Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Angelo

"It's best we melt the gold and sell it with the gemstones on the black market," my broker says. "That way, there's no question about how the jewelry was acquired."

"You've got the original warranties, don't you?"

We found the paperwork at the bottom of the crate. As it turned out, the old man had bought all that bling.

"Without receipts, you can't prove it hadn't been stolen," he says.

"The stores should have a record of the sales."

"Not if he paid cash. Most of those stores are pawn shops. The last thing you want is to sell a ring that's been reported stolen. You don't want that kind of trail leading to you."

He's right, but it's a lot of gold to smelt. Selling twenty-four-carat gold bars and bags full of cut diamonds, emeralds, and rubies without attracting attention will be tricky. I'll have to split the yield and send different buyers across the globe a few kilos each. It's delicate work that requires calling in a few favors, which will result in me owing some favors too.

Suppressing a sigh, I say, "Do it."

Just as I end the call, one of my men enters with the drone recording. My body tenses. This is it, the point that will make or break me. Whatever is on that video will decide how my future with Sabella plays out. For a fleeting moment, I consider not taking it, but I've been putting off facing the truth for too long.

"That it?" I ask, tidying a stack of papers.

He jumps at attention. "Yes, sir."

I nod at my desk. "Leave it."

He places it carefully on a vacant spot.

I lift my gaze to his. "Did you detain him?"

"Yes, sir. We pulled him off just before the bridge."

"Out of sight from the house?"

"Yes, sir. We chose a distance that's not visible from the upstairs windows."

I nod. "Where is he?"

"In the cellar, like you instructed, sir."

"Thanks," I say, turning my attention back to the contract in my hand.

Once he's gone, I drop the papers and stare at the USB key on the corner of my desk. I don't touch it. I reach for the bottle of Scotch instead. I pour four fingers and take my time to sip it, appreciating the notes of dried fruit, vanilla, and spices on my tongue. I'm not only stalling but also fortifying myself for what awaits.

When the glass is near-empty, I snatch up the key and plug it into my laptop. The drone is equipped with powerful video and audio recording technology. I anticipated that Sabella and Lavigne would go outside. The drone was ready. The minute the men informed me that Lavigne had entered my property, I'd instructed the pilot to launch the ultra-silent, state-of-the-art piece of equipment that's used in military combat.

I already watched the camera feed from the house. I was wrapping it up when my broker called. My hand hovers over the mouse, three seconds ticking on, but then I double-click to open the file.

I spy on Sabella and Lavigne like a hawk from the sky as they walk to the cliff and stare into the distance. Thanks to the highly advanced microphone that isolates the voices and eliminates other sounds such as the wind and birds, their conversation is as clear as if they're having it here in this room. The powerful zoom lens focuses on their expressions, portraying not only their actions but also their body language, those gestures that give away the words they don't say.

When I get to the part where he offers her amnesty and witness protection, I rewind twice before letting the video play out to the end.

At first, I feel nothing. I'm just a robot taking in the facts. As the numbness wears off, I'm consumed by disbelief, not knowing what to make of what's right in front of me.

It's not what I expected.

Slowly, the fact sinks in.

Sabella didn't betray me.

She never made a deal.

Not today, and not on the night of our wedding.

I was deceived. The blow was dealt by someone else. Hugo, my uncle's informant. He slipped me false information. The why remains.

After the truth has settled, elation kicks in. I'm a mess. I'm torn between relief and guilt. Mostly guilt. But there's time for that later. The fact that Sabella didn't accept Lavigne's offer doesn't mean she won't try to leave me later. I'm lucid enough to register that in the exhilaration of the moment. But she's not guilty of the crime Hugo pinned on her, a crime my family punishes with death.

The worst I keep for last—the fury.

Lavigne watched.

He allowed my wife to be humiliated, and he watched. Saw her naked. Saw parts of her no man but me should see.

I rewind the final few minutes and play it over again. And again. And again. Until the rage boils up inside me like a volcano and the violence sweeps me along, demanding an outlet. Justice.

When I push to my feet, I'm calm. It's only on the surface though. Inside me, the monster reared his head. And it's the monster who's in control, not the man.

I go to the cellar, dismiss the men guarding my prisoner, and lock the door. Lavigne is chained to the wall by his hands and his feet, naked and spreadeagled in the same spot I once reserved for Sabella when I believed she was looking for information to have me locked away.

I walk over and study him. There's not a mark on his body. Good. I ordered my men to deliver him without a scratch. This is personal. I want to inflict each blow and make every cut myself.

The fucker stares me straight in the eyes. "It took you longer than I expected."

He's brave. For now. My men didn't gag him. The room is soundproof. More to the point, I want to savor his screams.

I undo my cuffs and roll back my sleeves.

A layer of sweat covers his face. He glances at the table on which the implements are set out. "You're a cop killer now? You can still negotiate. Have special privileges in prison. Make sure your family is safe and taken care of. But once you cross this line, it's over. They'll take you out when they can. You know that."

I pull on the surgical gloves.

"You sent me that note, you fuck," he hurls at me. "You set me up. Lured me here. It was a trap."

Yes on all counts. His execution was always a given. No one drags my wife into a police cell and lives. No one touches her and breathes.

The sharp snap as I adjust the elastic of a glove echoes in the space.

"She cut a deal, you know," he says with a sardonic grin. "Sold you out for a new identity and a lousy few grand to help her get on her feet."

"Yeah." I cross my arms behind my back and pace in front of him. My voice is soft, controlled. "I saw the recording." Stopping in front of him, I lean close to his face. "I heard what she said."

He blanches.

That's right. I was going to end him quickly, but after what he said, I'll start with his eyes.

"No," he yells when I pick up the screwdriver.

Bringing it to his right eye, I say, "This is for Sabella. For my wife."