Infidelity: Inheritance (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by T. C. Winters

  The casket had rolled completely over, which meant the top was now flush against the ground, lessening my chances of kicking my way out. I rocked, attempting to force the casket to lurch onto its side, but I only succeeded in wearing myself out.

  I gulped air, but my chest didn’t seem to be able to expand enough to draw a full breath. My thinking became muddled. The end was near.

  “Holy Mary, pray for me. Assist me in my last agony.”

  Caterina and Bettina are playing in the back yard—their hair blowing in the wind. I don’t want to leave them. My death will cause them more pain.

  “Death comes when the struggle to cling to the flesh ends. Help me conquer my fear.”

  Elena’s long, dark hair feathered across the bed. Does she care for me? Or is she just performing her job? I care for her. She’ll never know.

  “Please take me home.”

  Home. I want to go home.

  ****

  Gray shadows shifting. Pain.

  Heavy—my eyelids are heavy. Lungs burning. Bright lights snap on in my brain.

  Gasping for air. Scalding my throat. Dazzling red fingernails digging into my skin.

  Elena is yelling at me to eat broccoli and to start jogging. Ah…damn, I’m in hell.

  “Dante. Dante. Come back. Wake up.”

  Elena. Her voice is so close—like music to my ears.

  My eyelids flicked open. “Elena?” She loomed over me and I blinked to focus.

  She clutched my shoulders and lifted my upper body—nearly crushing my fragile lungs—and cradled me against her chest. “I thought I’d lost you.” She drew away and her frightened expression morphed. “You left the house without me. How can you be so stupid?”

  I swiveled around, taking in my surroundings. Still lying in the casket—a crowbar on the ground—and police officers standing behind Elena. “I’m not dead?” Relief flooded me and I struggled into a sitting position. “I’m not dead.”

  Elena and an officer helped me stand. Someone produced a knife and cut the tape binding my wrists and feet. I lurched out of the casket and paramedics rushed forward with a stretcher. I balked at the gurney, but my wobbly legs gave out. The officers questioned me while a paramedic applied a neck brace and checked my airway. I described what happened and told them about Sergio Cuccia and his threats.

  An officer holding a notepad raised his brow. “He gave you his name?”

  “He wasn’t expecting me to live long enough to tell anyone.”

  The paramedics released the lock on the cot, ending our conversation. Elena held my hand as they rolled me out of the building and into a waiting ambulance.

  “Wait. Did you give them the painting?” I hated knowing the masterpiece now belonged to thugs.

  Elena remained outside the rear ambulance doors. “No. We searched everywhere, but couldn’t find the damn thing.”

  “Bettina is safe?”

  She nodded just before the paramedics slammed the doors.

  The paramedics poked and prodded throughout the bumpy ride to the hospital, and the flashing lights stabbed my retinas. I closed my eyes against the pain. I barely noticed our arrival at the emergency room because the ringing in my ears drowned out all other sounds. Nurses buzzed around me, checking my breathing and vitals, but everything was unfocused. I was stuck in a tube-like machine that made thumping noises, adding to my misery. Afterward a doctor applied a new neck brace and sent me to a room where every half hour someone interrupted my rest.

  I didn’t become fully cognizant until the next morning when the blazing sun streamed through the window, setting my brain on fire. I cracked open an eyelid and found Elena leaning over me.

  “Hey there, cowboy. Rough night at the rodeo?”

  I attempted to sit up, but dizziness forced me against the pillow and nausea made me swallow hard. “Cowboy? I’ve never been called that before.”

  She rubbed my neck. “You look like you got bested by a bucking bronco. You have black eyes and bruises around your ears. The doc said you had a linear skull fracture.”

  I tried to reach for her, but something tethered my arm and I couldn’t tug free. “That’s probably what saved my life. I passed out after I flipped over the casket, which controlled my panic and made me breathe slower.”

  “So I have a bashed skull to thank for you being alive? That’ll make a good story for the grandkids.” She slipped an ice chip into my mouth.

