Chapter 4
Chapter four
Why a king and not a queen?
The symbolism gnaws at me.
Chess pieces and raven feathers haunt me.
Does the killer think they’re a poet?
Mocking the fact Father is dead, and foreshadowing that I will be next?
These thoughts torment me throughout my five-day hospital stay. The guards are posted outside my door, deterring anyone who wants me dead. They are the only ones keeping me calm.
Now I sit in the back of the black tinted SUV driven by Mario on the highway to hell.
The weight of what I’m about to do settles into my bones and the compression wrap around my chest feels like it’s about to crush my lungs.
In a few minutes I’ll be face to face with Dominic Cartieri after fifteen years. I cringe. Our last interaction wasn’t my finest moment. But how was I supposed to react when this man promised me the world, then broke it with his badge. Ugh. I hate him.
“We’ll be at Dominic Cartieri’s office in about five minutes, Cipi,” Mario’s voice breaks the tsunami of thoughts swirling in my head.
I adjust my fur coat and fold my arms.
Dominic Cartieri.
I hate how his name still gets to me.
The memory of his voice, his scent, his laugh, it all lingers in the corners of my mind that I desperately boarded shut.
There is no hope for romance.
Not after everything that happened between us.
Not to mention he venomously disapproves of my job.
This is about survival.
This is about finding out who wants to kill me and taking them out before they can do me in for good.
I finger the diamond earring in my left ear and exhale slowly as we pull up in front of the sleek high-rise where Cartieri Investigations is headquartered.
Mario gets out and walks around the vehicle to open the door for me.
Leaning forward, I take his hand and wince as the stitches pull in my side.
I can’t wait to get them out. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I see a second blacked-out SUV pull up behind us.
It’s Matteo and the guards, waiting patiently until I need them.
I shake my head. Being the boss of this enterprise means that I'm rarely alone.
I’m always protected at all times.
But lately that vow of protection is strained because a rat seems to be on the inside.
Mario closes the door and I catch my reflection in the tinted windows. My raven locks cascade to my breasts and makeup hides the paleness from my battle with death. I look poised, powerful, and polished. No one would ever know I was suffering from a gunshot wound, and I intend to keep it that way.
Matteo gets out of the second car, followed by two guards.
“This is the place?” I breathe.
“Yep, I saw it on his website.” Matteo takes my arm. “He’s on the thirtieth floor.”
Together we walk to the door of the towering glass building that reflects the Chicago skyline in its mirrored panels. The soldiers are on either side of us. My heart hammers loudly as the doors slide back to reveal a chrome and marble lobby.
My crimson heels click as we cross the space to the elevator. Next to it is a gold-plated directory fastened to the wall. Matteo presses the button and we step inside.
Time stands still as the elevator glides upward and the numbers increase on the panel. I flinch as a wave of pain travels through me. I should be home in bed resting but a sitting duck is something I won’t be.
I hold my breath as the heavy doors retract back.
The glass door with the engraving, Cartieri Investigations, is right across the hall staring at me.
It’s showtime.
“Are you okay?” Matteo whispers to me.
“Yes, let’s do this.” I look at each of my men dressed in crisp suits that hide their weapons. Their steely expressions wait for my command.
I nod at them and they open the door for me. I step onto the polished marble with the grace of royalty and the hint of a tornado about to form.
The waiting room is clean with chairs lining three of the walls and a coffee table full of magazines in the center.
We approach the desk on the opposite side where a young secretary sits at a computer talking on the phone.
Her sandy blonde hair is pulled up in a bun and a pair of oversized glasses are perched on her turned up nose.
As we wait for her to finish her conversation, I take in her appearance. She’s the kind of girl that Dominic would like. She has a slender, curvy frame. She works a respectable job. Her money is clean.
Why am I thinking this?
Who gives fuck what kind of girl Dominic likes.
“Good morning, how may I help you?” The woman hangs up the phone and eyes my men in suits.
“We would like to see Dominic Cartieri,” Matteo informs her.
“Do you have an appointment?” She glances at the screen on the computer. “What’s the name?”
“We don’t have an appointment,” I reply.
“Well, Mr. Cartieri doesn’t see anyone without an appointment,” she replies.
“I guess he’s going to have to make an exception.” I tap the top of the monitor.
