Casimir turned away from her, turned his back. Paced. Didn't turn on the lights. "I was there. There are images of me walking through the hotel, checking everywhere a couple of hours before I met with the head of security. The recordings will pass inspection. I'm very good at what I do."
His voice was clipped. Abrupt. An undertone of anger and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. She moved toward him. He swung around and held up his hand as if he had eyes in the back of his head.
"Stay there."
She halted instantly. "What is it, what's wrong?" She had known all along something was wrong. She'd felt it. He hadn't come to her the way he would have. The knots in her stomach tightened to the point of pain.
Casimir didn't answer her. His mask didn't slip, not even for a moment. The knots in her stomach got tighter. "Luigi knows Arturo is dead. He said his body was found in cuffs, hanging from the ceiling by chains and he died in a fire." She kept her voice strictly neutral.
"Hell, yeah, he died in a fire," Casimir said.
His rage shook the room. She felt the floor shifting. The walls breathing in and out trying to contain the pressure.
She wrapped her arms around her middle. She knew Arturo had to die. "He used to hold me when Luigi would get angry with me because I wasn't fast enough or silent enough when I trained. He would sneak me chocolate bars and..."
"Don't." He snarled the command. Stepped close.
For the first time she saw the killer in him. She saw him. The man that was part of Casimir, maybe even the largest part. The man she'd so studiously avoided seeing when she homed in on the gentle soul he kept hidden from the world.
"Casimir, I can't help but remember his kindness to me when I was a child." She opened her mouth to continue, to tell him she understood that Arturo had to die, that he deserved it, but she couldn't help that small arrow of grief for the man she'd thought he was.
"Don't you even think about that fucker," Casimir snapped. He stared down at her, his face an unreadable mask, his eyes as piercing as they could possibly be even with the dark contacts - alive with something close to hatred. "That man played you. Don't you dare grieve for him. They had a little routine, your uncle and Arturo."
Her hand rose defensively to her throat. His voice betrayed him. The fire in him was roaring. Angry. No, it was raging. And it ran deep. "I don't understand, Casimir."
"They set up a little school there in that building and they brought unwilling women and trained them. Arturo was the one who tore the skin off a woman with his whips. He caned her. He gave her so much pain she would do anything to make it stop. While they hurt her, tortured and humiliated her, they manipulated her body so she eventually couldn't get off without pain."
Her throat closed. Her lungs seized. She couldn't breathe.
"Arturo, that man you want to grieve for, trained those women by hanging them from the ceiling or tying them to a wooden bench or cross or whatever the hell he wanted in the moment. He beat a woman until she was cooperative and would do whatever he said, whatever any man they gave her to ordered. Your uncle had to have been the good guy, the one who came in and soothed her, cared for her, gave her those little intimate moments that gave her hope that someone actually cared. Then he used her. Abused her. Sold her time to very ugly, perverted men who hurt her over and over. Then Luigi would come back and soothe her all over again. They just reversed the roles with you, Giacinta. Luigi was the assassin. He trained you - was the disciplinarian - while Arturo assumed the role of the man who gave you those little touches to make you think he cared."
"Stop. Stop it, Casimir. I was a child. I lost my parents, my family, everything. You're taking everything."
He glared down at her, implacable. "You never had it in the first place. It was an illusion they created for you, not something real. Arturo was as sick as they come. I hung that sick fuck in the bloody chains and the pool of blood where he'd killed Carlotta. They took her there. They tortured her for days, while I sat in a fucking car a few hundred yards away and let it happen." He spat the words at her.
She couldn't stop the tears from burning her eyes even though she knew that would only fan the fire burning so hot in him. She should have known the moment she stepped in the room and found it so hot. He hadn't turned up his thermostat, he was fighting to keep from setting the house on fire with his rage.
She understood his rage. He blamed himself for not getting into the building, not discovering what was happening until it was too late. He hadn't saved the woman. That had to have brought flashbacks of the partners he'd been forced to have as a young teenager when they were teaching him control. The women who died because he'd had that control.
"Don't you fucking cry for him," he snarled.
He caught her face in one hand and she felt every fingerprint burning into her jaw. She didn't try to pull away or explain that the tears weren't for Arturo or Luigi. She wouldn't cry for either of them. The tears were for her lost childhood. For those women. Most of all they were for him. For Casimir to have to witness such a thing. To have to remember. To relive that nightmare. To let that terrible door crack open and memories spill out when the brutal tragedy happened all over again. He hadn't saved the woman. That was all he would see. All he would feel.
"Arturo tortured those women in his little sex school. I did the same to him and made certain he was alive when he burned. He didn't get to die easy. He felt every touch of the flames. And I was glad he felt them. I needed him to feel every one of those flames that crept up his body. He was the torch that started the building on fire. Arturo. Your little childhood buddy. Every lick of flame on his feet and legs, just like the whips he struck those women with. So precise. The maximum hurt with the least amount of actual damage to their bodies so they couldn't die and be free. I did that, to him, with whips and then with fire, Giacinta. I let that fucker and your bastard of an uncle turn me into a monster when all these years I've never allowed that. I gave that to them."