  Her offhand comment about our future improved my mood. I’d worried once she realized I wasn’t dead she’d give me a chest bump and be on her way. After the ice melted, I said, “You’re okay with a guy who makes the proverbial damsel in distress seem like a Navy Seal?”

  “Most men are intimidated by my personality and strength. I’ve been in a dozen relationships that ended because I’d bruised the guy’s masculinity. You don’t seem to even notice my quirks. I’ve been hunting for someone like you for a long time.” She offered me another ice chip.

  I shook my head. “Find my clothes so we can get out of here.”

  She lectured me on the danger of leaving before I was healed, but I prevailed when I threatened to walk out with my backside fully exposed while hailing a cab.

  Against the doctor’s advice, a nurse wheeled me outside to where Elena had brought her car around. I fell asleep as soon as she drove away from the hospital and didn’t awaken until we were parked in front of my house. She helped me from the car, and I limped to the door—every muscle in my body screaming.

  “You need to get back in bed. I’ll help you upstairs, and then I’ll let your family know you’re home. Everyone was terrified of losing you.” She put an arm around my waist and all but hoisted me up the stairs.

  “I’d like to know what happened last night. What are we going to do about exonerating Bettina?”

  She pressed a finger to my lips. “Sergio Cuccia is in custody. Everything will work out. No more questions until you’re off your feet.” She deposited me in the bed, then went to my dresser and took out a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. “I’ll get some food and let everyone know you’re ready for visitors.”

  I marveled at my luck. Having her in my life helped to fill the black hole in my chest left by my father’s passing. I dressed and brought the covers over my body just as the door flew open and Cat lunged onto my bed, rattling my brain.

  She wrapped her delicate arms around my neck. “Dante, I was so scared.” She moved away and her gaze roved over me. “You look terrible. Did someone hit you?”

  I cradled her against my chest. “I’m better now that you’re with me. Where’s your sister?”

  “She’s afraid you’re mad and will make her live somewhere else. She’s hiding in her room.”

  The news burdened my soul. “Would you ask her to come in, please?”

  “Sure.” She rolled off the bed and skipped out the door.

  While I waited, I worked on the delivery of my speech. But when she arrived, her pale complexion, hunched shoulders, and downcast gaze made me forget what I’d planned on saying. “Bettina, I would sacrifice everything for you. We’ll give the painting to the Cuccias in exchange for your freedom.”

  Hope spread across her features. “But you don’t have to. John confessed that I was with him the day I skipped school. His uncle told him to have me touch the chain and the truck’s steering wheel so my fingerprints would be found. I remember touching the chain, but I was just moving it into the truck bed.” She sniffed and tears fell. “John said he never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

  I held out my arms, and she galloped into my embrace. “So he decided to do the right thing. Is John Smith his real name?”

  She moved out of my hug and sat on the edge of the bed. “Not Smith, but his first name is John—really it’s Jonathon. His last name is Cuccia. His uncle is the man who hurt you. John was supposed to frame me, but he said when he got to know me, he couldn’t do it. His father’s protecting him against his uncle.”

  “Bettina, that’s wond
erful. Have the charges against you been dropped?” Fear clustered in my chest. Bettina had been associating with the family of a man who I suspected had murdered our father.

  “Not yet, but Mr. Bailey said they would be soon.” She set her mouth in a thin line and her cheeks reddened. “I’m so sorry, Dante. Dad asked me to stop seeing John, but I didn’t listen. You almost died because of my stubbornness.”

  “But I didn’t die. Dad wouldn’t have wanted us to be divided. We need each other.”

  Her features relaxed and she lifted her shoulders. “I love you.” She stood and shuffled toward the door. “I miss Papà.”

  “So do I, Sorellina.”

  Deloris knocked on the open door, and Bettina used the opportunity to slide out. My aunt eyed my bruises and sighed. “You were lucky. You were barely breathing when Elena found you.” She shuffled closer. “I don’t want to think what would’ve happened if she hadn’t located you in time.”

  I fluffed my pillows and sat up straighter. “How did she find me?’

