Champagne Deception (21 page)

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?” She demanded.

“I’m not saying whether we believe you or not.  I’m saying that it’s only your word we’re going on right now.  People sometimes have unsavory reasons for staging kidnappings and---“

“And so you are saying you don’t believe me!  After everything I went through last night!  This is outrageous!” Coretta burst out.

“This is the law,” Detective Tucci said calmly.  “We need forensic evidence to link Mr. Trake to the crime.”

“What about all the incidents we reported to the police before the kidnapping?  Those don’t count for anything?” Lorenzo asked, outraged.

“Those reports remain on file.  But, again, nothing solid came of our investigating, and no suspects were ever named.  I’m not saying that Jonathan Trake is free to come and go as he pleases.  He is a person of interest in our investigation.  If it turns out he is the kidnapper, then we will prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law, I assure you.” Detective Tucci took a bite of the sweet roll on his desk as Lorenzo glared at him.

“We need some vigilante justice around here!  You guys aren’t doing your job!” He fumed, grabbing Coretta’s hand and
storming with her out of the station.

“We’re doing our job according to the law,” Detective Tucci called after them with a mouthful of roll.

*****

“Are you sure it’s safe for us to come back here right now?” Coretta asked hesitantly as Lorenzo jerked the scooter to a stop outside LoCo Art Gallery.

“No, I’m not sure, but we’re not going to let that brute manipulate us anymore.  We have valuable artwork inside this building, and I want to make sure everything is in tact,” he replied grumpily.

Coretta walked behind him with tension thick in the air.  She couldn’t blame Lorenzo for being exasperated with the whole situation.  First, their meticulously planned opening reception had crumbled into dust.  Then, he had learned that the man responsible for all this pandemonium was none other than her ex-boyfriend.  And now even the police weren’t on their side.  Maybe vigilante justice was the way to go.

“Oh there you are!  We’
ve been looking for you two and hoping you would come back here!” Graziana called from inside the art gallery.

“Everyone has been worried sick about you both,” Mario added.

“I guess you heard that Coretta was kidnapped?” Lorenzo presumed gloomily.

“Yes, we did, and we held down the fort overnight.  You took off on your bike before we could get any keys or security codes from you.  And we didn’t want to leave the gallery wide open to burglary,” Mario explained.

“You are such good friends.  Thank you,” Lorenzo said with genuine gratitude before grumbling, “But you’d think the whole gallery would be cordoned off and considered a crime scene this morning!  But no, the cops aren’t even here! This is a botched investigation if ever I saw one.”

“So they haven’t caught the perpetrator?” Graziana asked with a shiver.

“No, they haven’t.  But don’t worry, he’s not of any danger to anyone else,” Coretta assured as Graziana looked perplexed.  “It’s a long story that I don’t want to get into now.  Let’s just say it was a very targeted crime.”

Slumping her shoulders, Coretta walked over to the buffet tables where plates of
cheese and fruit sat rotting.  Corked bottles of champagne were warm and flat.  Icing coagulated on Antonella and Margarita’s bundt cakes.

“We couldn’t find a refrigerator anywhere,” Graziana explained apologetically.

“You’ve done more than enough.  Don’t worry about this food.” Coretta dragged a garbage can over to the tables and started dumping food in.

Lorenzo approached her from behind and placed two reassuring hands on her shoulders.  She looked up
at him and said, “I feel like our dreams are in the garbage right now too.”

Overhearing her comment, Graziana said, “Actually, you sold some paintings last night!  Five to be exact.”
She handed Coretta an envelope overflowing with cash and a few checks.

“You accepted this on our behalf!  Oh, thank you so much, Graziana.  You have no idea how much this means!” Coretta hugged the woman tightly.

“I really don’t know how to thank you both,” Lorenzo interjected.  “We’re going to take you out to dinner soon.  That’s for starters.”

“No need to thank us,” Mario said nonchalantly.  “But we are pretty exhausted.  You wouldn’t mind if we got going?”

“Of course not!  Go, get on with your day.  And thank you again,” Coretta said warmly as tears dotted her eyelids.  Mario and Graziana’s gestures of true friendship were touching in the wake of such stunning betrayal.

