by Shea Godfrey
“How?” Casey felt a wicked jolt of adrenaline at his words, and her head began to clear in record time. I’m what happened to you. You and I are what happened. We’re what happened that changed your course. She needed to find the pattern within Finn’s actions, in order to chart a course to where Finn would be. “How did she find out about all this, about Arshavin and Eric? About me? Why on earth would she spend all this time watching over someone she had never even met?”
“Did you know a man named Asher James?”
Casey stared at him in disbelief, but her adrenaline was well on its way to doing a fine job, and with Asher’s name floating in the air between them, it exploded through every cell in her body. For a moment she couldn’t move, but then again she didn’t have to for her deductive reasoning skills to shift into overdrive and fly through the crowded intersection.
“Do you know who he was?”
Casey laughed as she stepped into a brave new world of possibilities. Her chest filled with a stunning, familiar warmth. “My missing piece of the puzzle.”
“What is?”
“My beautiful Finnegan is Asher’s Paris Van Gogh.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“May I sit down?” Finn asked.
The muzzle of the Beretta was pushed behind her right ear and Finn’s shoulder came up as he rapped the end of the barrel against her skull. “Shut up.”
The office was huge, with art that was hung at the perfect height, impeccably spaced and coordinated. There were a few bookshelves as well, but the room was not overcrowded by any means. The lamplight was golden and the windows behind an obscenely large desk let in what little remaining daylight there was. The glass was spotless and Finn knew they afforded a rather lovely view of the estate grounds, should one get close enough to look through them. The room was decorated in a flawless manner—not too much, but just enough elegant flair to announce the wealth and power one would be dealing with.
“I don’t see why I can’t sit down.”
The guard stepped closer to her and leaned in. “Are you fucking stupid, or what?”
Finn smiled. “What.”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I have to pee.”
He was surprised by her response and Finn turned smoothly with a high, hard shrug of her right shoulder. She hooked her right arm over his left elbow and used her body as a brace. He let out a shout of pain and the weapon went off behind her back as his elbow popped out of joint. Finn spun with the attack, swiped the Beretta from his hand before he dropped it, and came back around in a tight swirl of movement.
He was on his knees and tipped back as she leaned in and rapped him on the forehead with the end of his own gun. It made a dense, hollow sound and he flinched in pain. “It sort of hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Finnegan, darling, don’t play with your food.”
Finn stood up straight and found the side door, though Theresina Lazarini was already halfway to her desk before Finn could smile at her.
She was dressed in Versace, which had always been her designer of choice, black on black, with her long dark hair pulled back from her face in a heavy ponytail. Finn wasn’t sure if the fabric was silk, but her blouse and wide-legged slacks hung upon her lean frame with sophistication and chic. She dropped several file folders onto the corner of her desk and then turned.
Finn gestured with the gun, alluding to the general area behind her. “That wasn’t actually my fault, by the way.”
Theresina held her smile back with no small amount of effort—Finn could see it.
The guard cradled his left arm against his side as he struggled to his feet.
“Lucky for you he’s left-handed.”
Finn gave a laugh. “I know, right?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lazarini,” the guard said in a tight voice. “It was my mistake.”
“It’s all right, Enzo,” Theresina responded and walked over to him. She was barefoot as she padded across the thick rug. She touched his right shoulder and then held out her hand to Finn. “Give me that.”
Finn handed her the gun.
“Go and see Mary,” she ordered. “It’s going to hurt, but I’d say you’ve earned it.”
He nodded and glanced at Finn before he obeyed.
Theresina walked back to the desk and set the Beretta on top of the file folders, and though she looked calm and collected, Finn could see the tightness of her shoulders as she debated within her head what would happen next. Her eyes were focused somewhere on the desk, but Finn couldn’t tell where, and she supposed it didn’t matter. She heard Enzo leave and the door close behind her, and when it did, Theresina looked up.
There were tears in her eyes, and they fell when she smiled. “Hello, Finn.”
Finn remembered the last time they had seen each other. “The dark rose of San Michele…Hello, Sina.”
The raw emotions within Theresina’s expression flared in her eyes. She let out a quiet laugh, wiped at her cheeks, and considered. “No one’s called me that since you.”
“That seems like a terrible shame.”
“You’re lucky Enzo didn’t drag your dead body in here.” Her eyes had cleared somewhat and she had found her balance. “If my father sees you, you’re a dead woman. My next task of the day will be finding somewhere obscure and out of the way where they won’t find your body for months, maybe even years.”
“That seems like a shame, too.”
Theresina chuckled. “Jesus, Finnegan.”
“You look really good, Sina.” Theresina had always been beautiful, but she had aged into her looks with a power and grace that had been missing when they were young.
“So do you.”
“How is your father, anyway? I read that he wasn’t well, and since then, there’s been nothing to read.” Finn took a step closer to her, and then another. “That was a nice job, by the way.”
“It turns out I’m a natural.” Sina took a small step away from the desk and into the room. “When Paolo died, Papà thought I was too weak.”