  “Bettina told us where they ambushed you, and I recognized the address from the trucking logs. It was listed as a drop-off, so I went through the logs again searching for other deliveries made within a fifty-mile radius, specifically the ones where the trucks had been more than once. I remembered the two funeral homes from the list because it was an odd destination for an ironworks company to deliver. Elena, Lennox, Vincent, Luca, and I went to different buildings and NYPD helped us search. Each of us had visited two or more sites by the time Elena found you.” Deloris sighed and drew in a sharp breath. “Sergio Cuccia was arrested for Antonio’s murder and attempting to murder you. His nephew’s statement implicated him. Plus, the Boston warehouse, as well as the funeral home where we you were held, are owned by a shell corporation I traced back to Cuccia.”

  “I thought I would die.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I kept thinking of Dad and how he must’ve felt. I didn’t want to leave Bettina and Cat, or you. And Elena. I know she was hired to act as my girlfriend, but I’ve gotten used to her.”

  Deloris wiped a tear from her cheek. “You scared me. I do what I do so I can protect the people I care about. I couldn’t have lived with myself if you’d been hurt any worse than you were.” She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “I’m sorry for such a pathetic show of emotion. I’ll let you rest.” She spun on her heel and sped out of my room.

  I settled onto my pillow and waited for Elena. When she hadn’t returned within an hour, I worried she wasn’t coming back. My insecurities must’ve been unleashed during my near-death experience, because my heart rate increased while I waited to discover if she’d come back to me or if her mission was completed.

  I ventured out of my bedroom around noon when my pain level became tolerable. Elena was nowhere to be found, but the girls and Sera were in the kitchen eating lunch. At my approach, Sera jumped from her chair and insisted on making me something.

  Too tired to protest, I agreed to a ham and cheese sandwich. “Have you seen Elena?”

  Sera nearly dropped the bread. “She had some urgent business.” She dropped her gaze from me to the floor.

  “By herself?”

  “No. Lennox and Luca are with her. So is Deloris.” She finished the sandwich and slid it toward me as she snuck a sideways glance at the girls. “Your friends from the police department were here earlier. Elena and your cousins were concerned with something the detectives said.”

  Clearly, she didn’t want to speak in front of my sisters, so I accepted her cue and changed the subject. “Bettina, how are you feeling after your ordeal?”

  “I’m fine.” She blinked and tears dripped down her cheeks. “John hasn’t called yet. He said he would call after meeting with the prosecutor about the bag of pot in my room.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Sera’s frantic waving. Without turning, I said, “I’m sure he’s busy. Why don’t you and Cat go upstairs and read a book?”

  She swiped at the tears and nodded. Leaving her plate, she guided her sister out of the kitchen.

  I spun toward Sera. “What happened?”

  “The police discovered John’s body. He’d been shot execution style.” She exhaled deeply. “Sergio Cuccia is out on bail.”

  Fear came back with a vengeance. “How will we tell Bettina?” Massaging my temples with the hope of staving off the headache forming, I said, “Elena and Deloris are with my cousins. They went after Cuccia, didn’t they?”

  Sera opened her mouth, but stopped. After a few seconds, she said, “Yes.”

  “If John is dead, I’m the only other person who can implicate Sergio Cuccia. He’ll be coming for me.” I considered the options. “Did Luca and Lennox leave anyone here to protect the house?”

  “Yes. Isaac and Jimmy are outside.”

  “Good. I want them to go with you and the girls to Vincent’s. If Deloris has any men lingering around the house, have them follow you until you are safe. Leave your phones so they won’t be traced.” When she hesitated, I shouted, “Now! Get the girls and leave the house.”

  She froze for a second, then hurried from the kitchen. Within five minutes, she and the girls were out the door and en route to Vincent’s home.

  Chapter 13

  I scooped up Sera’s phone and eased my way up the stairs to my studio. I dropped the phone on the table near the couch, then moved the bookcase to reveal my secret hiding place. Slipping on gloves, I worked the canvas out into the open. I lifted the painting by the top and carefully walked it down to the garage. Using my foot to open my vehicle’s hatch, I eased the masterpiece into the back and slammed the rear door.

