“That email…” she breathes, putting a hand over her mouth. She looks at me, red-rimmed eyes wide and fearful. “That email is talking about me!”
10
Eva
I stare at the email, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. Somehow, this has got to be a cruel joke. A prank of some kind. Surely my own brother—well, half-brother—wouldn’t do this to me. Hell, he hardly knows me! We met once. Briefly. And that was somehow enough for him to judge me by and decide I need to be eliminated?
Tears are burning in my eyes, my blood running cold.
“Eva,” he says slowly. “Do you know this guy? This Blake Brighton?”
I nod, struggling to find the words I want to say. “I know him. Kind of.”
“Kind of?” Sal presses gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. A hot, angry tear rolls down my cheek and drops down to stain my shoulder. “How do you kind of know him?”
“He’s my brother,” I murmur softly. The word ‘brother’ is bitter in my mouth.
It was a brief letter, cut straight to the point. He wants me gone. Not just disappeared, but dead. And he was willing to step down from his ivory tower and conspire with a lowlife like the man who kidnapped me to get the job done.
“Forgive me, Eva,” Sal says, his heavy brow furrowed as he looks at me from over the email. “But I’m having trouble putting the pieces together here. I know we have both been operating under a sort of mutually hands-off approach.”
I raise an eyebrow at him and a look of realization crosses his face.
“Not that hands-off,” I comment in an undertone. Sal sighs.
“Yes, apart from that. What I mean is that we have been keeping secrets from each other. But this,” he says, pointing to the email, “is serious. It is sloppily written, which indicates that the writer is careless, too full of himself to be cautious. He clearly has no experience ordering something like this, but he’s so foolhardy and self-assured he isn’t worried about being caught. Now, Eva, this is the difficult question: does this description sound like your brother?”
I bite my lip, thinking it over for a moment. If this is what I think it is, what it appears to be, then I am about to accuse my own half-brother of something very serious. Deadly serious. Do I really know him well enough to make such a heavy assumption about his character?
“Yes,” I reply simply. “It sounds like him.”
“Why would he do this?” Sal continues, folding his arms over his broad chest and looking very grim. “What reason would your brother have to threaten your life?”
“Are we sure that’s what it is?” I mumble, wringing my hands. “I mean, could it be a joke? A really bad prank?”
Sal fixes me with a stern, questioning look. “I’ll ask again: does that sound like something your brother would do? A prank? How old is this guy?”
“About a year younger than I am,” I admit. “He’s not a child.”
“You said you didn’t know him well. Can you be certain?”
“We didn’t exactly grow up together,” I confess. “Actually, we never even met each other until about a month ago.”
Sal looks surprised for a moment, and then it seems to make sense to him.
“So, I take it you never had a healthy, functional family life either, then.”
I shake my head, tucking my hair behind my ears, feeling a little ashamed. I never share information like this with anyone. Ever. I don’t want their pity. I don’t want people to look at me like I’m some fragile, wounded little animal. I want to be seen as strong and competent, not a broken little girl who never knew her father. That is a can of worms I keep very tightly sealed.
Sal starts pacing.
“So, tell me more.”
I wince. “About what?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“About your family,” he replies matter-of-factly.
I groan and pull up a chair, sitting down. “I don’t talk about this stuff with anyone,” I tell him. “Hell, until about a month ago I never even thought about it myself.”
“What happened a month ago?” he asks.
“Out of nowhere, my deadbeat father reached out to me. Sent me a letter with the same logo and heading as that email right there,” I begin, pointing to the email. “Brighton Manufacturing. It’s a really successful business in Rochester.”
“Wait, you’re telling me that you lived in the same city as your father, but the two of you never crossed paths?” Sal inquires, narrowing his eyes. “How is that possible?”
I nod. “Yep. I know. It sounds crazy. Rochester may not be a big city, but let’s just say we existed in two totally separate circles. He’s always been on one side of the railroad tracks and, well, I’ve always been on the other side.”
“What do you mean?” Sal asks. “Elaborate.”
“Do I really have to?” I groan, rolling my eyes. Sal doesn’t relent.
“Yes. Eva, this is a death threat. This is a hit. Your brother apparently ordered your death. This is serious. I need as much information as you can give me.”
“Why? What can you do to fix it?” I shoot back, waving my arms. I know I’m being difficult. I’m getting too defensive. None of this is Sal’s fault. If anything, he’s the one rescuing me from my own life. But when I feel cornered, I tend to strike out at whoever is closest. Which is yet another reason why I always keep to myself. I don’t get hurt, and nobody else gets hurt either. But Sal is persistent, unruffled by my outburst.
He walks over and kneels in front of me, taking my hands into his bigger ones and looking at me with genuine concern. There’s a soft patience in his enchanting dark eyes, and despite everything, it calms me.
“Eva, I don’t know yet what I can do, but I can promise you that I will do whatever it takes to make this right. I refuse to let anyone harm you. Never again,” he says sincerely, gazing into my eyes in a way that somehow relaxes me and makes my heart race at the same time. “But I won’t know how to proceed until you give me a little more information, okay?”
