Vendetta Page 8

Maggie grabbed Guido by the collar of his jacket and pulled him back inside the suite, slamming the door closed. She dragged him into the lounge and threw him down on one of the chairs.

  Guido tried to get up and run for the door, but Maggie shoved him back down on the seat with her foot, pressing it over his throat.

  “Your name is Marino,” she said, abandoning her fake accent.

  “Yes,” Guido stuttered, holding his hands up.

  “As in the Marino family? The syndicate?”

  The old man’s eyes bulged. “They are my nephews,” he said, the words toppling out as he rushed to explain himself, “but I don’t have anything to do with their business. I am an honest man trying to make an honest living.”

  Maggie pressed her foot against his neck, making it clear he wasn’t leaving until she got what she wanted. The commotion had alerted Leon, and he walked out of the bedroom in his boxer shorts like a Calvin Klein model ready to fight.

  His shoulders relaxed when he took in the room and saw that Maggie was in control. She gave him a little nod, and he ventured to the table and helped himself to a coffee while she continued her interrogation.

  “What do you know about Carlo and Stefano Rossi?” she asked Guido.

  Sweat beaded over the man’s forehead. “I know they’re dead.”

  “Did Enzo Marino and his brothers have them killed?”

  Guido shook his head emphatically. “No, the boys wanted to do business with Carlo, to become partners. They would never have killed Carlo, or his son. Carlo was a self-made man. They looked up to him and his family.”

  “Carlo didn’t see them that way,” said Maggie, keeping her tone sharp. “He said they were his rivals.”

  Guido squirmed in his seat, gripping on to the armrests. “Anyone doing illegal business in Carlo’s territory was a threat to his leadership. In his eyes, I mean. The man was suspicious, and rightfully so given what happened to him.”

  “How do you know all of this if, as you said, you don’t involve yourself in your nephews’ business?”

  “They are my brother’s sons. He tells me all about them and what they are up to.’ Guido sighed, appearing troubled. “He’s proud of them.”

  “And you’re not?”

  Guido shot her an offended look before he remembered himself. “I am a man of God,” he said, like that should be explanation enough.

  Maggie believed him, but he wouldn’t be the first person to call themselves religious while living a life of crime and ‘sin.’ Some people hid behind their beliefs like a shield, using it to justify their actions, despite said actions conflicting with what their religion taught them.

  “If Enzo and his gang didn’t kill the Rossi men, then who did?” asked Maggie. “What do they know?”

  “I don’t know. I called my brother this morning after hearing what happened at la Fenice, and he said the boys were trying to find the culprit. Enzo seemed to believe Stefano would be more willing to work together than his father.”

  Maggie nodded. She’d had the same impression of Stefano when it came to Rebecca’s offer. Carlo may have been old school, but Stefano came across as more progressive. Not to mention greedy. Peter West had even called him an idiot.

  “Stefano wasn’t happy to see Enzo at the theater last night,” Maggie said, remembering the way Stefano glared over at Enzo from the royal box.

  Isabella had said the presence of Enzo and his brothers was a sign of disrespect, insinuating that the two families would end up at war. Could it be the very opposite? Had Enzo turned up at the theater as a show of respect for Carlo? As a way of showing Stefano that he wasn’t their rival, that they wanted to be allies?

  Had the gesture been taken the way it was intended, it would have been a good approach to initiate a business relationship with the new leader of the Rossi family. But it seemed Enzo’s olive branch didn’t come across the way he had hoped. Not from Stefano’s end, at least.

  “Enzo and Stefano have a history,” Guido said.

  “Go on.”

  “Back when they were both young, Stefano next in line to his father’s business and Enzo wanting nothing more than to make something of himself, they both fell in love with the same girl. Carmella.”

  Guido settled down a bit, the shake in his voice subsiding.

  “Carmella was very beautiful, and the boys ended up in a fist fight over her, trying to prove their love. In the end, she chose Stefano, breaking Enzo’s heart in the process.”

  “Then why would Enzo want to do business with Stefano?”

  If there was bad blood between them, it didn’t make sense for the men to become partners. At least, not to Maggie. Then again, when it came to holding a grudge, Maggie held it for life.

  “That was years ago,” said Guido. “They were only boys back then. Carmella has since died, and Stefano’s daughter, Angela, is a woman herself now. Enzo has his own wife, and two lovely children. The men may not like each other, but in this city, enemies make deals all the time. It’s just business.”

  Now that, Maggie could accept. All was fair in love and war in the criminal underworld, and she had witnessed mortal enemies coming together as one, even if only temporarily. Assuming, of course, each party stood to make money—and lots of it—from the arrangement.

  Confident she’d squeezed all she needed from the butler, Maggie released Guido from her hold. Enzo and his brothers wouldn’t be too pleased to hear their old uncle spilled their business, but the old man was harmless. The nephews may have held their tongue under Maggie’s questioning, but Guido wasn’t a part of their world.

