Descent Page 18

Persephone

  Lizzie is in her room packing clothes and schoolbooks when I slip into the study to find the book still in the drawer I’d hastily shoved it into. I open it to where the photograph is stuck between the pages and I think I understand it all now. After seeing the letter Nora left, things fall into place. Make sense.

  “Ready,” Lizzie says from behind me, startling me.

  I turn, closing my palm over the photo and tucking it into my coat pocket. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  I’m surprised she didn’t put up more resistance about having to stay at the club, but I think she’s scared. I think what happened shook her up.

  She hasn’t bothered to put on makeup or straighten her hair and is wearing an oversized top and baggy sweats.

  “Hey,” I start, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now.”

  “Why is he helping us?” she asks me.

  I bite my lip.

  “Because you’re sleeping with him?”

  “Lizzie—”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not judging you, Percy. I know you’re doing what you think you have to do. Material things aren’t worth it, though. The house. The business. It’s not worth it.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “You like him. That’s how it’s complicated?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but she shrugs a shoulder. “At least he’s not a complete creep like his brother but I wouldn’t trust him. You know how much dad hated them.”

  “I trust that Hayden doesn’t want to see either of us get hurt. And I need his help right now. Can you trust me at least?”

  “Just don’t be surprised if he turns out to be a jerk.”

  “Let’s go see dad.”

  A driver takes us to the hospital. Hayden wants a guard with us, which, given what happened with Lizzie, I’m not opposed to. Although I need to take care of something that he can’t know about.

  Celia is waiting for us at the hospital and, after a big hug, she takes us into dad’s room, telling the guard he has to wait out in the hallway because of the number of visitors allowed inside. I’m not sure if she just made that up or it’s true but I’m grateful.

  Lizzie goes right to dad to take his hand and start talking to him and Celia slips me her car keys.

  “I just need an hour, Celia.”

  “It’s fine. Keep it as long as you need it.”

  “What do you need an hour for?” Lizzie asks.

  “I need to take care of something. Can you stay here with dad until I’m back?”

  She squints her eyes. “What are you taking care of?”

  “Can you just do this for me?”

  She considers. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  Celia unlocks a door that leads to a back corridor and I slip out, walking quickly to the stairs and taking them down and out to the parking lot. I locate Celia’s car and within a few minutes I’m heading to Jonas’ apartment in the city.

  Traffic is light but it’s the middle of the morning so it should be. I park Celia’s car and head to the front doors where the doorman greets me warmly.

  “Percy! What a nice surprise.”

  I smile and say hello. “I’m here to see Jonas,” I say. “I took a chance he’d be in.”

  “He didn’t mention anything but I’m sure he’ll be pleased,” he says, obviously getting the wrong idea.

  I think about how Jonas and I appeared to others. A perfect couple. A happy one. How wrong that image was. Is.

  “He’s got someone upstairs but I’m sure he’ll want you to go straight up.” The elevator dings and he moves to open the front doors to another tenant exiting the building.

  I thank him and a few minutes later, I’m riding the elevator up to Jonas’ eighth-floor apartment, my hand closed around the photo in my pocket.

  Making my way down the lavish corridor, I find two men in suits standing just outside Jonas’ apartment door. They watch my approach but neither of them greets me. I’m about to say something when the door opens. I hear an unfamiliar voice and just as I stop a few feet from the door, the man turns.

  I meet his gaze. And I freeze.

  Because there is something very wrong about this man.

  Jonas comes into view to see what’s made the stranger stop. “Percy,” he starts. “What are you doing here?”

  “Percy?” the stranger repeats stepping toward me and holding out his hand. He must be my father’s age and it takes all I have to keep my revulsion in check because I don’t want to touch this man. “The fabled Persephone Abbot, I presume.” He raises an eyebrow and I realize how awkward I’m being, so I slip my hand into his to shake it, but he brings it up to his mouth instead and brushes his lips against my knuckles. “More beautiful in person than your photos do justice.”

  “Where have you seen photos of me?”

  “Oh, here, in your fiancé’s home, of course.”

  Jonas still has photos of me around? I glance at Jonas who looks so small next to this man. So out of his league. I clear my throat and steel my spine.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know you.”

  “Angus Scava. A pleasure to meet you.”

  I don’t recognize the name and am grateful when Jonas interrupts. “I’ll call you later about that matter, Angus.”

  The older man drags his gaze from me to Jonas. His mouth stretches into a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes and when he releases my hand, it takes all I have not to wipe it off on my coat.

  A moment later, he walks away, the two men flanking him, and I know as I watch them go that he’s linked to the mafia. Maybe it’s the Benedetti connection to my dad. I’m not sure, but I trust my instinct and right now, instinct is telling me to beware.

  “Who is he?” I ask Jonas once Angus Scava is gone.

  “No one,” Jonas says, looking me over.

  “What is that?” I ask, gesturing to the large envelope he’s holding.

