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Alistair and Gabriel glance at me with frozen, concerned expressions.
“The guy has a rock-solid alibi for the dates he could have been sneaking into Mr. Black’s wine cellar. He was checked into a detox center you can’t leave for a week on either side of the night you all got poisoned.”
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Oh, and there’s signs of forced entry on one of his windows. I think it’s safe to say someone set the poor bastard up to take a fall. Might even been the same people…or person…who gave him the coke with fentanyl in it.”
“Goddammit.”
“It gets weirder, boss. They finally got the handwriting analysis back from the cork. It’s a woman’s handwriting, Mr. Sartorre. Actually, it matches someone on record.”
“Who?”
“Ninety-eight percent match with Jacqueline Sinclair.”
It suddenly feels as if the world is moving in slow motion as I turn to stare at a confused-looking Alistair and Gabriel. “TheJacqueline Sinclair? Brett Sinclair’s mom?”
“Wait, what?” Gabriel hisses.
“That’s the one, Mr. Sartorre,” Lorenzo says.
“But she’sdead. That’s impossible?—”
“Dante.”
I whirl toward Alistair’s cold, warning murmur, and my blood turns to ice when I see where he’s pointing: my penthouse door is open a crack.
“Lorenzo,” I hiss quietly, my adrenaline suddenly pumping hard. “Get to my place as fast as you fucking can.”
I hang up and put the phone in my pocket before I reach into my jacket and pull out my gun. My finger raises to my lips, and I use my toe to ease open the door to my penthouse. I slip inside, with Tempest’s brothers right behind me.
Instantly, I stop cold when my eyes land on a cooler with the lid open right inside the door, filled with those damnedsmoothies.
One of them is open and tipped over onto the floor in a disgusting, creamy greenish puddle.
Something is very wrong.
I draw the hammer back on my Glock and move toward the living room, hugging the wall. Suddenly, I stop.
Oh fuck.
Tempest is sitting in a chair on the patio off my living room—bound and gagged.
“Tempest!”
I lurch toward the patio door, when suddenly, I hear a metallic click.
“That’s far enough, Dante. Put the gun on the floor and kick it over here.Now.”
Holy shit. I know that voice.
“What the fuck?!” Gabriel hisses when he comes up behind me. “Pam?!”
Gabriel’s housekeeper steps out from behind the staircase, aiming a gun at my head.
“I’msoglad you could make it, Mr. Sartorre,” Jacqueline Sinclair purrs, her lips curling. “I want you to be here to see me exact my revenge.”
37
