Beautiful Deception

by Morgan James

  “No matter.” He waved a hand dismissively. “She learned her lesson.”

  My gut clenched at his words, and foreboding filled me as Matteo reached inside the pocket of his immaculate black suit and withdrew a little box. It was a small square, only a few inches wide, but the sight of it filled me with dread. There was only one reason for him to present something like that—just large enough for an appendage.

  Smirk still in place, he lifted his chin and tossed the box to me. “A gift from your precious fiancée.”

  I caught the box deftly, and my fingers turned to stone as I tried to open it. The air felt as if it had been sucked out of the room, and I forced myself to drag in even breaths as I lifted the lid away. Tiny smudges of brown marred the paper inside, and bile rose in the back of my throat. Blood? Jesus, I prayed that wasn’t the case, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Capaldi had killed his own father; what would stop him from hurting Jules to strike out at me? I moved aside the tissue and barely held back a sigh of relief. No finger, no ear; no body parts to speak of. Thank God.

  I lifted her engagement ring from the bottom of the box and held it up, then arched a brow at Matteo.

  “She won’t be needing that anymore,” he replied to my unspoken question.

  That still wasn’t an answer. I needed to know if she was alive and well somewhere. He already knew I’d hop on the plane at the drop of a hat for her, which explained his lack of surprise when I asked, “She’s okay?”

  “Depends on your definition.” He paused and arched a brow. I ground my molars together and clenched my hands into fists where they rested on my thighs. I wanted to knock that smug look right off his face, then rip him limb from limb.

  “If you’re asking if she’s alive, then the answer is yes. For now.”

  The diamond cut into the skin of my palm, reminding me that it was still there, and I forced myself to relax. If Capaldi was telling the truth—and he had no reason to lie since I was already here—then I had to trust that she was still alive.

  I gave a little half nod and slid the ring into my pocket, leaving my hands free. “I thought we were here to make a trade...” I let the words hang in the air for a second.

  “I beg to differ,” he responded when I didn’t continue. “We never discussed a trade, per se. What are you suggesting?”

  Fucker was being deliberately obtuse. “Where the hell is she?”

  “She’s been... detained,” Capaldi replied, a trace of a smirk tipping up the corners of his mouth.

  I inhaled deeply. I had zero illusions of what could happen tonight, but I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “Let her go.”

  One dark eyebrow rose toward his hairline. “And what do I get out of it?”

  I gritted my teeth. “We’ll walk out of here and pretend none of this ever happened. You’ll never see either of us again.”

  Capaldi’s lips twisted into a petulant moue. “I don’t think so. You see”—he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, pinning me with his intense dark stare—“she belongs here. This is her home. Giuliana belongs with me.”

  Crazy fuck. “Have you even considered what she might want?”

  He let out a little laugh. “Does that matter?”

  “Yes,” I snapped. “It’s the only thing that matters. You’re her cousin; you should care about her.”

  Matteo’s smile disappeared in an instant. “She means everything to me.”

  I blinked. For some reason, I hadn’t expected that. Maybe he truly did care about her; I tried to appeal to him one more time. “I want her happy. And we both know she’s happy with me.”

  “So it would seem.” His eyes narrowed with hatred. “A life for a life. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  I hoped to hell I got to walk out of here, but I’d gladly give myself up for her if she would be safe. I spread my arms wide. “Then take me.”

  “How very noble.” He sat back in his chair and eyed me. “I despise you.”

  I snapped my mouth shut and lifted a brow. Was that supposed to surprise me?

  He gave his head a little shake. “This is her place. She could have anything she wants—money, clothes, jewels. Yet she would rather go back to that Podunk little town with nothing. Except you.”

  His lip curled, and pride sprang to my chest. It died away just as quickly as he continued. “You’re the only one she wants, the one she cries for.”

  It gutted me to think that I hadn’t been here when she needed me most. “Just let her go.”

  “I said I’d let her live,” he corrected as I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he spoke over me. “Though it might be a bit late for that.”