I take a deep breath, summoning all my strength.
“Okay. But you have to understand: I have never told anyone about this. I don’t talk about my past. It’s—it’s a little painful for me,” I start off, blushing.
“That’s alright. Take your time,” Sal says gently, squeezing my hands. “How about you start with your father?”
“Ugh,” I say, shuddering. It’s a reflex to grimace at the mention of my dad. He hasn’t exactly been a positive influence on my life. “I never knew him. My mom raised me.”
“Did he know about you?” Sal asks. I wrinkle my nose. “I know. It’s an awful question.”
“He did,” I admit. “He knew all about me. He knew my mother was pregnant. She told him. But what they had together—it was hardly more than a fling. A one-night stand, even.”
“And so, when your mother told him she was pregnant with you, what did he do?”
I make a sound of annoyance. “He ignored her. Gave her the cold shoulder. He made it very, very clear that he was finished with her and wanted nothing to do with either of us.”
“Why not?” he asks, frowning.
I can feel my cheeks going red with a combination of anger and embarrassment.
“Because that’s just the kind of guy he is, Sal. My mom wasn’t from his world, you know. My father was a rich, powerful man even back then before I was born. And my mom was like me, from the other side of town. I’m sure he probably would have been too embarrassed to even admit he’d slept with her. She was a waitress. They met while he was at the restaurant she worked in. My mother was a really beautiful woman. Even when she died, she was beautiful. He should have thanked his lucky stars that she was into a guy like him. He never knew how wonderful she was. I’m sure he never gave her a chance to prove it to him,” I say bitterly.
“Your mother is…?”
“Yes. She died five years ago,” I explain quickly, wanting to gloss over this part. �
��It’s still hard to talk about.”
“How did she die, if you don’t mind my asking?” he says.
I look down at the floor. “She was in an accident. The whole time I was growing up, we could never afford a car. My mom used to take me with her on the bus. But when I was eighteen, she finally had saved up enough for a used car. Used, but new to her. Just a little four-door sedan, but she was so damn proud of it. Finally a car-owner,” I say, smiling at the memory.
“What happened?” Sal presses softly.
I have to bite my lip to stop from crying. “She only had that car for a few months when she got into an accident. Wasn’t even her fault. Some long-haul trucker was coming off a week-long stint. It was just after midnight. He was exhausted, apparently, falling asleep behind the wheel. My mother was leaving her night shift at the restaurant. There were hardly any other cars on the road, but it was February and the streets were all icy and slippery. My mom was a very careful driver. It was actually kind of annoying sometimes. She always drove a few miles under the speed limit. People used to honk at her all the time,” I laugh faintly. Then I get serious again, remembering the accident. “I got a call at three in the morning from the police. Informing me that my mom was killed in an accident. The trucker didn’t see her, went barreling through a red light and by the time he saw my mom, it was too late. He hit the brakes but the eighteen-wheeler went skidding over the ice and knocked my mom’s car into a ravine.”
“Good god,” Sal swears, reaching up to touch my face. My tear rolls down his hand.
“Yeah. It was a swift death, they said. She probably felt a few moments of fear, and then nothing. She was killed instantly on impact.”
“Small mercy,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Eva. That’s horrible.”
“It was,” I agree. Sniffling, I try to regain my composure. “Anyway. She was an amazing woman. She worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known, and no matter how difficult things were, how cruel people were, she never stopped believing that people are good at heart. She was so patient and kind. She was always telling me to have faith, that good things come to those who wait. But that’s not true. Not in my experience. I guess I just can’t be an optimist like she was.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve struggled to get by,” Sal reasons. “I can see why you might feel less inclined to have faith.”
“Exactly,” I admit. “That’s it.”
“And so you’ve been alone for the past five years,” he says.
I nod, looking away. I can’t meet his eyes. I’m afraid I’ll see something like pity there, and I can’t bear it. “Pretty much. I can take care of myself.”
“But you shouldn’t have to,” he interjects. I finally meet his gaze, and instead of pity, all I see is understanding. Compassion. “I’ve been alone for a long time too. It is a good way to guard your heart, but it comes at a great price.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I murmur.
“So, tell me about your father and your brother,” he says, steering me back on course. I frown, anger flushing my face for a second as I’m pulled from a pleasant moment into much more uncomfortable memories.
I shrug. “I don’t know them. Not really. My father called me into his office to meet with him and some lawyers. Apparently, he’s getting pretty old and he’s feeling guilty in his old age. Guilty for ignoring me and my mom, pretending we never existed. So he called me there to assuage his guilt, I guess. It was a lot of legal jargon, stuff that’s meant to be so complicated nobody can understand it. I tried to follow along, but I was a little overwhelmed.”
“What was the gist?”
“He wanted to add me to his will, it seemed,” I say. Sal’s eyes go wide for a moment.
“And your brother was present for this meeting?”
“Yes. He just kind of stood over in the corner, frowning at me. Turning up his nose at me like I was some mangy dog instead of a human being,” I describe. “I could tell from the second I laid eyes on him that he was a spoiled brat. Expensive, slightly tight suit to make him look bigger than he was. Frosted, spiked tips in his hair.” I scoff. “Hard to believe we’re related.”
