“Ma’am, we can’t do anything without an address.”
I hung up and dialed Danny.
He gave me Hollingsworth’s address practically before I finished saying ‘Hollingsworth.’
“I don’t know how to get there,” I moaned.
“Where are you now?”
I told him.
“It’s going to take you at least fifteen minutes,” Danny said. “Turn right on the Embarcadero. Otherwise, you’re going to end up in traffic and on dead-end streets. I’ll have you go the long way around.”
“I don’t have time for the long way?”
“Trust me, it will be the short way.”
“How long will it take Charles from the Richmond District?”
“Five minutes.”
“Motherfuck.”
“I’ll send you the address to plug into your phone.”
“It’s a burner. I don’t even have GPS or anything.”
“Okay. I’ll walk you through it.”
I grabbed another phone and dialed 911 again.
“There’s about to be a murder at this address,” I said and reeled off the address.
“What's your name?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“What number are you calling from?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“We are going to need more information?”
“You fucking kidding me? I just said someone is about to die at that address. Even if you think I’m a nut job, could you at least do me a favor and have someone call or check on Mr. Hollingsworth. Do one of those…what do you call it? Welfare checks. Yes. Do a welfare check on him. Please!”
Meanwhile, Danny was yelling in my ear. “Turn right on Union. No…left. Shit. Keep going and then make your next left.”
I wanted to scream.
I called 911 again on the other phone, and this time it was busy.
“What is wrong with a city, if it’s 911 line is busy? I’m calling the mayor,” I shouted to nobody.
“Turn right.”
I had nearly gone past the street, so I yanked the steering wheel, and the tires laid rubber down and squealed. An older man gave me a dirty look.
Oops.
“Turn left.”
It was the street.
“I’m close.”
“Can you find it now?” Danny asked.
I looked at the addresses. “Yes. It’s on this block.”
I slowed down. Then I saw Charles’s car. It was parked in front of a very large four-story house, towering over the other very large houses in the neighborhood.
There was a familiar redhead in the passenger seat.
I parked right behind her, grabbing James’s gun and racing toward the door without bothering to close the door to the van. As I passed, I caught a glimpse of her face as she saw me, and her mouth opened into a wide O.
I was worried I was too late.
Forty
The front door was locked. I didn’t have time to fuck around with picking the lock, so I fired my gun and blew it right off the door. I didn’t care about drawing attention to myself. In fact, I was hoping the neighbors would call the cops.
I raced inside and then stopped. I had no idea where to go. There was an elevator to my right. That’s when I saw it was on the third floor. I assumed that’s where the bedrooms were. Beside the elevator was a set of stairs. I raced up the stairs, keeping the gun in front of me. At the top of the landing for the third floor, I paused, heart racing. I heard the sound of a floor creaking down the hall, so I swiftly headed that way, keeping my back to the wall.
Even though it wasn’t dark outside yet, the third floor was dim. Heavy, light-blocking drapes covered all the windows. As I came to each door, I quickly looked inside. There were bedrooms and sitting rooms and even two libraries. I heard another sound. A low murmur. It was coming from the end of the hall. Then I heard a clear voice say, “Let’s get you tucked in.”
Charles.
I raced to the end of the hall.
I stepped into the doorway in time to see Charles place a pillow over Hollingsworth’s face. He was holding it with one hand. His other hand was clutching a handgun. I could see Hollingsworth’s feet under the covers at the foot of the bed, kicking.
“Stop!” I shouted and pointed my gun at Charles.
But it’s too late. I watched in horror as the pillow exploded in a pink puff of blood and feathers.
My finger was about to squeeze off a round when I hear a low familiar voice behind me.
“Drop the gun.”
It’s Nicoletta.
I whirled. She was holding a small handgun. It’s pointed at my forehead.
I felt another gun in the small of my back.
I crouched and gently set my gun on the floor.
“Stay down,” Charles said, drawing back a few feet but keeping the gun pointed at me.
“Fuck you.” I scrambled on all fours to the corner. I wanted something solid behind my back. I’m frantically thinking of how to get out of this situation.
Nicoletta tucked her gun back into a small handbag. But then didn’t move. She stood and stared at me.
“What are you going to do with her?” she said.
“Get back in the car. Now. You can’t be here. I don’t want them to think you’re involved.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” she says. “I just called James and told him that Gia Santella told me she was going to kill herself by jumping off the Golden Gate bridge. They all went there instead. We have a few minutes.”
“You’re so smart,” Charles said. “I need to clean up a few things around here so go wait in the car. Okay?”
She hesitated. “What about her?”
She was looking at me.
“I’ll take care of her. I’ve got a plan. She’s going to do exactly what you said, ‘Kill herself.’ But she’s going to do it right here. Remorse and all that.”
“Oh good.”
“Go on, now,” he said. “This isn’t something you want to see.”
Nicoletta hesitated and then I heard her heels click-clacking down the hall.
