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“He dumped you here and was on the first boat out of Sicily,” I said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care whether you do or not. Where is he, Revenge?” I said, waving my arms around. “Why are you here alone?”
She sat heavily on the bed. “What are you going to do to me?” Her voice was little more than a squeak.
“I haven’t decided. Who knows, maybe I’ll kill you.”
Her voice became steely. “Then why not show yourself? What would it matter if I knew who my murderer was?”
It was a good question, but I wasn’t going to answer. If I did, I’d simply say, “I want to collect the half million dollars first.”
Her father thought a rival family held her. An ‘eye for an eye’ crusade after Carlotti murdered a son. He’d murdered the boy because it was rumoured he was someone with an unhealthy interest in women; particularly, he liked to drug and rape them. He was better out of the community, not that the family would agree. Carlotti had asked me to rescue his daughter and I had to somehow make both parties believe she was being held by a rival family, and I was going to rescue and deliver her back. Her words earlier, however, worried me.
“Why can’t you go back?” I asked.
Revenge folded her hands into her lap and bowed her head. I wasn’t sure if she was playing a game or not. However, when I saw a tear splash to her palm my curiosity was piqued further.
“I just can’t.”
She didn’t speak any more, and I turned and left. She’d be given some food and coffee shortly, slid through a small hatch from a second antechamber. I wanted her kept healthy while I investigated further. I’d believed her when she’d said she didn’t want to go back, I just wanted to know why.
Chapter Two
“Enrico, you need to return my calls. If you ignore me further, let me assure you that when I catch up with you, you won’t ever be able to hold a fucking phone let alone answer it!” I slammed my mobile down on my desk.
“Do you want me to go find him, Boss?”
I looked up to see my greatest friend, Carlo, standing at my office door with two cups of coffee in his hands. I waved him in.
“Why doesn’t she want to go home?” I said to myself reaching out to take the coffee from him. Carlo wouldn’t have the faintest idea, I imagined.
Carlo shook his head as he sat. He acted as my negotiator. He was the only person that anyone spoke to, and on rare occasions met, when they contracted me to either find people or extract information. The man had endured many hours of torture once and yet he had never broken a confidence. I’d lay my life down that he’d never betray me. He had been my father’s confidant before my father was gunned down in front of my mother, my sister, and myself. My mother went to her grave haunted by that image and Carlo was the only person I had to rely on. He’d become my surrogate father, uncle, protector, and best friend.
I sighed with exasperation. “There has to be a reason. I don’t believe for one minute she thought the imbecile, Enrico, loved her.”
Revenge was an intelligent woman. Enrico was not much better than the village idiot at times. His mother, my sister, had given up on him years earlier, something I detested. No matter how dumb the kid was, he was her only child. My sister and I hadn’t spoken in six years because of it. He enraged me on a regular basis, but he was blood. I sent him a text message, a slightly softer request for him to call me, stating the urgency. I had no doubt he’d be drunk, drugged, and holed up with some whore somewhere, that was his way. He’d surface in a couple of days, come crawling back like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs. That didn’t help me immediately, however.
“We know Carlotti killed his wife, perhaps his daughter has never forgiven him for that,” Carlo said.
“Or maybe he torments her because he knows, or believes, she isn’t his?” I added.
It wasn’t widely known that he hadn’t fathered her. In fact, my father knew and I often wondered if that’s why he was murdered. I was also curious if his wife’s adultery was all he saw when he looked at Revenge, spoke her name, even.
“I wonder why he never changed her name?” I mused, quietly to myself. Carlo didn’t answer; it wasn’t a question anyone could.
“Do you think she’ll tell you why she doesn’t want to return?” Carlo asked.
I gently shook my head. “I don’t think so. Right now, I have no idea what to do with her. Collect the money and deposit her home, or… There was a tone of wretchedness to her voice when she said she couldn’t go home. I can’t ignore that.”
What I hadn’t told Carlo was that her words had pulled at my heart, reverberated through my chest. I’d felt a pang of empathy for her. I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t like her. I had, when I was younger, but she was bitter. Or was she?
“I’ll take her some food and see if she’ll speak to me,” Carlo said and I nodded my approval. Like me, Carlo had a manner about him that made people want to open up to him.
I flicked through some paperwork, my mind was not on figures and import taxes for my legitimate business of producing olive oil, but on Revenge instead. I growled out my frustration and slammed the paperwork back on the desk. Profit and loss accounts would have to wait. I stood and paced, eventually coming to a halt at a full height glass window. I watched the stillness of the sea, the azure blues that normally comforted me. A boat, one of mine, was moored just a small way off; it would often patrol the cliff to make sure my privacy was kept just as I wanted it. It wasn’t unusual for a tourist or novice sailor to moor up on my private beach at the base of the cliff.
I trolled through my memory trying to remember any conversation I’d overheard or had about Carlotti that might help me understand. My mind hadn’t been focussed on him over the years, but he was never that far away.
