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A brother.
The gun quivers in Leo’s hands as he purses his lips. A tear trickles down his cheek.
I meet his gaze squarely. “Shoot me.”
No fear. No hesitation. Just resignation to the fate I deserve.
“Put the gun away,” Orso orders as he enters the room. “Now.”
For a moment, Leo keeps the gun pointed at me. Then he lowers it and drops it to the floor. One more glare in my direction and he stomps off. I put down my hands.
“Leave us,” Orso tells Andrea.
Andrea walks out of the room. Orso approaches my bedside.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him solemnly. “You can be the one to shoot me if you want.”
I glance at the gun on the floor. It stays there as Orso stands still, saying nothing. His gaze avoids mine.
So he can’t even look at me anymore, huh? Fair enough.
“Damian Esposito is dead,” I inform him. “Just as you wanted. But – ”
“You’re fired,” Orso mutters under his breath. “Leave and never show your face to me again.”
The words sting more than I expected, which surprises me because Orso’s decision is completely reasonable. Why shouldn’t Orso fire me? I failed. I didn’t get the painting back. I didn’t kill Damian Esposito. Why should Orso keep me around? I’m not his son. Antonio was. And because of me, he’s dead.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I understand.”
He turns his back towards me and walks away. My hands grip the edge of the bed as my jaw clenches.
It’s not Orso I’m frustrated with. It’s me. I’m the one who fucked up. I let him down. I let my mother down. I can only imagine how disappointed she is in me right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one who asked Orso to get rid of me so she’d never have to see my face again. Hell, I let everyone down, including myself. And I doubt I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for it. I shouldn’t.
I look at the gun near my feet.
I should have died. Andrea shouldn’t have found me. Leo should have shot me. Orso should have. I’ve seen him kill men who failed in smaller tasks.
Instead, I’ll have to carry the burden of my sin for the rest of my life. It’s ironic, actually. I’ve killed many, but the death that was not directly by my hand is the one I’ll have to pay the price for. I know I’m already damned, but now my life will be a living hell. That’s fine. It’s no less than the punishment I deserve. It’s good that Orso fired me, because if he hadn’t, I would have quit.
I’m done.
Chapter One
Allie
Twelve years later…
There’s no way I’m giving up.
Right now, I’m tied to a chair in a basement full of snake skins hanging from clotheslines. I guess I should be glad they’re just skins and not snakes. Still, the place stinks. Couldn’t they have just put me in a spare bedroom? I’m sure this huge house has lots of them.
Then again, spare bedrooms are for guests. I’m a prisoner. Prisoners are kept in dark, cold rooms where they can’t escape, like basements, cellars, sheds, empty garages or attics. Places with boarded windows, ceilings covered in cobwebs, dusty floors and nothing but a jar in a corner for…
I close my eyes and push the memory back into the hole it crawled out of.
Focus, Alyssa. Right now, you’re in a bind. Literally.
For the fifteen minutes since I was left alone, I’ve been working on the duct tape around my wrists. If only I can get my hands free, I know I can loosen the ropes around my chest, untie my ankles from the leg of this chair, and escape.
So far, I haven’t made much progress. I only have a screw about an inch long which I found in the trunk of the car they put me in during the fleeting moments between me regaining consciousness and them pulling me out. It’s barely cutting the tape. In fact, I think I’ve cut more skin. But I’m not giving up.
If I give up, I’m going to die. Bruno Zane promised as much.
To the world, he’s a renowned chef who can pull all sorts of unique and spectacular dishes out of his pot. A culinary wizard, some call him. He’s also a restaurant magnate, a millionaire. I’ve just found out he’s a big-time crook, though.
After months of investigation into wildlife trafficking, I finally got a solid lead that led me straight to him. I set a trap, pretending to be an old classmate from culinary school who wanted to open up his own exotic restaurant. I dressed the part – wig, mustache, suit, chest binder. I affected a deeper voice and an Italian accent. I thought I had the role pinned down. I thought I had Bruno convinced. I did all my research, too. I armed myself with knowledge of every cuisine I could think of. I memorized everything from Bruno’s files and his friend’s. Who would have thought that the way I cut my steak would give me away?