  Anger surged, hot and fierce, forcing me forward in my chair. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Matteo lifted his left hand, and in a silent communication, signaled the man to his left. The soldier lifted his pistol and trained it on my forehead.

  “I’ll fucking kill you if you hurt her!” As soon as the words ripped from my throat, a loud commotion erupted behind me. I didn’t bother to look; I knew that sound all too well. The Feds had breached the entrance and were cutting through the soldiers, one by one.

  I locked eyes with the man who had his gun pointed at me. All of a sudden, his arm swung to the side, and he popped off two quick rounds, dropping the soldier to my left. I was already out of my chair as the undercover agent turned his pistol on Capaldi, my hand wrapped around the forearm of the man beside me. I jerked his arm upward as his finger squeezed the trigger, and splinters of wood rained down from the wooden beam above us. Pushing down with my thumb, I put pressure on the bones of his wrist until his grip loosened and he let out a grunt of pain. Using his body as a shield, bullets whizzing through the air all around me. I took control of the gun and shot two more guards before putting a bullet in his temple.

  His body hit the floor with a thud, and I whirled toward Capaldi. He was still firing rapidly at the undercover agent, but the fight was over. He’d taken several rounds to the torso, and dark maroon stains bloomed over his pristine white shirt. The agent popped off another round and Matteo jerked backward under the impact. He stumbled and fell over the chair he’d vacated just moments ago, then remained sprawled on his back, deathly still.

  Taking a quick glance around, I saw that the feds had the soldiers rounded up and were busy cuffing those who were still alive. Stomping over to where Matteo lay on the ground, I kept my pistol trained on him. His Beretta lay next to him, and I kicked it out of reach. His eyes opened to narrow slits before closing again.

  He was rapidly losing blood, but the fucker wasn’t dead yet. I dropped to one knee next to him. “Where is she?”

  His voice was thin and thready when he spoke. “You’ll never find her. No one will.”

  I used the muzzle of my pistol to press down on one of the open wounds. The man let out a ragged groan of pain, but made no attempt to fight back or speak.

  “Tell me where she is, and you might get to live.” The man’s lips moved, and I lifted my gun away from the wound. “What was that?”

  “In hell,” he choked out as blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

  My molars clenched together. This was clearly a wasted effort. He would rather die than tell me where she was. I stood and pointed the pistol at his forehead. “See you there.”

  The man’s body jerked as the bullet hit its mark, leaving a small hole in his forehead. The back side wouldn’t be so pretty.

  Agent Martinez materialized beside me, his face an angry red. “Goddamn it, Donahue. What the fuck was that?”

  I stared back impassively, then turned my pistol around and extended it toward him. “I did what I had to do.”

  He made an agitated gesture before propping his hands on his hips. “You get anything, at least?”

  I reholstered the weapon and shook my head. “Nothing.”

  He blew out a harsh breath and dropped to one knee. Yanking a pair of nitrile gloves from his coat, he sli
pped them on. Capaldi’s suit jacket had fallen open, and Martinez ran a hand over the inner pockets, first one side, then the other. He extracted a wallet, phone and...

  “What the hell is that?” I gestured with my chin toward the object, and Martinez held up what appeared to be an old-fashioned key.

  “Skeleton key.” He slid it into a clear plastic bag, then handed it to me.

  I turned it over in my hands, inspecting it. “What the hell is this for?”

  “Not sure.” He finished searching the body, then pushed to his feet. “But we’re damn sure gonna find out.”

  He passed the evidence bags to one of the techs, then turned to address his agents. “As soon as the suspects have been transported, search the property.” He turned back to me and clamped one hand on my shoulder. “We’ll find her, Sheriff. We’ve got warrants to seize his assets and search his home and business. If we have to, we’ll tear this city apart.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Giuliana

  He’s alive.

  It was the first thing that came to mind as soon as I pushed through the layers of fog cloaking my mind and came fully awake. I blinked into the darkness and replayed his words in my head.

