In For the Kill (25 page)

“Oh, we've known each other for decades,” Hazlett said. “Illuxit has partnered with TorreStark for years. We organized the clinical trials of all of their latest revolutionary cancer care drugs. Renato and I have also been close personal friends for many years. When I turned my attention toward philanthropy, he drew my attention to you, Svetlana.” He patted Renato's shoulder. “You have him to thank for all this.” He gestured around at the glittering throng, the candlelit hall.

“Ah.” Sveti's eyes flicked to Sam. His face was grim. “Well, then,” she said awkwardly to Renato. “Thank you. I suppose.”

“No need.” Renato wiped his eyes and gave her a brave smile. “It's the least I could do, for Sonia.” Renato squeezed her hand. “She adored you,
cara.
She was so proud of you. How you'd come through your ordeal triumphant. How you rose above it. Just magnificent.”

Her jaw throbbed. Who was this asshole, to know about her ordeals? The details of her past were private, to say nothing of her mother's opinion of them. Mama's pride and adoration might have been better directed by paying more attention to her daughter.

She could not bring herself to smile. She tried to pull her hand back. Renato clutched it tighter.

“So many times I wanted to approach you,” he said earnestly. “You're the only person who could understand how unique she was. But I hesitated to contact you. I was afraid to open old wounds.”

Oh, puh-leeze. Her hand shook with the urge to yank it back.

“She is buried in the Torregrossa family mausoleum, at Villa Rosalba,” Renato said. “I could take you there, if you like.”

That information made her vibrate like a plucked string. She had a vague sense of having known that fact, once, and then deliberately forgetting it. She nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I would like that.”

“I'm staying at the Villa Rosalba myself, in fact,” Hazlett said. “Renato is always my gracious host when I'm in Italy. Stunning place.”

“Svetlana, why don't you come and stay, too?” Renato asked. “It would be lovely to have you! You could see where your mother—”

“No,” Sam broke in.

Renato blinked, his face going blank. He was noticing Sam's existence for the first time. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sure, you're pardoned,” Sam said. “But no. She's not staying anywhere, with anyone but me right now.”

“But I . . .” Renato broke off. “I hope you aren't insinuating—”

“Nope, not insinuating anything,” Sam said smoothly. “But no.”

“Sam!” Sveti hissed. “Please! Hang on to yourself!”

Sam shot her a look that scared her.

Hazlett put a hand on Renato's arm. “Svetlana was violently attacked a few days ago,” he explained. “Her companion is feeling understandably protective.”

Renato's eyes widened. “
Santo cielo!
I can guarantee that my home would be absolutely secure, however.”

“Why not come by tomorrow?” Hazlett suggested.

“We have plans,” Sam said blandly.

Sveti looked at him, disoriented. “Ah, we have . . . what?”

“Remember?” he said softly. “Our big ice-cream date?”

Oh, God, yes. She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling queasy.

“Excuse me?” Renato said, his voice chilly. “Ice cream?”

“You are invited to Villa Rosalba, too, Mr. Petrie, of course,” Hazlett said, after an insultingly long pause. “If that is the issue.”

“No, it's not,” he said. “And I'll be sticking to her twenty-four /seven, no matter where she gets invited. It's just that Sveti and I had plans for tomorrow. A little romantic getaway.”

Hazlett gestured at the panorama of sea, the fading streak of sunset, the mountains towering up. “Is this not romantic enough for you?” he said, his voice jovial. “Where are you going?”

“It's a secret,” Sam said. “A memory from my childhood.”

“Perhaps visiting her mother's grave might take precedence over your sentimental jaunt for gelato?” Renato's voice was acid.

Sam's eyebrows went up. “I suppose it might. Sveti? Your call.”

Oh, great. Put her on the spot. She just looked at him, lost.

“Sveti and I'll talk about this in private, and get back to you,” Sam said smoothly.

Renato turned to Sveti. “I loved your mother, Svetlana. I'm so grateful for the opportunity to get to know you. So, Michael? Shall we introduce her to the Hallerbachs first, or Lucia Rutigliano? I've been working on Conrad Hallerbach all week. At this point, he's expecting a celestial visitation.”

