Chapter 2
Troy
We pull up to Caleb’s apartment on the other end of Salding.
It’s a solidly middle-class area. Caleb could probably afford something flashier, but maybe he’s comfortable here.
Maybe he likes the smallness of it. Maybe he picked it because it’s like my little apartment—something untouched by the Laytons.
His car is in the lot, so he beat us here. In fact, he’s waiting for us in the small lobby, still in the suit he wore to the wedding. We go up to his apartment together, not speaking.
As soon as we’re in, Edmund says, “What the fuck happened back there?”
“I’m not sure.” Caleb frowns, eyes pinched in worry. “I’m sorry, man. Match and Torkin—are they…?”
“Dead.” I glance around the apartment. “We’ll need a list of everyone who worked at the wedding, see if anyone saw something.”
I don’t say it aloud, but we also need to know if anyone on the Layton payroll is working for our enemies. Vorsong Circle seems to know way too much about the movements of the Layton family.
“Yeah, of course.” Caleb goes into the kitchen and finds a notebook and pen. “I’ll make the list. I was there, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Edmund’s voice is cutting.
Caleb swallows. I almost feel bad for him, except he has once again failed us. Once this is over, I don’t think even his mother’s influence can save his position with the family. Once this is over, I never want to see his face again.
“So, um.” Caleb clears his throat as he writes down names. “Pope was there. Scollins. Hoffman. Warren. Jeffries. And this other guy—I never met him before. Romano.”
I straighten up. So does Edmund. “Who’s Romano?”
“Damiano Romano. I don’t know him. When I told Ed Senior I needed another guy, he tried to put me on security instead of the guest list. But then he changed his mind and called in a favor with Romano.”
He changed his mind is code for my mom got involved and convinced Ed Senior otherwise.
“Let’s track down Romano.” Edmund takes the list from Caleb and starts toward the door.
I follow him. When we reach the door, I turn and see Caleb standing in the middle of the living room, looking stupid. I raise my eyebrows. “You’re coming, too.”
Caleb has a number for Romano. We call as we walk to my truck, but he isn’t picking up. I call Ed Senior to get Romano’s address.
Ed Senior’s annoyance drips through the speaker. “It’s not going to do you any good, Manchester. Romano won’t know anything.”
“Still, sir, I’d appreciate the chance to talk to him.”
Ed Senior grumbles, but he says, “It’s the Palazzo dei Nove.”
Caleb whistles under his breath. Palazzo dei Nove is a luxury apartment building.
“Which unit?” I ask.
“Hell if I know.” Ed Senior muffles himself while he shouts at someone in the background. “It’s his building. He’s probably on the top floor.”
“His building,” Caleb says, “like he owns it?”
“Yes.” The line goes dead. Ed Senior ended the call.
I turn to Edmund. “Well?”
“Let’s go there.” He looks as if he’s choking with anger. He’s holding it back, but it simmers beneath the surface. “Maybe Romano will turn up.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re standing outside Palazzo dei Nove. The building is sleek, modern. Rich. One of the nicest complexes in San Esteban. It gleams against the pink sunset. Unlike most of San Esteban’s high-end buildings, this one is located in the Salding district instead of Dorado Heights.
“Try him again,” Edmund says to Caleb.
Caleb taps at his phone. The ringing sounds twice, before a cultured, smooth voice answers, “This is Romano.”
“Romano, hey, it’s Caleb Morraine. I work with the Laytons.”
“I remember you.”
“Right.” Caleb nods and flashes me an uncertain smile. He adds, “Have you returned home from the wedding?”
Romano sounds amused. “I am at the bar on the ground floor of my building. I am looking at you, the groom, and the best man.”
We turn as a unit to peer through the darkened windows next to us.
A man inside raises his arm in greeting. Over the phone, he says, “Would you be so kind as to join me for a drink?”
Edmund nods, so the three of us go inside.
Romano is tall, good-looking. His black hair is expertly styled, his brown eyes assessing. He waves over a server as we join him at a table. “Caleb, please introduce me to your friends.”
“Right,” Caleb stammers. “This is Edmund Layton and Troy Manchester. Edmund and Troy, this is Damiano Romano.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks in a faint Italian accent.
I say, “We need to talk to you about the wedding.”
“Ah yes, the runaway bride.” He has the decency to look unhappy. “For what it’s worth, she didn’t come through the front of the church when she left.”
The server approaches, but none of us wants anything. Edmund orders a scotch, but I have a feeling we’ll be gone before the server brings it over.
“How do you know she didn’t leave through the front?” I ask.
“I was stationed at the front of the church, greeting the guests. Ed thought it best if the guards at the front showed more…polish, I think was his word.” He flashes us a sleek grin.
Everything about this guy screams money, power. If he’s a part of Vorsong Circle, he’s at the top…which makes me think he had nothing to do with Dani’s kidnapping. It simply doesn’t make sense.
Edmund glowers. “You realize, don’t you, that she didn’t run away voluntarily.”
Romano’s smile falls. “What? How? What are you saying?”
“Someone took her, through the east exit.” I picture the side of the church in my mind. Plenty of parking spaces along there, and a long lane for service vehicles to park near a door. “They killed our guards who were stationed there.”