  “Nothing.” He doesn’t even look down but sets it on a side table near the door. “I never expected to see you here again.”

  “Me either.”

  “How’s your head?” he calls over his shoulder, his tone flippant.

  I don’t bother to answer him. He’s trying to rile me up. It’s what he does.

  He walks into the living room and I follow. It’s the first time I’ve been here since the breakup.

  “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” he asks sarcastically, taking a seat on the couch without offering me one.

  I perch on the chair across from him, remembering the other night at the fundraiser. Remembering how violent he’d been. That was the second time he became violent with me and I wonder if it was wise to have come here alone, but I need to do this now.

  I take the photo out of my pocket as he studies me, hands folded on his lap. I set it on the table and turn it, moving my hand so he can see it.

  In that moment, I think he stops breathing. He just stares at it for a long, long time and I’m not sure what to think as I watch layer after layer of emotion sweep over him.

  When I tuck it back into my pocket, he looks at me.

  I’d never shown him the photo before. When I broke it off with him, I told him I knew what he’d done. I knew what he’d done with Nora. But that was all, and it was enough. He was guilty. But I hadn’t known the whole story.

  “She was pregnant,” I say.

  He’s not surprised. I see it on his face. A fine layer of sweat breaks out across his forehead, his skin taking on that sickly sheen it does whenever her name comes up.

  “Did you love her?” I ask.

  He looks at me and I see the pain in his eyes. But he masks it quickly. “She was my sister. Of course, I loved her.”

  “Not like that. You know what I mean.”

  He swallows, gets up and walks to the windows. I watch him run a hand through his hair.

  “No one would understand what we had,” he finally says.

&nbs
p; My eyes fill up and my throat closes and I think what a tragedy this is. What a tragedy for everyone.

  “That’s what you wanted to tell me.” Except that when I refused to talk to him, he came to the house and he made sure I knew to keep my mouth shut. He thought I’d reveal his secret. “Why did you want to marry me?” I ask when he turns to face me, hand around his own throat.

  “To be close to her.”

  “That’s why you wouldn’t touch me.”

  “You were just the closest thing to her. No one understands what we had. How we felt. How deeply we loved.”

  I’m not moved by his words. By his pain. “How old was she when you…touched her?”

  Anger flashes across his face. “It wasn’t like that. Don’t say it like that. Make it ugly—”

  “Answer my question!”

  He shifts his gaze away and I’m not sure he will answer. “Thirteen.”

  “God.” How? For three years? How didn’t I know?

  He shakes his head, coming toward me crouching down and taking my hands in his clammy ones. “It wasn’t like that. Not dirty and wrong. She loved me.”

  I pull my hands free of his. “You were an adult. She was a child.”

  He straightens, backs away. “I thought out of everyone, you’d understand. Nora wasn’t ever a child. Not like you think. You didn’t know her.”

  “I know she was thirteen when she changed.”

  “Because she loved me. She changed because she loved me.”

  “She got pregnant. With your baby.”

  Was I unsure for a moment it was his? If I was, any doubt vanishes when I look at his face.

  I wonder, suddenly, if he knew about my father and I know I can’t ask. I don’t want to ask.

  “That’s why she killed herself? Because of the baby?”

  He tries for a smile that collapses instantly. “The pills were for the baby to die. Not her.”

  “She slit her wrists after taking the pills, Jonas. She wanted to die.”

  He rubs his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and I see how his hand trembles. I wonder how long he’s been holding onto this.

  “She wasn’t supposed to die. She told me. She promised she knew the pills would only kill the baby.”

  “Your baby. You left her alone to kill the baby you put inside her. She was a child. You were the adult.”

  He shakes his head again and his eyes get that strange look inside them, the one I remember after Nora died. The one I saw often while we were engaged. Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

  “She loved me. We loved each other.”

  I need to go. I don’t want to be here for another second. “I need you to go away, Jonas.”

  “What?”

  “Leave here. Disappear for a while.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when I tell Hayden the truth, he’s going to kill you.”

  32

  Hayden

  “I think you should come by the club, sir,” Peter says nervously into the phone.

  “Why?”

  “Someone dropped off a package for you.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t give his name, but I thought he might be with the gentleman with whom you met the other morning.” It’s like he can’t bring himself to say Benedetti’s name.

  “I’m on my way to see Benedetti.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Never mind,” I say. When Peter gets nervous, I’ve learned from experience it’s best to manage it quickly. “I’ll swing by on my way.”

  After disconnecting, I tell the driver about the change in plans just as another call comes in from the man I had watching Persephone and her sister.

  “She’s gone, sir,” he says as soon as I pick up.

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. Tail is in place. He’ll send you her location ASAP.”

  “Thank you.”

  I dial Persephone, who doesn’t pick up. I don’t expect her to, though. Her words from the night before echo: “You don’t know the whole story.”

  She does. And I’m going to learn the truth today.

  But I have to handle the Lizzie Abbot issue first. I don’t have to think too hard to imagine what Scava will do with the compromising photos.