"Casimir." She said his name softly.
"Get the fuck out of here."
She remained where she was. She understood everything now. He detested himself for not saving the widow, but more, he believed he had become the thing Sorbacov tried to create - the monster he'd refused to be all those years of empty loneliness - of being everyone but Casimir Prakenskii.
She shook her head. "I'm not going to do that. I'm never going to do that. You're mine, Casimir. Mine. You aren't Sorbacov's. You don't belong to him. You never did. Luigi and Arturo can't turn you into a monster. You aren't capable of being a monster. Don't you dare ever put yourself in the same category."
"I burned that fucker alive."
"You found a woman dead, in a pool of blood, a woman he tortured and killed. We're fire elements. What did you think was going to happen? Had I come across a scene like that, do you think I could keep fire under control? You can blame yourself for Carlotta suffering those nights you were outside, but you and I both know, we can only make decisions based on what we know. We had a timetable. You couldn't risk getting caught just to satisfy curiosity. Had you broken into that building, you might have blown our covers. We didn't know what was in there."
He didn't respond, he just looked at her. There was pain in his eyes. Pain a monster would never feel.
"I need to come to you now, Casimir. I need to put my arms around you and hold you. Will you let me do that?"
He continued to stand there without speaking, his eyes drifting over her face. He was utterly still, as if holding himself together and if he moved he would shatter into a million pieces.
She didn't ask again. She crossed the space between them and slid her arms around him, pressed her body into him tightly. Laid her head over his heart. "If I haven't told you yet, I love you. I know it's too soon to say that. I know you're going to say I don't know you, but now, right now..." She tilted her face up so her eyes could meet his. "I saw all of you. The best and the worst. I saw what they tried to shape you into, and I know
that's part of who you are. I also know they didn't succeed the way they wanted because of your character, because of who you were born to be. Because of your genetics and your parents and your brothers. You might not have been raised with them, but they were there for you. Inside you. Helping you hold out against the monsters. I see you, Casimir, and the man I see, the one you are, that's the man I love. Don't take him away from me. Don't let the Arturos, Luigis and Sorbacovs win."
Very slowly his arms came up to wrap tight around her. He didn't say anything at all, but he nearly broke her in half tightening his hold on her, locking her to him so hard he clearly wanted to share the same skin. They stood there, just holding each other, and then he finally dropped his head over hers, his lips in her hair.
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "You have to go to Luigi. Can you do it? Can you play out this charade? The cops will want to question him about Arturo. We can't kill him now. Not and have it look like an accident. Someone will be suspicious." He loosened his hold on her to catch her chin in his palm, lifting her face to his. "Can you do this, Giacinta? Because if you can't, we'll leave. We can disappear and come back in a few weeks or I will, and finish this."
"I'll finish it."
"It might be best if you go to the States and wait for me there."
She shook her head. "You can't get close to the Sorbacovs and you have no chance at all without me. With me, with both of us acting together, we can eliminate them and come out of this alive. I'm not about to let Luigi and his plan to rule Italy as head of two families ruin our chances to ensure your brothers and my sisters a peaceful, happy life."
His gaze moved over her face. Possessive. Still angry. Still upset, but loving her. She felt that. Loving her. He didn't say it, but she felt it.
"Kiss me, Casimir. Right now. I need to carry your strength with me when I go down to him. It's going to be a long night. Tomorrow I have to be the real me and go to the hotel as if none of this has touched me. The world doesn't know me as Luigi's niece. I'm the woman who sold him chandeliers. Everyone thinks he gave me my big break here in Italy and that we remained friends."
He didn't hesitate. He framed her face with both hands and brought his mouth down on hers. Gently. Tenderly. A haunting, evocative kiss that would stay with her for a long, long time, as he meant it to.
"I'll be in your bed, malyshka," he whispered against her lips. He kissed her again. A little harder. A little longer. A lot more aggressively.
A slow somersault started in Lissa's stomach. Little darts of fire streaked through her bloodstream. It didn't seem to matter what the circumstances were, his kisses got to her. Claimed her. Took her out of whatever horrible world she was in and brought her into a much better one.
She stepped away from him because she had to. She wasn't going to cling. If she did, he was in no state to let her go. He'd walk calmly downstairs and put a bullet in Luigi's head and take her out of there. She was certain of it. She didn't need that connection between them to know what was in his mind and what he would do if she hesitated.
Lissa walked slowly down the stairs, dread in every step. She'd told Casimir she could do this - and she would - but it wasn't easy and she didn't want him to witness her struggle. That definitely would be a disaster. She stood in the doorway of her uncle's study. He was on the phone, his back to the door, swearing at someone. She caught the name "Angeline" and she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the doorjamb. Of course he would have to call his wife and tell her Arturo was dead. She would find out sooner or later, and it was better coming from him. He would give her the tale he'd given to Lissa - that Arturo and the widow were lovers and into kinky games.