  I returned to my studio, found my gun, filled my pockets with extra magazines, and preset 911 into my phone. My couch was positioned toward the window, so I scooted it into the center of the floor where I could have a clear view of the door, then sat down and waited.

  Within the hour, a loud bang resonated from downstairs and footsteps sounded in the hallway. I wrapped a used paint rag over my loaded gun, pressed the call button on the phone, and forced myself to remain calm as Sergio Cuccia materialized in the doorway. He wasn’t armed, but the ruffian standing behind him carried a big gun.

  I didn’t stand. “Mr. Cuccia, we meet again.”

  He smiled, displaying his alligator teeth. “Yuh act as if yuh expected me. I may have underestimated yuh. Apparently, yuh not quite the snowflake I believed.”

  My irregular breathing made speaking difficult, so I kept my words to a minimum. “What happens now?”

  He puffed out his chest. “Yuh give me the paintin’, and I’ll make certain yuh death is painless.”

  “Not like my father’s?”

  “Yuh fathah was being…difficult.” Cuccia advanced further into the room. “His death was inevitable, but his tragic endin’ was due to his bullheadedness. I needed everyone to know he suffahd.” He slunk closer. “I wanted yuh to know what would happen if I didn’ receive yuh cooperation. Yuh do know what will happen if yuh don’t cooperate, doncha, Dante?”

  “No, Mr. Cuccia, what will happen if I don’t cooperate? Will you kill me like you did your nephew and Cosmo Bonetti?”

  “Yes.” Red crept up his neck and his lips narrowed. “They betrayed me and paid the ultimate price.”

  “I haven’t betrayed you.” He’d performed so well, I hoped he’d spill all his secrets.

  “Not yet, but yuh intend to return the The Adoration to Sicily. The paintin’ is too valuable to simply give back.” A vein jumped in his neck.

  “I won’t give you the canvas.”

  “Brave words from such a little chicken.” He cast a glance over his shoulder and waved the other man forward. “My friend here will help to persuade you.”

  Little chicken?

  The same words Jimmy had used the day my dad died. “Jimmy told you I had the painting? I thought he was loyal to my uncle.”

 
; “Anyone can be bought for the right price.” He glanced around the room. “Jimmy overheard your girlfriend tellin’ Vincent yuh hid the paintin’. Showin’ me where it’s hidden will make things easier for yuh and yuh precious little sistah.”

  My snort was worthy of an Oscar. “I safeguard my finished canvases in an area behind the bookcase, but your painting isn’t there.” I pointed toward the wall where I kept my finished works.

  Cuccia grunted and stalked toward the bookcase. His armed thug stayed put with his weapon pointed. After nearly a minute, Cuccia returned, hauled back his arm, and punched me in the jaw. “That’s for lyin’.” He walked backward until he stood next to the gunman. “Give him a little love tap in the kneecap, Mateo.”

  As Mateo aimed for my knee, I raised my gun and shot him in the chest. The sound rang in my ears and my jaw throbbed, but he went down without firing.

  Cuccia never even blinked. “Well played.” He reached down to pick up Mateo’s weapon. “I’ll shoot yuh, myself.”

  I waited until he had the gun aimed, then I shot him twice. He dropped without making a sound. I waited a couple of ticks of my heartbeat, then picked up the phone. “I need help. Are the police on their way?”

  “Yes, sir,”—came the soft reply from the operator—“they were dispatched as soon as you made this call. Stay on the line.”

  The gunshot had rendered my hearing nearly useless, and I could barely make out what the operator said. Two puddles of blood had formed near the bodies and the air was thick with the scent. The vinyl floor will make cleanup easy.

  I put the gun on the floor near the couch, then stood and proceeded to the table where I’d left Sera’s phone. I used it to text my friend, the art historian. After he responded, I returned the phone to the table and settled into the couch to wait for the police.

  Within two minutes, sirens and flashing lights announced their arrival. Downstairs, doors slammed and voices echoed. The silence in the studio seemed odd in comparison to the activity on the lower level. I kept my gaze averted from the bodies on the floor.