“I could’ve told him how wrong he was, if he wouldn’t have shot me in the head first.”
“That would be a deterrent, it’s true.”
Finn smiled and took the last few steps. Her thumb wiped at Sina’s cheek. “I never got the chance to thank you for that day,” Finn whispered. “Grazie, Sina.”
Sina went to her and Finn felt the strength of the arms that embraced her shoulders and neck. Finn lifted her from the floor and held on tight, just long enough for them both to remember. Sina kissed her cheek with warm lips and Finn set her down.
“Why are you here, my old friend?” Sina grabbed the edge of the vest at Finn’s right shoulder, her touch pushing against Finn’s jacket and shirt in order to take hold. She gave it a good tug. “Smart.”
Finn could feel the raw dominance of a gaze that was used to bringing powerful men to their knees. That was different, as well. “Because he’s here, now, in San Francisco.”
Sina’s green eyes were quick, but she was cautious. “Who? Who is here?”
“The man who killed Declan and Isabella.”
The warmth left her gaze and she let go of Finn’s vest. “How do you know this?”
“Does the name Eric Werner ring any bells?”
Sina made a face of annoyance. “Yes, I know him, and his auctions. He’s contacted us. When he has a sale, we take our cut for protection. He’s asked for our permission to host one of his art parties, if you will, this next February. I’ve even purchased a few items in the past, though he was in New York at the time.”
“Did you know he’s in town right now?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And that within a few days, he’ll be hosting one of his parties?”
Sina said nothing, nor did her expression betray a reaction.
“Perhaps you don’t know about this particular sale because Eric’s operation is funded by Ketrin Arshavin, and it always has been. And Arshavin is in town because there�
�s something on the block that he wants very badly. Badly enough to resurface and play nice with the other children until he can get his hands on it.”
Sina’s face was still calm as she turned and moved around the desk. She sat in her chair and crossed her legs. “Sit, please.”
Finn took the offer and sat in the chair to her left.
“Arshavin is a competitor, yes. And he has been no friend to my family, it’s true. But it’s a free country, and I would not impinge upon his right to travel where he wants. No one is looking for a war, least of all the Lazarini family.”
Finn remained silent as she eased her shoulders against the chair.
“We don’t have the power we once did, Finn, I’m sorry to say. When Paolo died, my father was already ill. This was hidden from me, and before I could take the reins, the damage had already been done. He was never the same after Isabella’s murder, and then Paolo.” She looked at her desk and leaned forward. She picked up a thick stack of papers. “This is what we are now.” She dropped them and they slid across the desk blotter. “Are you telling me Ketrin Arshavin was the man behind the kidnapping of my Izzy, and our people?” Her voice had softened. “And sweet Declan?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have proof of this?”
“Yes.”
“May I have it?”
“I can only give you my word. It’s the truth—you have my oath on it.”
They stared at one another while a clock ticked on one of the shelves, and then Sina made a face that Finn remembered fairly well. She was pissed.
“Goddammit, Finnegan.” Her chair spun to the right as she got to her feet. “You’re the only person that has ever worked for—you know that, right? Even Paolo took you at your word.”
Finn stood up and pulled the shirt from her jeans. She lifted her vest and undershirt and bared her scars, and Sina looked. “The man who shot me used the same gun that was used to kill both Declan and Isabella.”
Sina lifted her eyes to Finn’s, startled.
“It was confirmed by ballistics at Interpol. I can get you copies, if you really think you need more paperwork. And that’s aside from the fact that he thought I was Declan when he did it.”
Sina’s expression wavered and her voice slipped into a whisper. “Finn.”
Finn gave her vest a yank and tucked in her shirt with quick hands. “That man works for Ketrin Arshavin, who gave the order at Badovinci. The man who tried to take what is yours and destroy your family in the bargain.”
“There’s always been talk that it was Ketrin.” Sina’s voice was quiet, but there was an old and bitter rage within her tone. “I’ve never stopped looking for proof, Finn—you should know that.”
“I do know it, and I’ve never thought otherwise. We just went about it differently.”
Sina considered the words and gave a small smile. “I’ll have to tell my father. Something like this, I can’t keep it from him. It would cause bad blood, and no matter what, he’s still Thomasino Lazarini.”
“Then do it.”
“What do you need?”
“If you can’t find Arshavin for me, then I need you to find Eric Werner.”
“That might be easier than you’d think,” Sina told her. “If Arshavin is already here, and we don’t know about it, the number of rocks he can hide under is fewer than he’d like.”
Finn’s blood was already up, but her heartbeat kicked into a higher gear as Sina walked behind her desk again and grabbed the phone. Her wait was but a few seconds.
“Matteo? I need you to find me a phone—” Sina’s gaze lifted and she stared across the room, to a point beyond Finn. The color drained from her face and her eyes widened.
Finn let out a slow sigh of resignation. “Oh, man…this is gonna hurt.”
“Papà, no!”
Finn turned around. A disheveled old man in a rumpled bathrobe stood in the doorway, and she could smell the clean scent of Casey’s hair, which she thought was strange, but a really nice bonus all things considered.