Charles waited a beat and then reached over and shoved the end of his gun into my mouth. I gagged and tasted metal.
Then he grabbed the neck of my shirt, ripping it down to my waist and started to tug down my pants.
When I tried to fight back, he withdrew the gun and in one smooth motion pistol whipped me. For a second I saw stars and realized I was now flat on my back on the wooden floor. Meanwhile, Charles was above me, straddling my chest, mumbling obscenities.
He talked about wanting to fuck me since the first time he saw me and a bunch of other bullshit. I glared up at him and tried to spit in his face, but it just dripped down the side of my mouth.
“Fuck you!” I screamed and tried to push up. He had me pinned. He was sitting on my chest. I could barely breathe. He held my hands pinned above my head with one arm and then with his other, he reached down to undo his pants.
I brought a knee up sharply and managed to graze his groin. He groaned and briefly released my hands to lift my head by the hair and slam my head into the floor again. When he reached back up to pin my hands, I managed to get one hand free.
He was fumbling with his pants and then reaching for my thighs, trying to part my legs, when I heard a soft sound.
It was Nicoletta. She was standing behind him in bare feet, holding her heeled sandals in her hand. Her face was expressionless. She held a finger up to her lips.
I met her eyes. She gave me a slight nod.
Charles managed to part my legs. His head was facing down as he let go of my hand and used both of his hands to try to maneuver his dick into the right place. I didn’t fight back because right then Nicoletta walked over to the gun and crouched down. Using her handbag, she knocked the gun toward me. It skidded across the floor and came to rest by my free hand.
Before Charles could react, I had the gun in my hand and shoved under his chin.
I scrambled out from under the dead weight of his body, trying to wipe blood and bone off my face. As soon as my ears stopped ringing I heard shouting. I looked around. The room was empty. Nicoletta was gone.
I was pushing bloody sticky strands of hair back from my face when the police rushed in. Instead of helping me, they threw me on the floor and snapped handcuffs on me.
Forty-One
As soon as the district attorney saw the video I recorded, I was released from jail.
Dante picked me up.
“Jesus, Gia,” he said as he looked me over.
I was still covered in blood and bone. They threw a towel at me, but it hadn’t done much good dry.
I looked around the lobby as I followed Dante to the parking lot.
No James.
“I need to call James,” I said as soon as I got into Dante’s car.
“He’s not taking any of this very well.”
“He’s not?” I shouted in astonishment. “He’s not taking this well? How about me being a murder suspect and him not even believing I was innocent and me about to go away on a murder rap. And he’s not taking this well? Well, fuck.”
Dante explained that James had found out Nicoletta had used him for months. And she wasn’t pregnant. He’d gone to see her after my arrest, and she’d coldly told him she’d never been pregnant and never cared about him.
“He didn’t believe me. He believed her. I was almost raped and killed because he took her word over mine.”
“Is she in custody?”
“She’s cooperating with police,” Dante said. “She claims that Charles was threatening her. He told her if she went to the police about his plans, he’d kill her, too. She has a boatload of evidence proving Charles killed all those people. Apparently, he wanted the police to think that Hollingsworth’s murder was just one of a string of murders committed because of the controversial opera.”
“Why did he make me the scape goat then?”
Dante shrugged.
“Dante, they were fucking. I heard them. They were making plans to be together after they murdered Oliver Hollingsworth.”
“She was playing him then. Police found a one-way ticket in her name to Vienna, Austria.”
“So she was fucking him over, too. She was fucking him and James over. Literally and figuratively.”
“I think so.”
“I’m fucking furious with James,” I said. “How could he have been so stupid?”
“Gia,” Dante said calmly. “That’s why he’s so fucked up. Think about how guilty he feels about that? He’s taken a leave of absence. He said he had to get his head together. He didn’t believe you and you almost paid the price with your life.”
Dante was right. I was pissed. I glared out the window at the people walking on the sidewalk.
“In the end, it was Nicoletta who was responsible for the charges being dropped even if she didn’t realize it,” Dante said. “In her hurry to throw Charles under the bus, she basically proved that you didn’t do anything. She’s also helping them convict the guy who did the Deepfake video. He lives in Switzerland or something, so it could be tough to get him extradited.”
“What a cluster fuck,” I said as a BMW cut us off and Dante laid on the horn. “I just want to go home and take a shower and then sleep for the next year.”
“Home?” Dante said. “You think of the hotel as home now?”
He sounded so excited I didn’t have the heart to say something snarky.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think it will be home at least for a while.”
“Great!” he said. “Because we sign papers this week!”
“The old guy agreed even though we didn’t find out who was embezzling.”
“You did find out, actually. It was Maxwell. He knew Herr Janson was going to sell in a few years, and he wanted to buy it. He’s worked here since he was fourteen.”
“Idiot.”
“Dead idiot,” Dante said as he pulled into the circular drive at the hotel.
Up in my suite, Dante waited in the living room while I took a long shower and changed into a pair of baggy sweatpants and a soft T-shirt.
