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The older man must have seen something in her face because he shook his head sadly. ‘Just so you know, I came here expecting to leave with you in a police car.’
Nora felt cold fear sink into her bones, freezing her where she stood on the last step of the marble staircase.
‘But you can relax. Apparently you planned your seduction well. Clever girl.’ Angelus Fiero tutted, brushing invisible dust from his lapel. ‘He’s a better man than most.’
‘I did not plan for any of this,’ she said. She heard the steel in her voice and wondered how on earth she’d managed it when her legs felt like jelly beneath her.
The older man raised one brow, surprised. ‘It doesn’t matter. The situation remains the same. Goodbye, Senhorita Cabo.’
Angelus Fiero’s voice had been a thin rasp in the echoing entrance hall, and the weight of his words remained in the air long after his car had disappeared down the driveway. She wanted to scream after him that it was not her name. It had not been her name for eighteen years of her life. She might have been a naïve teenager when she had been drawn into her father’s world, but she had never taken his name.
She took a few shaky steps towards the study, where her reckoning awaited her. She hesitated, and braced her hand on the wall for support as she fought to compose herself. She was angry at herself—at her own cowardice and selfishness. And angry at the history she and Duarte had shared and how they seemed destined to hurt one another over and over again.
She stood in the doorway of the study and took in the silhouette of Duarte’s powerful frame against the light from the window. He faced away from her, both hands braced on the ledge as he stared out into nothingness.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood in silence, just listening to the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. But eventually she must have made some barely perceptible sound because he spoke, still with his back turned to her.
‘I assume you met Angelus Fiero on your way here?’
His words were a slash of sound in the painful silence, devoid of any emotion or the kindness she’d come to know from him.
‘Yes.’
Nora fought not to launch into her own defence—fought to give him time to speak. She let her eyes roam over him, already mourning the feeling of being in his arms. He wore sand-coloured chinos and a navy polo shirt—sailing clothes, she thought with a pang of remorse. He’d told her he planned to take them all out on O Dançerina...
Without warning, Duarte turned to face her, then leaned back against the window ledge and folded his arms over the wide muscled expanse of his chest as he surveyed her. Nora felt as if all the air had been sucked from her chest. The look in his eyes was a mirror image of that day in Rio, when he had walked past her in her father’s entrance hall. It was like a cruel joke, having to relive one of the most painful moments of her life.
‘Nothing to say?’ he prompted, his voice cold as ice.
‘I wanted to tell you. Once I was sure you wouldn’t turn me in to the police...’ She inhaled deeply, biting her bottom lip hard to stop her voice from shaking. ‘I promised myself I would tell you yesterday, but then you were so wonderful. I couldn’t find the right words...the right moment. I was a coward.’
‘Yes. You were.’ He met her eyes for the first time, assessing her. ‘Did you know about your father’s connection to my parents’ death?’
She felt her blood run cold. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He ordered their murder. Staged it to look like an accident.’
He slid a file across the desk between them and she saw the brief flash of pain on his face as he spoke the words. She felt them hit her somewhere squarely in her solar plexus. She picked up the file with shaking hands, noticing the highlighted dates and names, reading that further investigations by the police detective in charge of the case had shown the report to be true.
Each line brought to her a sense of horror she’d never felt, and her stomach seemed to join in, lurching painfully. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she breathed, dropping the file to the floor and seeing the pages scatter in a blur of motion.
She heard Duarte move around the desk to her side, touching her elbow briefly to guide her into one of the armchairs beside the tall bookcases that lined the room. Nora took a deep breath, then another, until finally the nausea and dizziness passed.
When she looked up again he stood at the bookcase, watching her intently. ‘I swear I didn’t know.’ She shook her head, fresh hatred burning within her for the man who had caused so many people pain. ‘I hope he rots in hell.’
Duarte looked away from her. ‘I plan to ensure he never sees another day of freedom for the rest of his miserable life.’
‘Prison is too good for him.’
‘And what about you?’ He looked down at her. ‘You handed me that thumb drive, knowing it held evidence that could put you away too.’
‘I hoped you would understand. I chose to...to trust you.’
‘Listen to yourself.’ He raised his voice. ‘You chose to trust me? I have never lied to you once. I have given you nothing but time and patience.’
Nora felt his eyes on her, felt the question in his words, but her shame and regret was too much. She closed her eyes and pressed a ha
nd across the frantic beating of her own heart, trying to gather her remaining strength and get through this.