“Is he with a client now?” Matteo asks.
“No, but he doesn’t take walk-ins,” the secretary protests.
“That’s a shame, well I guess he’s going to have to see this walk-in,” Matteo drawls, moving his blazer aside to reveal a gun in its holster. The soldiers mirror his movement.
The secretary’s eyes widen.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to harm you. We just want to see Dominic.”
The secretary points to the frosted glass door that reads: Dominic Cartieri, Private Investigator.
I turn to the two soldiers. “Post up outside the door and make sure no one comes in, please.”
They nod and walk off.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Matteo asks, his eyes full of concern.
“No. I need to do this myself. Don’t worry I’m not going to kill him,” I whisper.
“You might not but I sure would,” Matteo grumbles.
“Stay here and keep the secretary company.” I glance over at the shaken woman. “Show her we aren’t as bad as the movies make us out to be.”
Matteo smirks. “Of course, Cugina.”
I smile and turn toward the office.
Here goes nothing.
Holding my breath, I wrap my fingers around the knob, and turn it slowly. The door moves back.
There he is.
He’s staring so intently at the computer that he doesn’t even notice me standing in the doorway. He must think I’m his secretary.
The office is clean and orderly, typical of Dominic. The walls are a deep charcoal and floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far side of the office. The thick glass overlooks the city and the river. The views are stunning.
Dominic sits in a big leather chair at a dark oak desk. He is engrossed in two computer monitors. Behind him is a large bookcase and around the room are tv screens that are running security footage at different places. At the edge of his desk is a globe and a map is pinned on the far wall.
He raises his head slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “Tina. What’s that smell?” he calls, not looking up.
“Blood, death, and betrayal.” I fold my arms and smirk.
Dominic jerks up and turns to the door. The sleeves of his collared shirt are rolled back and his tie is loose. He jumps to his feet. Piercing gray eyes lock onto mine as his jaw drops. My stomach flutters.
“It’s a signature family scent, you know.” My voice drips with sarcasm. I’m surprised I can even speak.
“Cipriani,” he whispers.
His face is pale. He says my name like I’ve risen from the grave and come back to haunt him.
“Hello, Dominic.”
We stare at each other. He’s aged well since the last time I saw him. At thirty-eight years old, I think he’s even more handsome, but I would die before I tell him that.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dominic’s eyes morph from shock to furious. “I knew I recognized that scent…Prada.”
I cross the room and stand in front of him. The desk is the only barrier between us.
“I need your help.”
Silence rings through the air and my request seems to have stolen Dominic’s ability to talk.
I take in his form while he takes in mine. He has gotten more buff and fit since the last time I saw him. His collared shirt fits snuggly around his chest, and biceps highlight his hard work at the gym. I hate how my pulse spikes uncontrollably as I look at him.
“H-How did you get in?” he stammers, his eyes still wide as if he can’t believe I’m real.
“You know me. Doors and walls really aren’t a barrier in my profession. But your secretary so kindly let us in.” I smirk.
He exhales and attempts to compose himself. “Have a seat, I guess.”
I settle into the chair across from his desk. Dominic sinks into his leather seat looking ten years older. He runs a hand through his dark brown hair that’s styled into a crew cut.
“What are you doing here?” he repeats.
I cross my legs and stare at him. “I said I need your help.”
The word ‘help’ seems to stir something in him because his eyes snap to attention and a storm whirls behind his hazel irises. “Help?”
“Yes, help.”
A bitter laugh escapes him. “You? Need help? Yeah, right. With the flick of your fingers, you make all your problems disappear.”
“Well, unfortunately there’s one I can’t make go away and I need your assistance to do it.”
He snorts. “What makes you think I would ever help you?”
“Last I checked you’re not married to the law anymore.”
Hatred flickers on his face. “So? I run a respectable business. Helping mobsters run surveillance isn’t on my list of services.”
I drum my fingers on the armrest. “Dominic, you make me sound like the devil.”
“That’s because you are.”
I remain calm. “I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t need your money.” He scowls.
“You know I can pay you more than any of your clients can.”
“I don’t give a shit what you can pay me. I would take their clean money over your dirty dollars any day.”
I ignore his jab. I’m starting to regret coming here. “My businesses are all legitimate. Would you like to see the paperwork that confirms it?”