When I came out, he had a plate of hot pasta waiting for me.
“Remember I used to make this for you when you were sick, when we were teenagers and you were hung over?” he asked. “I snuck up to the restaurant and made it.”
“You’re sneaky. And fast,” I said and took a big bite.
“And talented?”
“True.” I smiled. “You’re the only one who has always been there for me.”
“We’re famiglia, Gia.”
I took another big bite of the garlicky, buttery pasta.
It was perfect.
Shortly after cleaning my plate, I crawled in bed and slept for fourteen hours.
The next day my phone rang. It was James.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“I forgive you,” I said. I didn’t make a big deal of it. I knew that apology cost him dearly. In many ways.
“I’m leaving town.”
“I heard.”
We were both silent for a few seconds.
“It’s not your fault,” I finally said. “She was a really good con artist.”
He didn’t respond.
“Where you going?” I asked.
“Serbia,” he said.
“Really?” I was flabbergasted.
“Yes. You have a problem with that?”
I frowned. I didn’t like his dickish attitude. I knew he was hiding his hurt, but it still sucked.
“Take care of yourself. I’ll miss you,” I said.
He didn’t answer, just hung up.
I wasn’t too worried about it. He’d get over it. We’d had heated arguments and conversations before. It was no big deal. We’d be fine the next time we spoke or saw each other. At least that was what I was telling myself. I just hoped he wouldn’t spend too much time beating himself up over that stupid opera bitch.
A few days after I spoke to James, I was busy making arrangements for the construction crews to work on the hotel. The deal had finalized earlier that week, and Dante and I had celebrated with a private champagne dinner at the restaurant.
We’d decided to redo the hotel one floor at a time, so we could keep it operational during reconstruction.
I was hunched over the paperwork and blueprints when the phone in my room rang. I yawned and picked it up. Usually, the only people who called on it were hotel staff or room service.
“’lo?” I said.
“Is this Gia Santella?”
The voice was familiar.
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Anthony Ferraro.”
The mayor.
“I tried your other number…”
“I lost that phone.”
“Oh,” he said.
“That’s fine, Mayor,” I said formally. “What can I do for you?”
I knew he had agreed to speak to the planning commission about the permits and the street closures. But Dante had been the one dealing with him on those issues.
“I have two tickets to a moonlight cruise on the bay and was hoping you would come with me. It’s supposed to be a full moon, and the weather is spectacular.”
I looked toward the window. I’d been at my desk in my hotel room all day, but it did look wonderful outside.
My first instinct was to say no. I had too much work to do. Because I took so long to answer, he must’ve sensed my hesitation.
“I know you’re really busy,” he said. “Dante told me that you’ve been locked up in that hotel room for three days. That’s one reason I decided to buy the tickets. I’m trying to save you from yourself. You need a break. I’m the same as you, Gia. I tend to work too hard. But trust me when I say a tiny break will be good, and you’ll be able to get after everything with a fresh start in the mornin
g.”
It was a convincing speech. I was smiling by the time he was done.
“No wonder you were elected mayor,” I said.
He laughed loud and long. A real, genuine, hearty laugh that made me laugh too.
“So, is that a yes?”
“You win. What time? And what’s the dress code?”
“I’ll be there to pick you up at seven, and the dress code—let’s just say it’s cocktail attire.”
“See you then,” I said softly and hung up.
My attention was back on my laptop. I spent the rest of the afternoon putting together a final cost analysis for my company—they had agreed to finance the remodeling but needed estimates and hard quotes from every contractor and subcontractor involved. I’d just finished a draft of the document when there was a knock on the hotel room door.
It was only then that I noticed the sun was setting. I glanced at the clock. Seven. The mayor was at the door.
Shit.
I raced to the door and flung it open. He stood there in a black button-down shirt and black pants, and he looked like Clark Kent come to call.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I lost track of time. The cost analysis for the remodeling is due in the morning.”
He just stood there in the doorway, grinning, until I finished speaking.
“You going to wear that?”
I looked down at my outfit. I was in bare feet, running shorts and an oversized sweatshirt falling off one shoulder. I had no makeup on, and my dark hair was piled on my head in a messy bun.
“No. Shit. Make yourself a drink,” I said, flustered. I was already racing toward the bedroom. “I’ll only be a second.”
In my room, I stepped under the fastest shower of all time, and when I got out, I slipped on a knee-length little black dress. I sprayed perfume, slicked on some red lipstick and shook out my hair from its bun. Then I grabbed my Jimmy Choo stilettos and my bag and raced to to the living room. He was standing at the window looking out at the Golden Gate.
“Are we late?”
He turned, and his eyes raked over me. I suddenly felt self-conscious.
“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen a woman get ready in my life,” he said and gave me a slow smile. I was about to make an excuse when he spoke more. “And yet, I’m not sure anyone has ever looked so good.”
Dark Justice Page 18