“That is unacceptable.” Romano’s voice is harsh, his gaze lethal. He’s reacting as if someone important to him was taken, but as far as I know, he didn’t know Dani at all. “What can I do to help? I have resources.”
“Nothing yet.” Edmund stands up, signals to the bartender that we’re leaving. He drops a bill on the table for the trouble. “We might be in touch.”
Romano nods. “I’ll be ready.”
* * *
Danica
I don’t know how many hours pass in the creepy office. A while—a long while. My arms go numb. At one point, I start to nod off, but I jerk awake before sleep comes.
“Danica Montrose.” The door swings open and my captor stands before me.
Black pants, white shirt. He looks like a food server, like I could picture him wielding a giant tray of crab puffs.
I doubt that’s his side gig, though—the dead eyes would make guests fear the crab puffs are full of razor blades.
He nods, as if reading my thoughts and confirming them.
“I’ll help you to the bathroom. How rude of me to neglect you for so long. ”
The last thing I want to do is pee with this guy standing nearby. But peeing myself seems worse.
“Yeah.” My voice croaks from disuse. “Okay.”
He unhooks my bindings from the chair. My arms ache and sting as the blood rushes back through them. He hauls me to the bathroom, where he leaves the door open.
I struggle to lift the flouncy skirts of my wedding gown. His gaze is on me, but not in a perverted way. I feel more like a wild animal being surveyed by a curious human. He doesn’t care—at all—about what I’m doing. He doesn’t care about me. I am a bag of meat to this guy.
Sociopath, I think. That’s what he is. Someone who doesn’t feel emotions or caring in the same way most people do.
The realization causes me to shiver. He could kill me at any point. There’s no reasoning with him.
When he leads me back to the strange room, I go willingly. I don’t want to annoy him. The less he thinks about me, the better.
Something metallic glints on the floor. It’s next to an old desk covered in liquid-filled bowls. At first I think it’s a ruler, but then I realize—it’s an old utility knife.
Holy shit. I need that.
I can’t get it now, though. His hands are bands around my upper arms, maneuvering me around. If I go for the knife, he’ll overpower me in seconds.
Quickly, I look away from it. He must not know the knife is there, otherwise he wouldn’t have left it. Something like that knife could cut through the plastic rope he uses to re-tie my hands behind me.
He finishes tying me up and stands in front of me, hands on his hips. “Do you pray, Danica Montrose?”
“Sorry, do I—what?”
He tilts his head. “I believe my words were clear.”
“I guess I do, sometimes.”
“You may want to start praying more.” He doesn’t smile. His face is expressionless.
It’s the most chilling statement I’ve heard in my entire life.
* * *
Troy
Edmund and I ditch Caleb to go to Rendsell. Caleb goes off to meet with Warren. Edmund and I are in search of Pope, who was due to work at Rendsell after the wedding.
Darkness has fallen by the time we get there. We find Pope at the front gate. Arky dances around, barking gleefully at the sight of Edmund and me driving up.
“Hey, guys. Go on in.” Pope jabs a thumb toward the house.
Like usual, Pope’s dark blond hair is buzzed short.
Same hairstyle he’s worn since I met him ten, fifteen years ago.
He strikes me as the kind of man who hates dealing with details.
It’s one reason he’s been a low-level guard all these years.
Follows directions, doesn’t think outside the box.
I always thought Pope was a decent guy. A little on the stupid side, but loyal enough to be a guard.
Unless someone else got to him. Convinced him to switch loyalties. He’s dumb enough to be swayed by someone else’s argument.
“Actually, it’s you we’d like to speak with.” Edmund opens his door and comes around the front of the car. He absently pats Arky, but his full attention is fixed on Pope. Anger shines in his eyes. “Tell us about this morning.”
Pope’s eyebrows pull together. He scratches his big nose. “Well, I didn’t see anything, if that’s what you mean. I saw folks moving around. Seemed like they all belonged there.”
“Did Match or Torkin talk to you at any point?” I ask. “Even to check in?”
“Not a word.” Pope’s face crumples. “I liked Match and Torkin.”
I grimace, hoping he doesn’t cry. Not that I care if men cry, but guys in the Layton family are weird about it. We don’t have time for weird.
“They were good guys.” He clears his throat, takes a moment to collect himself. “Anyway. We were all pretty quiet on the comms. Nothing suspicious. Warren and Morraine were giving each other some shit, then Morraine turned off his comm for the ceremony. After that, well…”
He trails off and sends a cautious glance to Edmund.
Edmund clenches his fists. “Did you have anything to do with Danica’s kidnapping?”
“No! No way.” Pope leans back.
Edmund follows him, stepping forward with his shoulders squared. “Because if you did, you will die. Painfully.”
Pope’s face pales. “I swear I didn’t touch her and I don’t know who did!”
I clamp a hand on Edmund’s shoulder and steer him back to my truck. He doesn’t speak. He just stares hard at Pope.
Arky leaps around the truck as we try to climb in. Pope whistles for Arky and holds him by the collar, scratching him behind the ears as we drive away.
“Try to go easier,” I tell Edmund. “Pope nearly pissed himself.”
“He won’t have a dick to piss with if he had a hand in Danica’s kidnapping.”