"Tio." She didn't want to eavesdrop on his conversation. He spun around, and she shook her head. "Sorry," she mouthed. "I didn't see you on the phone." She made as if to leave, but he waved her inside.
"I have to go," Luigi said decisively into the phone, and hung up. "He was up there of course, or you wouldn't have taken so long."
"Tomasso liked Arturo. I had to tell him something since I went into his bedroom."
He nodded. "I called the hotel. He was there and very thorough. He familiarized himself with the layout before he even spoke to the head of security. I had them pull the tapes to see what time he arrived. He couldn't possibly have had anything to do with Arturo's death."
"I know this sounds horrible, Tio, and I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but if the widow was having an affair with Arturo while Cosmos was alive, could she have been carrying on with someone else? Someone who might have been jealous?"
"I don't know. I didn't hear any rumors about anyone else. Cosmos was pretty demanding. To get information, I had to become friends with him. I even had dinner at his house occasionally. That's how Arturo met her. I needed to know the layout of the house and the routine his bodyguards had so I could give it to you. Maybe Aldo thought an Abbracciabene shouldn't be spending so much time with a Porcelli soldier and he arranged to have Arturo killed in order to send a message. Who else, Gia?"
"Tio." She gentled her voice. "You have to call me Lissa even when we're alone. No one can know who I am. That was your order."
He sighed heavily, nodding as he did so.
"And you can't go to see Aldo Porcelli. You can't. Even to get more information. If he put out a hit on Arturo, then I have to take him out this weekend. In the meantime, you need to retire to your wing of the house and have the men you trust the most guarding this place. Don't get into your car, don't go anywhere. Don't allow even a cop to talk to you alone. Have your bodyguards in the room with you and have at least one standing behind anyone insisting on meeting with you at all times."
"Yes, yes, I'll do that," he agreed.
"I don't need a bodyguard. I'm nothing to Aldo. Keep Tomasso here with you. He's been loyal and now, with Arturo dead, you need someone good."
"Absolutely not." He stood up. "He'll go with you. Someone needs to watch over you. I'm not taking any chances with your life."
He was back to being Luigi, head of the Abbracciabene family. The man who had ordered the hit on his own brother. He wanted Aldo killed. He was too close to his goal to allow even the death of his oldest friend to delay his plans. He needed Lissa alive to take out his last obstacle.
Lissa nodded. "I'm exhausted, Tio Luigi. You must be too. You've been so sick and you don't want to have a relapse, so let's both go to bed." She didn't give him a chance to protest. She couldn't be in the same room with him, not for one more moment.
12
Luigi had purchased his home in a small town far from Ferrara, supposedly to keep his niece safe. If Lissa hadn't taken everything her uncle told her at face value, she would have realized that the Porcelli family would have kept tabs on the new head of the Abbracciabene family, no matter where he was located. Italy wasn't so huge that he could hide.
Polignano a Mare was a very small coastal town rising out of the cliffs on the Adriatic Sea. The population varied at times, but it rarely reached more than four thousand. The town offered breathtaking views over the sea, was magnificent with its white-washed streets and variety of old churches, and boasted a beach with stunning, warm, turquoise waters, and cliffs rising on either side.
Lissa loved the town and the people who lived there. They were friendly, waving and chatting when she wandered around town or stopped at Salvadore's, the little cappuccino bar. The town was one of her favorite places in the entire world. She looked forward to visiting it often.
Casimir told her that Luigi's wife and sons were in his much larger estate in the city of Bari, only about forty-seven kilometers from Polignano a Mare, a short enough drive. Bari had an international airport, making it easy for Lissa to fly in from the States. That also made it easy for Luigi to travel back and forth in forty minutes or less using the main highway. He could retire to his apartment feigning illness, sneak out, and be home in record time.
The hotel was beautiful, family owned and an enchanted retreat for celebriti
es that heard about the gem on the staggeringly beautiful cliffs. Lissa had been there a few times just for drinks and dinner. The food was always amazing and the views spectacular.
Tomasso reached around her to open the door of the hotel for her, his body brushing against hers. A shiver of awareness went through her, the way it always did when he was close. She leaned back into him for a moment and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder.
Casimir would be gorgeous to her in any role he assumed, but she was particularly fond of his bodyguard persona. "I inherit Luigi's house here in the village if he dies. He showed me the papers many times over the years. I love it here."
He dipped his head, his mouth brushing her ear, sending more shivers arrowing straight to her core, igniting a fire.
"Is that your subtle way of telling me Luigi's home needs to stay intact with no fire damage?"
His body crowded hers, forcing her to step inside the beautiful lobby. She laughed softly, grateful Casimir could make an attempt at humor when he'd been so quiet the night before. He'd held her all night, his body tight against hers, one leg between hers, the other over her thigh. His arms had wrapped her up, locking her to him. She hadn't minded being close - she loved it - but she hated that he was so quiet.