  “I’m going to kill him slowly. Brutally. Make him wish he’d never met you.”

  Matteo had slipped; he’d threatened to kill Eric—which meant he was still alive. My heart leaped with hope and, despite everything, a smile came to my face. I’d thought he was gone, but he was out there somewhere. I knew he’d be looking for me. I needed to get to him before Matteo did.

  I lay on my side, my legs drawn up so that my thighs rested against my stomach, and my left arm had fallen asleep. Thank God for small favors. It was back in place, but it still ached like a bitch. I tried to stretch my legs out but the movement was hindered as my feet collided with something hard.

  What the hell? Gritting my teeth through the pain, I forced my left arm to move and tried to sit up. Agony speared through me as my head smacked against something hard, and I collapsed to my back. I rubbed at my forehead, trying to get my bearings. It was jet black in here, like it was perpetually night, so I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  I tentatively stretched out my arm and my fingers brushed something smooth just inches from my face. My brows drew together as I lifted my other hand and pressed both palms flat against the cool surface. It felt almost like... wood? My mind spun furiously, trying to make the connection, and it finally hit me.

  I was in the box.

  My heart lurched in my chest, and I sucked in a breath as I slapped my palms against the lid. It didn’t budge. Putting as much force behind the movement as possible, I pushed upward, but it refused to give. My rapid breaths filled my ears, coming much too quickly.

  Spurred by the need to get out, I frantically searched the seam where the lid met the sides of the box, searching for any kind of latch or hook. Nothing. My heart rate increased with every second that passed, and disbelief quickly gave way to panic. In the limited space, I kicked against the lid. The sound reverberated in my ears, but the wood refused to give.

  For a moment, I paused and focused on the sounds outside the box—or, rather, lack thereof. It was almost deathly silent and still. Had Matteo left me again? I had no idea whether I was still in the room under the church or if he’d transported me somewhere different. Why else put me in a box if he didn’t plan to move me... or bury me.

  Oh, God. The thought alone made me sick, and I had to force down the urge to retch. He was going to kill Eric if I couldn’t get out of here. Anger welled up. I was so close! Furious with myself, with Matteo, I pounded my fist on the lid of the coffin.

  I beat on the wood with everything I had. I kicked and punched at the lid until my knuckles were sore. Scream after scream ripped from my throat as I clawed at the wood of the too-small box. I knew I was using up valuable oxygen, but I couldn’t stop. I felt crazed, out of control. If I didn’t get out of here, I would die. Eric would die.

  Suddenly my throat felt too tight, the air too thick. My head felt fuzzy and I could practically feel the room spinning around me.

  No.

  No, no, no, no, no.

  I had to get out of here so I could help Eric. I had to...

  My hands fell limply to rest on my stomach, and I closed my eyes, my breathing hard and labored. Depleted of nutrients and past the point of fatigue, my body could only take so much strain. My head rolled to the side as exhaustion claimed me once more, and I gave up the fight to stay conscious.

  Twenty-Eight

  Eric

  I raked my hands through my hair as I stumbled out the front door of the restaurant. Where the hell could she be? The agents had searched Capaldi’s home as well as several other holdings the family owned locally, but their efforts had yielded nothing. Though we’d questioned several of the staff members, no one had seen her for two days. The thought made me physically ill. I didn’t want to contemplate what that might mean.

  I lifted my head, and my eyes collided with an ancient church across the street. Unbidden, my feet carried me in that direction. I paused in front of the huge carved wooden doors, and I placed one hand flat on the wood. It’d been years since I stepped foot inside a church, and it felt foreign, unfamiliar. With a deep breath, I tested the door. Unlocked. I braced myself, then pushed my way inside. This late at night, it was dimly lit, not a soul in sight. I made my way up the aisle between the empty pews that looked eerily vacant. I knew the stained glass windows set high along each wall depicted Christ’s crucifixion, though the darkness outside obscured the images.

