The Road to Redemption (31 page)

Why did he
keep thinking about Sam in that way? Yes, he’d slept with her, but
it was a mistake. One he couldn’t repeat. He gave his head a shake.
Hopefully, the walk to Marcello’s would help clear his mind.

From his vantage point across the street, Damien
studied Marcello’s business. A faded green awning extended over the
front, protecting the interior from the damaging effects of the
sun. The scalloped fringe waved gently in the breeze, the shadows
it created dancing over the aged brick in random waves. When the
fringe moved just right, rays of light hit the gold lettering on
the door that proclaimed the name of the business, Marcello’s
Antiques and Collectibles. The letters were chipped and scratched,
showing their years as did the wood of the door.

Damien noted
that the pedestrian traffic in front of the shop was moderate; no
one was stopping to admire the old vases, furniture and bits of
jewellery that were carefully displayed in the front window. It
wasn’t an affluent area and he wondered how Marcello managed to
make a living. It seemed unlikely that the man would be able to pay
Dante’s demands for any length of time.

He was curious
as to the conversation he’d overheard between the old man and Dante
and wanted to know more. While he doubted it was significant to the
takeover of the Chicago pack, Dante was scum and any opportunity to
bring the man down couldn’t be overlooked.

Since no one
had entered the business in the past half hour, he decided Marcello
must be alone which made this the perfect time for his visit.
Damien pushed away from wall he’d been leaning against and crossed
the street to enter the shop.

The wind
chimes softly announced his entrance and while he waited for
Marcello to appear, he began to wander the room.

There were
some nice pieces, enough to attract the attention of casual
customers but nothing worthy of commanding an exorbitant price. No
doubt those items, when they came in, were quickly whisked off to
professional collectors.

He ran his
hand over a side table then turned at the sound of footsteps behind
him. It was the shopkeeper.

“May I help
you?”

“Mr. Marcello,
I’m a—”

“A friend of
Miss Samantha’s!” The look of polite inquiry on the man’s face was
replaced with a welcoming smile. “Yes, yes! I recall you from the
other night.” He reached out and shook Damien’s hand. “Are you here
to shop or…?”

“Sam…Samantha…sent me to see how you’re doing today.”

“Such a
conscientious girl. She’s been keeping an eye on me ever since that
nasty incident the other night. I told her, I’m fine. It was an
unfortunate experience that I have put behind me.”

The man’s
words were at odds with his body language. The clues were subtle; a
slight tremor in his voice, the way his eyes scanned the room, the
nervous way his fingers played with the buttons on his vest.

Damien decided
he wouldn’t call him on it quite yet. “You have an interesting
array of items in your store.”

Marcello
beamed as he looked over the room. “Yes. I have some fine pieces
here. I go to the flea markets—you never know what you might find
there—and people bring items in for me, as well.”

“And your
customer base? Not many of the local residents would be looking for
antiques, would they?” Damien studied what, to him, was an
exceptionally ugly lamp.

“A few from
the neighbourhood come to buy…” His voice trailed off and he gave a
speculative look. “But you are not really interested in who my
customers are, are you?”

Turning from
the lamp, Damien tilted his head, his expression bland. “And what
makes you say that?”

“Because you
are a friend of Miss Samantha’s and too much like her. She has been
asking questions, too. Trying to decide who would try to rob an old
man of his hard earned cash.”

Damien gave a
small, crooked smile. “You’re partially right. But I’m not
interested in who robbed you.”

“No?”

“I want to
know about who is blackmailing you.”

Marcello’s
face paled beneath his olive toned skin. “Blackmail? I’ve no
idea—”

“Yes, you do.”
Damien gave him a steady look. “I was in the building long before
Samantha and overheard most of the conversation.”

Tightening his
mouth, Marcello shook his head. “It is none of your business.”

“Perhaps not,”
Damien agreed and then allowed the deadly coldness in his eyes to
show. “But the bastard who’s squeezing you—Dante—is an old
acquaintance who I’d love to find.”