After the couple was gone, Lorenzo and Coretta cleaned up the gallery to a presentable state.  The smell of rotting cheese still permeated the room, but the rest of the gallery sparkled like it had in the moments before the opening reception.  Coretta glanced over at the cellar door and couldn’t control a tremor that rocked her.  Quickly, she looked away and gazed out the front windows at the sunlight.  The sun was brilliant outside, and soon, its rays would be just as vivid again in her soul.
  She would make sure of it.

Chapter Nineteen

Weeks after the kidnapping, Coretta still lived in fear that Jonathan would come back to finish the job.  She theorized that he had left Italy while he still could and was back on Wall Street in his comfy leather chair raking in the dough.  But the nagging thought that he would come back to seek vengeance would not leave her alone.  After all, he had planned on escaping with paintings that could potentially be worth millions if she were dead, not to mention how he coveted Lorenzo’s sculptures and the contents of his bank account.

This morning, as she painted in the annex, she looked over her shoulder constantly to make sure no one was there.  Angelo no longer spooked her, so if he were to appear, she would just have compassion for the senile old man.  And Declan had proven himself to be a harmless bluffer.  But Jonathan still lurked somewhere in the world, most likely in New York but possibly, just possibly, in Milan. 
The memory of his sinister text message chilled her to the bone every night as she fell asleep at Lorenzo’s side.

“Looks beautiful,” Lorenzo whispered as she rose to embrace him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered back.  There was no need to elaborate.  Both knew why she was happy to see him.  Neither would feel fully safe until Jonathan were either captured or dead, but they refused to let fear be the focal point of their lives.  Jonathan had already stolen too much from them, literally and figuratively, for them to give credence to any potential threat that still loomed.

“Can you take a break for a little while?  I wanted to show you a new project in the studio.”

“Of course, my love,” she agreed happily.

Inside the studio, the potter’s wheel was layered in flesh-toned clay.  “What are you making?” She asked curiously.

“A set of bowls for Mario and Graziana.  They want to give them to their niece as a wedding gift.”

“Oh how lovely!” She caressed one of the bowls that was drying in the sun.

“I just wanted to ask your advice about which glaze to use.  I have these to choose from---“

As Lorenzo showed her the selection of glazes, a gust of wind blew the studio door open.  Or at lea
st that’s what they perceived the sound to be.  Stiffening simultaneously, they looked towards the door as Jonathan stormed into the room with his hand on a bulge in his jacket pocket.

“Don’t move!  I have a gun!” He shouted.

Neither Coretta nor Lorenzo knew if he was telling the truth, but they didn’t dare challenge the madman.  Coretta’s face fell as her worst fears were confirmed.  Jonathan wasn’t home in New York.  He was right in front of their eyes threatening their lives yet again.  Despondently, she wondered how he had managed to evade the authorities.  He wasn’t even in disguise right now, and there weren’t many curly blond haired men in Italy.  The evil man should have stuck out like a sore thumb.

“What do you want?  If you came back for the money, I’ll be glad to give it to you.  There’s a safe upstairs with cash in it,” Lorenzo revealed, hoping to avoid any violence.

“How much cash?” Jonathan demanded, still threateningly keeping his hand on the bulge.

“About 16,000 euros,” Lorenzo lied, as the safe only contained about half that amount.

“Are you kidding me?  16,000 euros?  I came back for filet mignon, not chicken feed,” he scoffed arrogantly.

“Well, it’s a start,” Lorenzo said tensely.

“You can’t kill us and then sell our art!” Coretta burst out.  “All of Milan already knows that I was held for ransom and you were plotting to murder us to sell our work at higher prices.  You’ll be caught now if you kill us and try to sell our work!”

“Ah, Pollyanna, there’s a little thing known as the Black Market.  Plenty of unscrupulous people would be willing to turn the other cheek and buy your artwork from me.  Money talks, Pollyanna.  They won’t turn me in if I sell them the art and then they get to sell it for an even higher price.”

“But then they’ll be caught too!” She drew at straws desperately as the homicidal gleam intensified in his eyes.