“He probably never expected your father to include you in the will,” Sal says. It dawns on me what he’s implying, and I shake my head.
“No. He has nothing to worry about. My father may have included me in the will out of a guilty conscience, but he’s still a scumbag. He would never leave me anything of note. I’m sure my inclusion was just a formality.”
“Well, whether that’s true or not, your brother might not know that,” Sal explains, standing up and pacing again. “He’s spoiled, like you said. Used to getting everything he wants without a fight. It would be a huge blow to his ego for your father to suddenly include you. Even the sheer idea of having to share the fortune with you would infuriate him. And men like him are petulant. Reckless. They don’t think things through. I have known many men like your brother. They attack first, apologize later. Or never.”
“I’m willing to bet on ‘never,’” I add.
“Me, too,” Sal agrees. “Eva, this man may not be smart, but he is dangerous. Excessive wealth and a lack of conscience is a deadly combination. But we do have one advantage.”
I frown, confused. “And what is that?”
Sal gives me a wry smile. “Blake Brighton thinks you are dead.”
“So what?” I ask, shrugging.
“He assumes you’re out of the picture. No longer a threat. That means that as long as you lay low and stay hidden, he’ll have no reason to be on his guard. Emboldened by his perceived success, he will continue to make reckless mistakes. He’ll think he got away with it, and that is exactly what we want him to think.”
“So I guess it’s a good thing I’ve been hiding out here,” I murmur. Once more, I wonder if fate is at play. Some divine force trying to protect me from dangers I don’t even know are there.
And it turns out Sal was right. It wasn’t safe for me out there.
“Yes. It is. And you’ll have to keep hidden. I will do what I have to. You’ve given me some very helpful information. But I need to know more, to find out exactly who we are dealing with.”
“And do what about it, exactly?” I ask.
Sal looks at me with those dark eyes blazing. “Your brother has made the first move, but now it’s our turn to play the game.”
11
Salvatore
“Are you sure breaking and entering is the first step in this game?” Eva asks me as I pull my car to a stop under a shady tree near a large, empty parking lot under a looming office building.
“Yes,” I say curtly, and I reach behind the seat to pick up a black bag and set it in my lap. “Gathering intel is the first step to any job. You can’t accuse him of anything unless we have information on our side. Especially information he doesn’t think you have.”
Eva has a good memory. She directed me to the Brighton Corp offices from her sole visit here. Convincing her that it was necessary to come here after hours was only easy because I sprung it on her quickly, and that was intentional—I didn’t want to give her enough time to backpedal.
“He must not even know I’m alive,” she says, her voice sounding a little distant, and I look over to her. I set a hand on her leg and give her thigh a gentle squeeze, and she smile at me.
“We’ll use that to our advantage,” I say. “If he thinks you’re dead, he thinks all his problems are gone. His guard is down.”
“Right,” she says, taking a deep breath and looking up at the looming tower in front of us. “And that is why... we’re... breaking... into his office.” She says the words as if she can’t believe she’s saying them.
I smile. It’s been a while since working with someone so inexperienced.
“I’m not killing anyone,” I say.
“The fact that you have to clarify that does not help,” she says, and I roll my eyes. I take out a headpiece from the bag and hand it to her.
“Put this
on your ear. It will let us communicate. If something goes wrong down here, tell me.”
“Goes wrong?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“If someone gives you trouble for being parked here,” I explain, “or anything else.”
She takes a breath, eyes wide, and nods. “Right. Sure. I’ll just explain to the cops that I’m here investigating my kidnapping by breaking into a CEO’s office.”
“Perfect,” I say with a sarcastic grin.
“So I’ll be honest,” she says, looking up and down at my all-black outfit, “it looks like you know what you’re doing, but, I mean, do you?” Her question isn’t a challenge—I know she’s just prying to know more about me. What we’re doing tonight is certainly enough to raise some questions.
“Yes,” I say simply, and before she can say anything further, I get out of the car and make my way toward the building.
“Can you hear me?” I say a few steps later into my headpiece.
“Um. Yeah,” comes her voice in my ear.
“Good,” I say, “I’m going in.”
I have only one gun and one knife in my clothes. I’m not expecting a firefight, but if there is one, I’m not defenseless.
Getting low to the ground, I move up to the back of the building and crouch behind an elevated ramp by one of the fire exits. I reach into my jacket and take out a black jack—a small leather rod with hard metal inside.
My eyes go up to the floodlights above the doors, and I follow the wires down to a small metal box not far from where I’m hiding. I move over to it, take out a pair of wire cutters, and with a quick motion, the lights go out.
Now, all I have to do is wait.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take long. The fire door opens, and one of the security guards walks out. He’s a tall, stocky man, and I hear him grumbling about a rat problem as he makes his way down the ramp.
I intercept him.
Jumping up on the railing, I grab him by the scruff of his collar and hit him over the back of the head with my black jack. He doesn’t even have time to shout before he goes unconscious.
Abducted: A Mafia Hitman Romance Page 10