They swept Sveti off between them with Sam close on their heels.

The evening passed like a feverish dream. Her eyes swam, in the shimmering blur of candlelight. She met so many people, shook so many hands, was kissed on the cheek endlessly. She noticed food and wine in front of her at one point, but could not eat any. Michael Hazlett recounted her abduction and rescue story to everyone he introduced her to. She felt paraded naked through the crowd, her horrific tale offered up like a calling card. But she kept it together, like always. She felt like a remote-controlled robot, her emotions miles away—but for one.

She was passionately glad to have Sam there. Always a step away, even if he had to elbow some diamond-studded dowager or tuxedo-clad tycoon physically away from her. He'd just give them a sweet, charming smile and stand there, monolithic. Never ceding an inch.

Every time she looked at him, his conspiratorial grin gave her strength. He was her anchor, and her shield. Her private place. One sweet, precious thing that did not belong to these people. It was hers.

No, not just hers. Theirs.

The awards ceremony was the hardest part. Being shy and introverted, she found speaking in public difficult in the best of circumstances, but she'd learned ways to cope. She'd polished a speech weeks ago, before the wedding, Sam, the attack. But the girl who had prepared that speech was a different Sveti, someone she no longer even recognized. She was something raw and torn open now. Utterly new.

She stared down at this expectant crowd and began to speak.

The whole tale. Papa's punishment, the abduction. Aleksandra, Yuri, the rescue. Her stolen family, her stolen childhood. Her stolen heart, ransomed in the nick of time. She told them what she'd done last year in Portland, and why. It was her job, to be the face of the faceless slaves and trafficked innocents. She offered her experience up like a sacrifice, with all its shock and entertainment value.

They looked up at her, judging and appraising, and she tried not to hate them for it. Stupid, to resent a person for being lucky. For having a father to protect you from monsters who would tear out your heart. For having a mother who would not jump off a bridge. Or get thrown, for that matter.

She used her favorite trick for staying centered as she stared out. She just remembered that each face she saw was once a helpless newborn baby, and that all would one day stand at the doorway of Death, the great equalizer. The gap between her and them was not so wide. And Sam was always there, waiting. Giving her his strength.

“If not for the people who rescued me, my heart would be beating inside another woman's body,” she concluded. “My corneas would be on another person's eyes. My kidneys filtering someone else's blood. I have to pay it forward. The Illuxit Foundation Victim's Fund will be an even bigger, wider net, to catch the ones who fall. Let's spread that net of hope and healing together.”

The applause was loud and prolonged. Everyone stood. Several hands reached up to help her down from the stage, but she stepped straight into Sam's arms. He hugged her, tightly. “Crushed it,” he whispered. “Beauty, brains, and a heart of gold. What a huge turn-on.”

That approval from him gave her a sweet little rush, before Hazlett scooped her up and flung her to the crowd again. She was passed from hand to hand, hugged and squeezed by tearful ladies who told her how moved they were, how brave she was. Checked out by keenly interested men, all of whom swiftly retreated from Sam's menacing stare.

All except for Hazlett. His hand came to rest against the skin of her shoulder, left bare by the plunging back of her gown. It fixed there, hot and damp, as if it were stuck to her. She wanted to shrug it off.

It took hours to work through them all, but finally she stood at the dessert buffet, sipping an espresso and wobbling on those treacherous spike heels Nadine had sent. Hazlett kissed her hand, with a courtly flourish. “Excellent,” he whispered.

“Your mother would have been so proud,” Renato said, beaming. “You played that crowd. Completely in control, and yet completely open at the same time. I was more moved than I can express.”

She stuffed a sharp comment behind a tight nod and smile. Sam spread her wrap over her shoulders.

“The crowd is starting to thin,” he said.

“Thank God,” she replied. “I'm dog tired.”

Sam passed her a small plate piled with lemon cream profiterole and tiny, chilled cannoli. The sugar gave her a welcome jolt.