“This person
is a friend of yours?” Marcello drew himself up as tall as he
could, his face clouding with indignation.

“Not a friend.
Never.”

Marcello
brought his brows together. “Then what?”

“I can’t give
you details. Suffice to say, I might be able to help you deal with
him if I know what hold he has over you.” He watched as the old man
pursed his lips obviously debating how much trust there was between
them.

“I cannot
afford what he is expecting me to pay, but Miss Samantha shouldn’t
be burdened with this either.”

“With
what?”

Marcello
looked Damien up and down then walked to the front of the store and
turned over the ‘open’ sign that hung in the window. Returning to
where Damien stood, he jerked his head towards the back of the
store. “Come with me.”

Damien
followed him, ducking past the curtain that separated the store
from the back room which served as Marcello’s office. He looked
around, noting the small table and chairs, a shelf with a tea
kettle and several mugs, a paper strewn desk and several stacks of
books. It appeared much as it had the other night.

“Sit.”
Marcello gestured towards the table and chairs. “Tea? Or something
stronger?”

Damien
declined, but Marcello drew out a bottle and poured himself a glass
of liquor—cognac by the smell of it.

“Miss
Samantha’s grandfather and I shared many a glass of this.” Marcello
declared, taking a sip of the liquid. “We have been friends for
years. You know what that means, yes?” He quirked a brow.

“Enlighten
me.” Damien leaned back in his seat, rocking on the back legs.

“Friends share
secrets. Know about each other’s lives. The secrets they do not
want the rest of the world to know.” Marcello gave him a meaningful
look and took another sip of Cognac.

Damien’s mind
raced. Was Marcello telling him he knew about the pack? Had Samuel
Harper broke the Keeping? He couldn’t judge without knowing the
circumstances, but the way Marcello was talking, it would seem the
fellow knew the seriousness of the situation.

Marcello
sighed and stared into his glass. “Samuel and I shared many
secrets. Secrets kept from the world. Secrets from his family. From
Miss Samantha.” His mouth turned down. “I always told him it wasn’t
a good idea, that someday the truth would come out and Miss
Samantha would be hurt, but he was a stubborn one.”

“What
truth?”

“You won’t
tell her?”

Damien gave a
one shouldered shrug. “I’m not here for that long. And this
secret—whatever it is—isn’t mine to share.”

“No. It isn’t,
and I’ll tell you only because I want you to know how important it
is to keep this Dante person from speaking to her.”

“Dante’s
downfall is my main concern. I’ve no desire to hurt Sam.”

“Good.”
Marcello finished his drink and set the glass down. Taking a book
from the stack on his desk, he set it on the table near Damien.
“This is one of my personal journals. I’ve been keeping them ever
since I came to this country over fifty years ago.”

“And?”

“This one
contains my entries from the year—the day in fact—that Samantha’s
father died.”

Damien eyed
the book, wondering what it said.

“I was at the
train station the day it happened. By chance, on the same
platform.” Marcello opened the book and flipped the pages.
“Samantha and her father were a few yards ahead of me. They hadn’t
been back in Chicago long—a few months perhaps—but I’d come to
recognize her by the little purple coat she wore; it matched her
eyes.” He smiled at the memory. “I’d just called out their names
when the train roared into the station. Samantha turned and saw me,
letting go of her father’s hand. He turned to grab her, I suppose
not knowing why she was leaving his side, when someone came rushing
up behind him and pushed him onto the tracks.”

Marcello shook
his head. “It all happened so fast. There was no time to try to
save him. He fell a mere second before the train arrived. The
timing couldn’t have been worse. He was killed instantly.”

“And the
person who pushed him?”

“Was never
found…officially.” Marcello had reached a spot in the book where
there were torn edges; evidence that pages had been removed.

“But you know
who it was?” Damien slowly leaned his chair forward until the front
legs were touching the floor again.

Marcello
nodded. “Samuel’s friend, Gary. His second in command.”

The Beta?
Damien stiffened in his chair. “Why?”

