Chapter 11
JOSEPH
Icould do without this evening, but when Malik Karim issues an invitation, you refuse at your peril. I’m guessing he has heard of my guest, and he won’t be the first evil mind to be curious.
He is part of an organization that you go against if you have a death wish because where we have one family to deal with, he has several.
As a member of the exclusive Club Mafia, he wields more power collectively than any other mafia family in the world, and I’m amazed he didn’t decide to make a claim to the Diamond Dynasty himself.
Then again, he is happily married to Eliza Ortega.
A daughter of the infamous Ortega Mafia family, so as evenings go, this one is best spent sober.
I wait for Tiffany in the library. It’s a place I am comfortable in.
Surrounded by books, all hiding secrets on every page.
The fire burns in the grate and of all the rooms, this one is the coziest. The lighting is subdued and the furnishings comfortable and as I pour a generous amount of bourbon into the crystal glass; I admire its beauty as the flames reflect in the glass.
I’m dressed for the occasion in my customary black suit with a black shirt, the standard uniform for a mafia prince.
Spencer arrives, and I jerk my head to the wing-backed chair opposite mine, near the fire as I pour him a drink.
“Any news?”
“I have a few names. I would appreciate your opinion on them.”
I hand him the glass with an interest building that a conversation with Spencer always brings.
“There were four visitors to the convent since the first sister left. We understand the keys were there at the time.”
“What makes you believe that?”
He shrugs. “It’s a starting point, nothing less.”
He flicks his attention to his phone.
“Do you recognize any of these names? Serena Francis. Holly Davidson. Greta Garrison and Alison Cleverly.”
“No,” I shake my head. “None of them are familiar to me.”
His expression is blank.
“I did some digging and three of them have a trail that leads nowhere. Holly Davidson is the sister of Grace Davidson, one of the sisters in the convent. They left for the town and took lunch in the restaurant there before returning home. The sister lives nearby, and there has been no indication of any change in her schedule. Greta Garrison is the local shopkeeper. She buys produce from the convent and left with several boxes. Once again, she appears to have followed her usual timetable.”
He huffs, “Alison Cleverly came for an interview. She is interested in studying theology and sought a temporary placement in the convent, which leaves Serena Francis.”
I lean forward, sensing he has exactly what I need.
“The trail threw up an interesting past.”
I say nothing, peering at him through the amber hue of the glass.
“Her history takes her back to Canton House. She was Serenity Woods there and subsequently married a man who owns property in Zurich. She has three children.”
“Canton House. The boarding school where the three sisters were sent before their father died.”
“Yes. It also happens to be the same school where Sister Agatha, Serenity Woods and–” he pauses and I fill in the gaps.
“And my mother.”
He nods, leaning forward with an enigmatic expression.
“Their time was spent together. They shared a room, the three of them, and I understand your mother kept close ties with Sister Agatha. I’m not sure the same can be said for Serenity.”
Again, I say nothing and he leans back, a thoughtful gleam in his eye.
“Why would Sister Agatha trust Serena Francis with the keys? What is her connection to the girls?”
“My mother, perhaps?”
“Do you believe your mother has the keys, Joseph?”
“You’re the man with the answers, Spencer.”
I remind him of his skill, and he nods.
“There is no known communication between the women, and I have studied your mother’s phone records. I have also studied Serena’s and Sister Agatha’s, leading me to surmise that any conversation regarding the keys either happened in person or at the convent when Serena visited.”
“Have you searched her homes?”
“Of course. They are currently out of town, so it was easy to arrange. Their neighbors have nothing but good things to say about the family, and there is no scandal attached to their names. Richard Francis is clean too; no hint of debt or problems he requires helping with.”
“You think she has the keys, though.”
“I suspect she took the keys that day, but if she still has them, I would be astonished.”
“Anything else?”
I’m confident he will discover their whereabouts, and he nods. “Priscilla Van Der Hudson is currently seeking treatment in the Priory for alcohol addiction. Her husband, Riordan, is carrying on with his business as normal.”
I say nothing because that isn’t shocking. It’s normality in my world because business always comes first.
“Perhaps now is the perfect time to arrange for Tiffany to visit her mother.”
Spencer nods and as he stands, he confirms. “I’ll arrange it. The guards are positioned on the route when you are ready.”
He references our evening ahead. Malik Karim lives three doors away, and it’s a very short walk to his impressive townhouse. As always, that would be the perfect opportunity for my enemies to strike, so the guards secure the area, enabling me to pretend I’m normal and walk like everyone else.
He leaves and is quickly replaced by a vision.
I stare in shock as my wife to be enters the room, shimmering in a red floor-length gown, the folds of the fabric wrapped around her body, exposing patches of skin but preserving her modesty at the same time.
A beautiful diamond necklace glistens at her throat and her hair has been swept on top of her head, secured by diamond pins.
I always considered her beautiful, even in the nun’s habit devoid of make-up, but it’s as if she has been transformed by the angels.
“Joseph.”
Her confident smile is equally attractive. She is displaying none of the nerves I understood her capable of. The woman moving gracefully toward me is like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, and suddenly my aversion to the plan is not as potent anymore.
“You are beautiful, Tiffany.”
“As are you, Joseph?”
The twinkle in her eye is attractive, and I can’t tear my eyes away from her. It’s as if Harrods has delivered somebody else entirely, and I struggle to breathe as desire replaces indifference.
“So, tell me what the story is for tonight. I should be briefed, so I don’t mess up.”
She slumps into the seat that Spencer vacated and points to the decanter of bourbon.
“I don’t suppose you could pour me some Dutch Courage.”
“A nun who drinks bourbon. Aren’t you restricted to communion wine?”
“I can’t stand the stuff.” She pulls a face. “No, our father encouraged us to drink, and bourbon was my favorite. I love the woody tones and the fire it lit inside me as it goes down.”
“Your father encouraged his daughters to drink before they were of age.”
I’m shocked, and not a lot shocks me these days.
She giggles. “He concluded that if we were denied it, we would want it more, and he was probably right. It’s not often I drink unless the occasion demands it.”
“You’re nervous then.”
I oblige by splashing a generous amount of bourbon in the glass and she nods.
“Yes, I’m nervous. I’m heading to a house I don’t know to mix with people I have never met.
My escort is apparently going to be my husband tomorrow and is holding me captive against my will.
These shoes are monstrous and cause my feet to burn already and I really believed that designer price tags should deliver comfort, but then again, I always was a misguided fool. ”
She giggles and I can’t look away.
“However, I am also mildly interested to see what you’re like in company because if you are the asshole I have met, I’m guessing you have only been invited for your money or contacts and not because they actually like you.”
She takes the glass from my hand and, despite the amount I filled it with, she downs it in one and then stands, a flush on her face as she stares directly into my eyes.
“Shall we?”
I am so close to calling this entire evening off because for some reason I can only think of one thing right now and it involves us naked and me teaching my virgin bride why life outside the convent is way better than in it.