“No, the art will just go back on the Black Market.  Round and round, a merry-go-round of green,” he laughed diabolically.  “For starters, we’ll go upstairs and get that cash from the safe.  I do need some euros to get me out of the country.”

Stiffly, Lorenzo walked close by Coretta’s side as he pointed to the stairwell.  “Up that way,” he clipped.

“Go in front of me,” Jonathan ordered.

The lovers walked ahead until they reached the top of the stairs.  Lorenzo’s palms felt clammy, and a wave of nausea crested in his gut.  Coretta also felt sick but didn’t say another word as Jonathan crammed into the bedroom with them.  Robotically, Lorenzo unlocked the safe and retrieved the bag wrapped in rubber bands.  “Here.” He shoved the bag at Jonathan.

Immediately, Jonathan opened the bag and began counting the cash.  “There’s only 8,000 euros here!  Trying to play me for a fool, Fiatti?” He growled.

“No, I must have been mistaken,” he replied sullenly, the nausea reaching a crescendo in his stomach.  What a coward Jonathan was for threatening them with the idea of a gun.  The ass wasn’t strong enough to intimidate people without a deadly weapon.  He was truly pathetic.

“Where’s your computer?  I want to log in to your bank accounts and see how much you’ve got to sweeten this pot,” Jonathan said roughly.

“My laptop is downstairs in the studio,” Lorenzo replied darkly.

“You won’t get away with this!” Coretta warned again as Jonathan pushed her out of the room.

Lorenzo’s eyes flamed when Jonathan manhandled the woman he loved.  He couldn’t let this go on any longer.  Once they were downstairs, he had to take action and protect both Coretta and himself.  Never mind Jonathan’s cowardly threat of a firearm; Lorenzo’s tolerance had been pushed past the limit.

“Go ahead of me like before,” Jonathan instructed.

The two walked down the stairs as the loose plank wobbled under their weight.  Hurriedly, they reached the bottom of the staircase as Jonathan moved with deliberate slowness, wielding his power over them by making them wait.  As his heavy body stepped onto the loose plank, he lost his balance and swayed back and forth.  In an instant, the old wooden plank snapped and crashed to the ground.  Screaming, Jonathan fell through the empty space as Lorenzo and Coretta watched with horrified fascination from the studio.  At first, it seemed that Jonathan’s body was too thick to slip through the opening and he was stuck.  Wildly, he tried to prop himself up on the other planks but couldn’t gain traction.  Furiously, he yanked on one of the planks in an attempt to lift himself up.  Instead, the plank became loose and snapped in half like the other.

Before Coretta could blink, Jonathan was falling to the hard floor beneath with the other
split planks tumbling after him.  He landed with an ominous thud on the floor as one of the broken pieces shot down like an arrow and impaled him in the chest.  Too stunned to move, Coretta and Lorenzo stood staring in disbelief at the man lying motionless on the floor.

Unable to stomach the sight, Coretta turned to Lorenzo and buried her head in his chest.  He held and stroked her gently as their feet remained immovable. 
The nauseous feeling still plagued them but with an overwhelming relief mingled in.

“He’s dead,” she said stonily.

“Yes, I think he is.  But let’s make sure.”

“No!  Don’t go anywhere near him!  Let’s just get out of here and call the police.  This is too much for me to handle.”

“Okay, let’s go outside and get some air,” he soothed.

“Let’s go outside and never come back here!” She corrected.  “I don’t ever want to come back to this place.”

“We’ll get a new studio.  Don’t even worry about that right now.” Lorenzo opened the door wide as Coretta stumbled outside gasping for air. “You’re in shock.  This has been such a trauma.  But it’s over now.  The nightmare is over.”

She nodded, breathing in short spurts and feeling dizzy.  She knew that Jonathan’s fate was well-deserved, but she couldn’t fathom that she had just witnessed his death.  No love lived on in her heart for him
, but a basic human compassion made her mourn the life that he had wasted.  It didn’t have to be this way.  Why hadn’t he just left her alone when she came to Milan?  Why did he have to hunt her down and put a price on her head?