“I’ve no idea.
At the time, I was shocked. Sure I’d been mistaken. I didn’t know
the man well; he kept to himself, however, it
was
him. I
caught a glimpse of him standing some distance away when the
ambulance arrived.” He traced the seam of the book with his finger.
“I wrote it down here, but told no one. What happened within
the…family…was not the concern of the rest of the world. Samuel had
told me that often. And so when the police asked questions…I said
nothing.”

“And the
journal entry?” Damien nodded towards the book.

“I tore the
pages out and put them in the safe, thinking they would be my
protection against Gary. I could hold it over his head; my silence
in exchange for my life.”

Damien
frowned. Something didn’t add up. “Why didn’t you approach the old
man? Tell him what you saw?”

“I don’t
pretend to understand the way of your people; I know they can be
ruthless. For a while I wondered if Samuel had ordered the ‘hit’.
He’d expressed his doubts as to his son taking over leadership of
the family.” Marcello shrugged and closed the journal. “I wasn’t
sure if he was capable of such an act. There is a dark side to the
man that I do not understand.” His voice trailed off. “We didn’t
speak for some time after the accident. I lived in fear, not
knowing who to trust.”

“So what
changed? You and Samantha seem quite friendly; she says you’re an
old friend of her grandfather’s.”

“It was quite
some time before Samuel came to visit again. If he noticed I was
cool towards him, he didn’t mention it. By then he had custody of
Samantha and spoke mostly of the challenges of raising her.”
Marcello gave a reminiscent smile. “She was a lovely girl, so
curious and full of life. Always asking questions about my
collections, dressing up in the jewels, skipping about the store
and playing pranks.”

Damien said
nothing. Sam had certainly changed over the years. He’d seen
glimpses of her mischievous side, but mostly she was all about
business. Strange how life could affect a person. It made him think
of himself in his younger years, always joking, not a care in the
world. That, of course, had all changed since Beth…

“We eventually
fell back into our old friendship, and I tried to put what I’d seen
that day out of my mind. It worked for the most part until Samuel
began talking about his decision to have Samantha take over the
family. She was still so young, but he said she needed to start
training for the job.” Marcello sat down in the chair opposite
Damien. “I began to worry. It came to me that Gary was hoping to
take over, perhaps that was why he’d killed her father. Would he do
the same again? Try to eliminate Miss Samantha? I knew I had to
speak then, tell Samuel what I had seen.”

Marcello
pulled out an old fashioned handkerchief and mopped his brow.
“Samuel was enraged, at me for assuming he’d kill his own flesh,
for not speaking sooner, and at Gary for the murder. At himself, as
well. He seemed to feel it was his fault somehow. Gary left the
family and a week later his body was found in a wooded area. The
police report said he’d been attacked by a wild dog while
camping.”

Silence hung
between them, the truth unspoken. Damien knew how such a betrayal
of pack loyalty might have been dealt with. Marcello obviously
knew, too, but had chosen to not delve too deeply into the truth.
Funny how humans managed to arrange their memories so
conveniently.

Clearing his
throat, Marcello continued, seeming relieved to have made it
through the tale. “After that, Samuel changed. He’d injured his
back somehow and moved more slowly. He still led the family, but I
could see the difference in him. He was less prone to laughter,
quieter, harder. He made me swear to never tell Miss Samantha, and
I did. There was no point in telling a child about such a messy
business, was there?” Marcello shrugged. “To this day, she doesn’t
know. She focused on being what Samuel wanted her to be. It was
difficult for her at times, but she never complained, only wanted
to please him.”

Damien nodded
in understanding. Living up to the Alpha’s expectations was central
to being part of a pack. It was one of the reasons he’d never truly
fit in; he didn’t give a rat’s ass what any Alpha wanted. He was
his own boss.

Picking up the
journal, Damien turned it over in his hands. “What you’ve said
explains the background, but how did Dante find out? Did he gain
access to the pages you had locked up? Did you tell someone?”

“No and no.”
Marcello shook his head. “I destroyed the pages after Gary’s
death—protection from him was my only reason for keeping them. And
I never spoke of this to anyone except Samuel.”