything in the villa, this one was luxurious and opulent. Decorated in an earthy shade of white, the room had an almost clinical feel to it. In an act of defiance, when Bulldog had taken her shopping a week ago, she had purchased bright purple and green scatter cushions and lamps to brighten up the room.
However, since her room was guarded 24/7, she had to keep her door shut, and the only ones who got to enjoy her efforts were the cleaning staff.
It was obvious Sanchigo knew nothing of a teenager’s needs and wants. Not that she cared. The less she was forced to be in his presence, the better.
“Damn, my arms hurt,” she muttered as she sat down on the bed and rubbed her muscles. The past few weeks were spent training. Gruesome runs and exercises were forced on her by Sanchigo and executed by his trusted bodyguards. The last five days had been the worst. Forcing her to become lean, trim, and super fit wasn’t enough. No, now she had to learn to fight with a knife. At first, she refused. Her fingers sought out the scab on her cheek. Defiance that had ended in pain and humiliation.
“Never again,” she promised herself, although even thinking that had her head shaking with a silent denial. “It’s no use fighting what he wants… not if I want to live.”
A hard knock on the door shattered her introspection. She glanced at her watch. It was late—almost midnight, and she should’ve been asleep long ago, which posed the question of who would be bothering her this late. She was tempted to ignore it and pretend to be asleep, but another insistent knock warned her that she was testing the patience of whoever was on the other side of the door.
“I’m trying to sleep,” she called out. “Go away!”
“Get dressed. Your father wants to see you.” Bulldog’s guttural voice caused her to cringe. It never boded well for her when he was sent to fetch her.
