Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
RAYNE
Istare out of the window and watch the sun setting across the horizon, a rose-gold ribbon of fading sunlight streaking across the sky.
Glass buildings catching the last of the rays and glimmering like beacons, attracting far-off visitors from distant lands.
It would make a stunning photograph, and I really wish I had my camera.
I had forgotten the beauty of Nevada, too often overshadowed by the glittering lights of its famous Strip.
The elevator signals Enzo is back, and I brace myself for his presence.
Of course, he may decide to head straight to his study—or his bed depending on how much he’s had to drink today—but I find myself wanting him to come into the den and sit with me.
We haven’t spoken since the incident in the kitchen yesterday evening when he looked like he was being crushed by the weight of his own guilt.
It’s mildly offensive that he might think he in any way took advantage of me, like I’m not an autonomous human being who makes decisions for myself.
But still, I’d prefer to clear the air, and also clarify there will be no repeat performance.
We fucked all of that angst and tension out of our systems now, surely?
His footsteps grow closer, and my treacherous heart does a little fluttery thing when he walks into the room.
I tell myself that it’s just because he looks so damn good in that suit.
The top few buttons of his crisp white shirt are undone and his black tie hangs loose around his neck, making him look effortlessly disheveled.
He really is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
He grabs a bottle of brandy from the cabinet and two crystal tumblers, setting them on the coffee table before dropping onto the sofa opposite me. He runs a hand through his thick dark hair and closes his eyes.
“How was today?” I risk asking.
“Not fun.” His eyes snap open, landing immediately on mine. I shiver. Then he leans forward and pours himself a brandy. “Want one?”
“Yes, please.” I close my book and place it on the sofa next to me, and Enzo hands me a brandy. This feels all too civilized and pleasant for my liking.
“I had a lot of interesting conversations today,” he says cryptically, eyeing me over the rim of his glass.
“Any that you’d like to share with me?”
He downs his brandy in one gulp. “Not particularly.”
“So why even mention them, Enzo?”
“Because you asked how today was.” He shrugs. “And because who the fuck else am I going to talk to.” He pours himself another measure.
“You’re drunk.”
He smirks and knocks the second drink back. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Rayne?”
“Did you come in here to pick a fight? I mean, it’s cool if you did because I’m bored as hell, but just so I know what Enzo to expect this evening. Dealing with all of your personalities is exhausting.”
He licks his lips. “I didn’t come to pick a fight, no.”
“Good.” I eye him warily and take a sip of my drink, enjoying the smooth woody flavor as it warms my mouth and then my throat. “Are you any closer to finding the video?” And getting me the hell out of here? Wisely, I keep the latter to myself.
“No. It wasn’t at his club. Wasn’t at Joseph’s or Oscar’s house.” He stares into space, like he’s thinking about something. “Are you sure it exists, and it wasn’t just some ploy to get you back here?”
“I told you, Joseph Bertelli described it to me in great detail. Nobody else knows what was on that video apart from the two people in that room.”
“Perhaps Tommy told him?” he offers.
“Impossible.”
He snorts. “You still think he was that good of a guy?”
Tommy was one of the best men. He hated the life he was born into, and he did everything he could to escape it.
There was a time I honestly thought he’d convince Enzo to leave it all behind too.
But Enzo was always too loyal to his family, whereas Tommy was like me—no family to speak of, except for his brother, obviously.
And the less said about him right now the better.
So, yes, Tommy would never betray me like that, but that’s not the reason he couldn’t have told anyone what was on that video.
It’s because he wasn’t even there. Someone in Enzo’s own inner circle set him up, and at least one of his brothers was in on it, so how the hell do I tell him that?
There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell he’d believe me.
So I stay quiet. Small. Invisible—the way all good little girls should be.
Enzo sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Did Joseph tell you how he came to be in possession of it after all these years?”
“Not in so many words,” I admit.
His eyes narrow. “What does that even mean, Rayne?” he asks, tone dripping with annoyance.
“It means he hinted at something, and it’s something I suspected myself given the circumstances.”
He stares at me, like he’s waiting for me to finish talking. Eventually he breaks the silence I refuse to. “So, what’s your theory?”
“You won’t like it.”
“I don’t like a lot of things that have happened this past week and a half, but seems that’s just my life now. So spit it out.”
I take a breath and steel myself for his disbelief, not to mention his rage at me making such an accusation.
But he’s called me a liar many times—I can handle it.
“Joseph said that he came into possession of the video after your papa died. He never said as much, but I got the impression it was your father’s property and he’d kept it hidden somewhere.
And it makes sense to me. Especially after Joseph told me it was probably recorded using some kind of hidden device.
Your father had unlimited access to our bedroom.
” There, I said it. Accused his beloved hero of something, even if I’m not entirely sure what that something is.
I wait for his rebuke. His accusations. But they don’t come. He stares at me for the longest time, his brow furrowed in a scowl. “That makes sense, even if I don’t want it to. But why the hell would he set up a camera in our room, Rayne?”
“I have no idea,” I tell him. But pieces of a puzzle are falling into place.
He wanted to capture what happened, didn’t he?
And then use it for what? Blackmail? I’m more certain than ever that Giovanni was involved in what happened to me in some way.
Or, at the very least, he knew the truth.
And still he let an innocent man be murdered.
He let his own son believe he’d been betrayed.
Enzo pours himself another measure of brandy. “Why would he hang onto that recording for all these years? That really makes no fucking sense to me at all.”
“Nor to me,” I admit. Unless it was for blackmail, and not to blackmail me obviously, but the other person who was in that room so that he’d keep his mouth shut too.
Would Enzo believe me if I told him everything now?
He did just accept my theory about the video with no argument…
but this is different. This is his family betraying him in the worst possible way.
While I’m buoyed by the fact that he so readily believed me just a moment ago, this would be so much bigger.
The kind of revelation that would rock his entire existence.
And I can’t forget the way he reacted that day.
The things he called me. The look of disgust and contempt on his face.
It’s why I can never fully trust him ever again, no matter how much I might want to try.