“Papà!”
The bullet took Finn right in the chest.
Chapter Thirty
San Michele di Serino, Italy
June 2005
Finn looked down at the diamond ring as it sat, nestled and perfect in its black velvet box. It was a rock, to be sure, but it had style, and the facets pulled the light within and threw it back again with gusto. The lines of the gold band were elegant and sleek, with two smaller rubies in the setting, one on each side of the diamond. They flowed down and tapered before the band narrowed, as if they had magically blossomed in the only place they could have.
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
Finn looked up and met her brother’s eyes. His hair was long and it had started to curl at the ends as it framed his face and fell about his neck, and he had a tan already, which set his eyes on fire. He sported a day’s worth of facial hair and he appeared to be an entire truckload of trouble.
They sat atop the stone wall that ran along the southern end of the Gallo estate, and the hills in the distance were crowded with cypress and cedar trees. The long grass moved like water in the breeze, and if you sat there long enough, you would swear it was. This was one of Finn’s favorite places on the estate, and with the sun in its golden hour, there was no place on earth she would rather be.
“Finn, come on.”
Finnegan smiled. “It’s really nice.”
“Nice?”
“Pretty?”
“It’s pretty?”
“It’s very, well, engagementy?”
Declan’s eyes were growing darker by the second. “That’s not even a fucking word.” He reached out and fixed her collar, which had turned under.
Finn chuckled. “Dec, it’s freaking beautiful. I mean, what would you like me to say?”
“Would it be a ring you would give to your girl?”
Finn’s smile deepened. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
Declan laughed a wicked laugh that was all his own, and he plucked the box from her hands. “I’m giving it to her tonight.”
“Safety first. Wear a condom, young man.”
Declan giggled and leaned, and his right shoulder pushed into Finn’s left. “Knock it off.”
“I’m serious, actually.” Finn brushed her hand against his arm and he met her eyes. “The only thing standing between you and a total beating is Theresina. You know that, right? Her father is going to go insane when he finds out, and you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t shoot you with that shotgun he carries around. If Isabella winds up pregnant before the wedding? God help us all.”
“He looks like a character from The Godfather. He even has the hat and suspenders.”
Finn reached out and lightly slapped his face. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it surprised him. “That man is the father of the woman you love. The woman you wish to marry and have children with. He’s also the head of one of the most powerful families in Italy, and the both of you are finally going to have to deal with that. One word from him and I could find you facedown in a ditch somewhere. If you’re going to do this, Declan, show him the respect he deserves. Because regardless of whether you do actually respect him, he’s damn sure going to ask you for it. And if he senses you don’t? He’ll tear you and Isabella apart, and he has the means to do it.”
Declan listened—she could see it in his eyes. She could also see that she had properly freaked him out, which was fine with her.
“I will. I’m sorry I said that.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Finn leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Just remember what I said and do what I’m telling you. And don’t ever do that Godfather thing again. You’ll regret it forever, trust me.”
He gave a nod. “I heard you.”
Finn narrowed her eyes a bit. “But what aren’t you telling me?”
“Oh, well…I was wondering if you could, ah, take care—”
“You haven’t told Pietro.”
Declan cringed.
Finn groaned and looked away from him. “Jesus, I’m not gonna do it.”
“But you’re so much better with him than I am.”
“That’s just because…”
Declan laughed. “Because why?”
“Just.”
“Because you’re tougher than I am, that’s why.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are, just admit it, Finn. Oh!” Declan pointed toward Pietro Gallo’s ancestral home in the distance, just as the massive rectangular villa caught the late afternoon sun. The dun-colored stone seemed to be on fire with light, a fertile gold and a lazy-hued orange. The flat black of the shutters and wrought-iron balconies soaked it in, and the contrast presented a stunning portrait of seventeenth-century Italian architecture. The blue sky behind it was streaked with pink, and the red clay tiles of the roof turned dark and precise. “Postcard.”
“The only thing missing is a young peasant woman drawing water from the well—”
“In order to bathe her chubby, rosy-cheeked babes.”
Finn laughed happily.
“Renaissance.” Declan smiled, pleased that he had made her laugh. “But listen,” he began again. His eyes scanned the back road that led around Pietro’s land, toward San Michele di Serino. “You know, I’m not the one who sneaks out at all hours with cousin Marco and gets into fights that the old men in town talk about for a week.”
Finn’s shoulder came up slightly. “Jesus.”
“And I’m sure as hell not the one who steals Pietro’s GTB Coupe with Marco—again with Marco—and drives it into Rome without permission. I don’t know how many women you guys went through this last time, but I’ve never seen the old man look so fucking proud in his life.”
Finn looked down at the long wheat-colored grass between her dangling feet, embarrassed. Her lips puffed out and her entire body was blushing, she knew it. Fucking Marco.
“Do you know what he said to me?”
Finn closed her eyes.
“Declan, my little man, are you like my Finnegan? Is that why you—”
