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But maybe Rio is right after all. Maybe I’m just clutching at nonexistent straws.
The kernel of hope that flared to life when the man whispered those words in my ear snuffs out, and my shoulders slump. I grab the edge of the mantel and lean my forehead against the polished wood.
“Then we’re back to square one again. With nothing. No clue as to who has Emilia, or why.”
Tears burn my eyes, and I blink them back, refusing to let them fall. Then Rio’s warm body presses against my back, and I turn and lean my head against his chest.
“We are not at square one. We have a lot more now than we had this morning. Or”—he glances at the clock on the mantel—“yesterday morning.”
“Like what?”
“Like seventeen dead bodies out there who worked for someone in the industry. And when we identify who, we’ll have them. We also have the message about your mother, which may or may not be true. But we can confirm that one way or the other, as I believe my men still have the man locked up at the club. We have Penn, who…”
He stops short, and when I look up at him to see what’s wrong, his face has twisted into such a mask of rage that I almost whimper when I see it.
“What, Rio? You’re scaring me all of a sudden.”
“Penn,” he says, and nods. “Yes. It all makes sense now.”
“What do you mean?”
Rio steps back from me, and now it is his turn to pace back and forth along the rug. At the rate we’re going, we’ll need a new rug by morning. “All along I thought it was Martelli, angling for entry into the Boston area. If not him, then I was looking at Darov as a possible second option.”
“Me too,” I say, still not sure where this is headed. “Well, not Darov. But Martelli, yes. I almost asked him that night if he had someone named Antonio working for him.”
Rio snorts, then winces. “I am very glad you did not do that, Bianca. Martelli would have taken that as a highly offensive slap in the face and, as you know, he does not respond well to perceived slights.”
“But you’re saying it wasn’t him? Then who…”
Even before he continues, realization dawns in my gut.
“No.” I clutch at my chest, having to force myself to keep breathing. “NotRossi. Surely not Carlos Rossi.”
“Yes,” Rio says. “It’s the only explanation that fits. There is one person who has been at the center of everything since the beginning. He knew my parents, and yours. He was in love with your mother, Bianca. He hid you away and gave me the name Antonio, sending all the families heading out on various wild goose chases. Pitting us against each other with innuendo and suspicion, and then sliding in to sabotage things where he could. He even gave me…”
“What, Rio? What did he give you?”
“He gave me Penn, Bianca. He gave me a referral for a nanny, and it led me straight to Penn.”
“But it can’t be true. Why…”
Rio’s lips twist into a parody of a smile. But his eyes burn like black holes in his face, and even though I know his rage isn’t directed at me, I stumble back a step, almost into the fireplace.
“Your mother, of course,” Rio says.
He reaches out and pulls me back from the fireplace in an almost absent-minded fashion. I stagger over to the couch and sink down on it, hunching into myself to try and seem smaller.
His inner monster is coming to life before my very eyes.
“Rinaisalive,” he grates out. “She must be. And Carlos Rossi is working with her to bring us all down and take over everything. For her.”
* * *