“So, my dear,” Renato said. “Not to pressure you, but have you given some thought to my invitation to Villa Rosalba?”

“I haven't had a second to think. Could I come the following day?”

Renato looked regretful. “Actually, no. I'm closing up the Villa Rosalba and going back to Milano the day after tomorrow, and Michael, too, has pressing business in London. I hope you can come tomorrow.”

Shit.
“I would love to see the Villa Rosalba,” Sveti said. “Mama talked about it so much in her letter. Especially her last one.”

Renato looked out at the sea, dabbing beneath his eyes with his finger. “Ah, did she,” he said, voice muffled. “What did she say?”

“She described the sculpture garden in the atrium,” Sveti said.

Renato smiled wistfully. “Yes, she loved the sculpture garden, and the views. And the maze. We spent hours strolling in it sometimes.”

Her hairs prickled up, a chilly shudder. “A maze? Really?”

“Yes, planned in the eighteenth century, by my great-great-great grandfather. The maze amused her. Do you still have her last letter?”

Sveti hesitated, jealous of her treasured letter. The only thing remaining of her mother that was exclusively hers. “I have it somewhere, in my things,” she hedged. “It's not the kind of thing you throw away.”

“Certainly not. I know it is presumptuous, but do you suppose, if you find that letter, that you might let me read it?”

She hesitated, suddenly speechless. Mind blank. Her mouth opened and closed, no words forming. “Ah . . .”

“Don't answer.” Renato waved his hand. “It's just . . . forgive me. I miss her. Even seeing a letter she wrote. It would mean so much to me.”

“Do you read Ukrainian?” Sveti asked.

He blinked at her, as if the question made no sense. “Ah, no.”

Sveti swallowed, to calm her throat. “I understand your desire to see it,” she said. “But I don't have it with me here in Italy. I'm sorry.”

Sam shifted closer, leaning on the railing. He was staring out at the moonlight on the sea, but she felt the focused quality of his attention. He knew that she had Mama's letter. That she was lying.

“Ah, there he is,” Renato said sourly to Sam. “Mr. Petrie. The faithful pit bull.”

Sam lifted his espresso cup in salute. “Woof, woof.”

“You never left her side the entire evening,” Renato commented.

“Guilty as charged,” Sam said.

“I suppose the size of your gift to the foundation gives you a feeling of entitlement to the young lady's attentions?”

Sveti caught her breath at the guy's blatant, needless rudeness. She braced herself for an unpleasant scene, but Sam kept his cool.

“Not at all.” The gaze he gave the
conte
was very direct. “The bullet graze I got on my back when those guys tried to kill her gives me that feeling. I bought that feeling of entitlement with blood, not money.”

“Ah,
beh,
” Renato muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just so.”

“May I ask you something, Renato?” Sveti hastened to change the subject. “And excuse me if this causes you any pain.”

“Of course,” he said. “Ask away.”

“The night that Mama died,” Sveti said. “What was she doing?”

Renato's mouth tightened, and his gaze slid away. “There was a reception, at the Villa Rosalba. We were celebrating the launch of Milandra, our new cancer care drug line. She went out into the grounds, and never came back.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “There is a footbridge that leads over a gully between one ridge and the next. She was found on the beach below it the next morning.”

Sveti gulped. “What . . . what was she wearing?”

Renato frowned thoughtfully. “It was red,” he said finally. “A long evening gown. Low cut, crystal beading. She looked stunning in it.”

A cold thrill shook her. Sam's arm slid around her waist.

Hazlett turned from a conversation with someone else to them. “So when shall we expect you tomorrow? Breakfast, lunch? After the ice-cream jaunt that simply can't wait? Dinner's fine, too, right, Renato?”

“Of course,” Renato said. “Anytime is fine.”

“We'll call you tomorrow with the timing,” Sam said calmly.

Hazlett bent over her hand and pressed a long and lingering kiss against it, looking soulfully up into her eyes. “You have destroyed me.”

Sveti tugged vainly on her hand. “Michael. Please. Don't.”