  I stopped just before the altar and stared up at the cross. I had no idea what I was looking for here. Hope, maybe? Guidance? I had nowhere else to go, no trail to follow. Maybe it was time to seek a higher power, because I was at a dead end. I’d exhausted all of my options, put everything I had into it, but it hadn’t been enough.

  I sank into a pew and linked my hands together where they rested over the back of the pew in front of me. I closed my eyes and bowed my head the way I’d seen others do. I had no idea how to pray. How did you speak to someone you weren’t sure even existed? I’d seen enough evil over the past two decades to believe God was a figment of someone’s overactive imagination. Surely no deity would ever allow such horrible things to happen.

  A soft noise brought my head up, and I stared at the stooped little priest in the corner. He hadn’t registered my presence or, if he had, he’d chosen to ignore me. He lit a candle and I saw his lips move in prayer. He made the sign of the cross, then shuffled my way.

  I watched warily as he took a seat beside me, and for several long moments we remained silent. Finally he turned to me. “What brings you here?”

  I lifted one shoulder. “I’m not really sure.”

  He nodded slightly. “Anything I can help with?”

  Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away as I sat back against the hard wood. “I don’t think so, Father. I’m not sure anyone can.”

  I felt eyes on me, and I craned my neck as I glanced around the large open space, trying to find the source of my discomfort. Except for the priest, the church was empty. A blast of cool air hit my skin then was gone as quickly as it had come. Beside me, the priest rubbed his hands briskly over his arms. I eyed him. “Did you feel that too?”

  He tipped his chin. “The spirits have been active.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I was certain that, given his profession, he was required to believe in otherworldly elements.

  “Do you...?” I wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

  The old priest seemed to know what I was asking, because he spoke up. “They speak to me sometimes.”

  I tried not to judge, but being here was creeping me the fuck out. I was just about to excuse myself when his next words stopped me cold. “She’s a mournful one.”

  I turned a bewildered gaze on him. “What?”

  He nodded his hea
d toward the candle he’d lit when he first entered the room. “She’s sad. Tormented.”

  She? “How do you know?” My question was barely a whisper.

  The priest seemed to think it over. “It’s just something that I feel. It’s almost tangible, her sorrow.”

  I dug in my pocket for Jules’s ring and turned it over in my hands, staring at the diamond like it would impart some much-needed secret. It’d been days since anyone had seen her. Where was she? Was she still alive? Capaldi’s words had been confusing at best. He’d spoken in present tense but like he assumed her demise was imminent. I couldn’t fucking imagine never seeing her again.

  I closed my eyes against the moisture gathering there and fisted my hand around the ring. Dropping my head backward, I sent up a silent prayer. We’d searched damn near every place Capaldi had access to, yet we’d found no trace of her. What if we were truly too late?

  My eyes popped open. No. I wouldn’t even let myself think it. Martinez and his men were researching every angle. We would find her; we just had to. It was so damn hard to believe that, though. I knew how many cases went unsolved, how many victims were never found. Faith wasn’t a luxury I could afford, but it was the only thing I had left.

  I turned my gaze back to the crucifix suspended over the altar. “How long have you done this?”

  “Nearly fifty years,” the priest replied. “I was born and raised here in Chicago.”

  “Same here.” I drew a deep breath. I loved this city, but I hated it for so many reasons at the same time. “I’ll bet you’ve seen some things.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed. “More good than bad, thankfully.”

  I nodded, and we lapsed into silence for a long minute. Suddenly, the candles in the corner flickered, sputtering out almost completely before reigniting. Icy fingers clawed at my spine, and my blood ran cold. What the fuck was happening? This wasn’t real. Spirits didn’t exist... Did they?

  “Did you see that?”

  He nodded slowly, then glanced around before rubbing his hands together again. “Sometimes I feel like they’re really calling for help.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I actually walked the tunnel yesterday to make sure I wasn’t hearing things.”