  When we get to the club, I find Peter waiting for me just inside the entrance.

  “Okay, where is this package?”

  He lifts a large sealed folder out of a drawer in his desk and hands it to me. Although not thick, it’s heavier than I expect. And I can guess what’s inside.

  I turn the envelope over. It’s not addressed.

  “Thank you, Peter,” I say. I wait to open it, so I only do it when I’m in the back of the sedan and the driver is on his way to the restaurant where I’ll meet Benedetti.

  Lifting the flap, I peer inside, reaching in to take hold of the pages.

  Three photos. Taken last night in that nasty hotel room.

  I look at the first one, detaching myself. I move to the second. The third. There’s a note scribbled on the back of the last one.

  Drop the Benedetti contract or these go public.

  “Mother fucker.”

  I don’t take too kindly to being threatened and Scava clearly doesn’t know I won’t bend when blackmailed.

  I tuck the photos back into the envelope as we pull up to the entrance of the restaurant. Carrying the envelope, I ascend the stairs and enter, heading straight to the far corner where Dominic Benedetti is sitting at a table with his back to the wall. He’s talking to a dark-haired man whose face I can’t see from here, but I do see that Dominic notes my entrance the moment I arrive.

  Men in his business better notice, though. They won’t survive long if they don’t.

  A soldier eyes me, holding out his hand for me to wait.

  A moment later, Dominic gives the signal and I’m walking through the dimly lit but noisy restaurant. I notice the tables around his are empty.

  Dominic stands when I get to the table as does his companion. The latter looks me over, his face remaining unreadable.

  “Hayden,” Dominic says. “Good to see you. “This is my brother, Salvatore.”

  “Dominic.” I extend my hand to first shake Dominic’s then Salvatore’s. “Good to meet you. I didn’t realize you still worked with your brother.”

  “I don’t,” Salvatore says, not adding more before turning to his brother. “Remember what I said.”

  “I’m sure you won’t let me forget,” Dominic says.

  Salvatore nods and excuses himself, leaving the restaurant.

  Dominic sits down and I toss the envelope onto the table between us as I take the seat Salvatore just vacated.

  “What do you know about this?” I ask.

  He picks up the envelope, opens it and eyes the photos. He looks displeased, to say the least, and after reading the message, his eyes are narrowed when he returns them to mine.

  “Elizabeth Abbot?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I do my research. Just photos or…” he trails off.

  “Photos. Although I’m not sure I’d say ‘just’.”

  “No, I wouldn’t either.” He reads the back of the last photo again but doesn’t seem at all disturbed. “Although, it’s not Scava’s style. Didn’t used to be at least.”

  “Well, maybe he’s desperate. Didn’t you say this building would seal your position in the city?”

  He nods. “How old is the girl?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Like I said, not his style.”

  “Maybe he’s changed styles.” I lean toward him. “I’m not getting in the middle of a fucking mafia war.”

  His casual stance gone he leans toward me. “You’ll get in the middle of whatever I tell you to get in the middle of.”

  “I don’t work for you.”

  “No, we work together.” He leans back. “We�
��re business associates. Friendly ones, I hope.”

  “I don’t like being threatened and I don’t like being blackmailed.”

  “Well, I assume the former is directed at me and the latter at those responsible for these.”

  “There are more, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure. You’re certain Scava’s behind it? Not your father?”

  “The kid he paid to get Lizzie Abbot to New York City is a low-level drug dealer. I had a conversation with him this morning and he confirmed that he works for Angus Scava.”

  “Conversation?” Dominic raises his eyebrows, a smile playing along his lips as he sits back in his seat and picks up a piece of bacon from his plate. “He’s not lying?” he asks, sticking it into his mouth.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He signals to one of his men who comes over and he whispers some instructions. The soldier is gone in a moment. “Do you want to put a stop to the project?”

  “Like I said, I don’t take kindly to blackmail but this needs to be taken care of. These photos can’t turn up anywhere. You take care of it and I’ll think about our project.”

  “You’ll think about it?” I see how one eye narrows. “You care about Quincy’s daughter? Why? I thought you hated the man.”

  I shift in my seat. “I care about any child being violated.”

  The way he looks at me, I wonder if he knows about Nora and my mind wanders to the letter burning a hole in my pocket.

  I can’t lie to you anymore.

  There was someone else. My sweet, innocent sister had two lovers.

  Lovers. Plural. Even the singular doesn’t fit. Doesn’t make sense.

  I love him.

  Do I want to know who she loved? It’s where Persephone’s going. Something in that letter gave her all the pieces of the puzzle. Pieces I’m still missing.

  “She’s not the one I meant,” Dominic says but I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I’m not sure I heard right.

  “What did you just say?” I ask.

  “I said I’ll take care of it.”

  My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. “I believe the person responsible for these was also on my property last night.”

  “I can send soldiers.”

  “I’ll take care of what’s mine, but you take care of the mess you bring into my life and the lives of those I care about.”