  She leaned down until her face was level with his. “This conversation never happened. Do I make myself clear?”

  Guido gulped, and tugged as his buttoned shirt collar. “Yes.”

  Maggie stepped back, holding his gaze until he cowered away from her. “You can go.”

  Guido didn’t need to be told twice. He got up on shaking legs and scampered for the door.

  “And thank you for bringing breakfast, Guido,” she said as he left, a niggle of guilt coming over her. “I appreciate it.” She’d need to leave him a sizable tip as an apology.

  “That changes things,” said Leon from the table. He waved her over, dishing out breakfast for them both and pouring Maggie out a black coffee, just the way she liked it.

  Maggie plopped on the seat across from him, the happy glow from their lustful night together zapped as she went over everything Guido said.

  “I believe him,” she said, taking a sip from her cup. The coffee was a dark roast, and strong, the caffeine just the thing to give her a boost after a long night of being knocked out, almost dying, and glorious sex.

  “The man had no reason to lie,” Leon said as he tucked in to his breakfast. “Not to mention you had him scared shitless.”

  Maggie leaned back in her chair and tapped a finger on the table. “But if the Marino brothers didn’t kill Carlo and Stefano, then who did?”

  Leon put his fork down and buttered some toast. “Peter thought it was Rebecca, so that rules him out. He had no reason to lie about it, considering we were supposed to die down there. If he’d had them killed, he would have said so.”

  Maggie agreed. “The pompous prick would have boasted about it.”

  She hadn’t forgotten about Peter West in all the drama. While he may not have killed the Rossis, he had tried to kill her and Leon. Maggie wouldn’t leave Venice until he’d paid for that particular crime.

  Maggie stabbed her fork into her scrambled eggs. “If neither of them did it, then who?”

  Leon crunched his toast and considered her question. “The best thing to do when lost, is to go back to the beginning.”

  “You think we’ve missed something?”

  “Something’s amiss. I just can’t put my finger on what.”

  Maggie massaged her temples, going over everything that had happened since she arrived in Venice. Going back to the beginning, like Leon said. Eliminating Peter West and the Mar
inos from the equation didn’t leave many people with the means to kill Carlo or Stefano. The motive behind it was another thing entirely.

  Then it came to her. Something they’d missed amid all the blood, and conflict, and mess. Something that was right in front of them the whole time.

  Maggie grabbed her phone and texted Isabella to arrange a meeting.

  It was time they had a serious talk.

  Chapter 14

  Isabella asked them to meet her at the Isola di San Michele. Maggie couldn’t deny the idea of meeting her in Venice’s cemetery island felt a little foreboding, but they agreed to go.

  It was time to end things once and for all.

  Leon talked Guido into letting them use the Gritti Palace’s boat—Maggie figured it best she avoid the man after their little Q&A session earlier that morning—and they crossed the lagoon, entering near the front gates of the island and maneuvering into a docking station.

  A shiver ran through Maggie as she tied the boat to the wooden posts. The memories from the previous night would take a lifetime to erase.

  Isabella said to meet her in one of the subdivisions of gravesites at the back of the island. It was secluded, which suited Maggie just fine. The tourists would be well out of their way, confined to the gravesites surrounding the San Michele church, searching around for the final resting places of famous historical figures.

  Like most of Venice, the cemetery was well tended, the grass kept short and walkways free from weeds or litter, yet it still maintained an air of decay which carried on throughout the city, even in the hot spots and central hubs. It provided the city with a sense of charm, but there in the cemetery, all it emitted was the eerie presence of death.

  Back home in Britain, Maggie was used to ancient cemeteries with lichen covered stones that crumbled with age. The headstones on the island, however, remained intact and free from wear and tear. Real estate was in high demand all over Venice, and the cemetery was no exception. Most Venetians were only guaranteed a short ten years to rest in peace on the island. With so little space, and so many dead, bodies were regularly exhumed and stored in ossuaries.

  A pit of dread weighed heavy in her stomach as Maggie and Leon crossed the island. Thanks to Peter West, they were both without their Berettas. He’d disarmed them before leaving them to drown under the rising tide.

  Maggie tied her blond hair in a tight ponytail away from her face, the wind skirting across the waves of the lagoon and sweeping through the little macabre island, whispering in her ear like ghosts. There was no need to keep up her alias of Rebecca. Not when she knew the truth.

  Crossing into the next subdivision of graves, it appeared the class system that lived and breathed throughout the city lingered even in death. Freestanding chapels and family mausoleums were scattered all around, surrounded by contemporary monuments and sculptures that made the area look like a modern art museum.

  Glassed-in photographs of the dead watched them as they reached their meeting place, another tradition that seemed so foreign to Maggie. She averted her gaze from the still faces and waited on Isabella.

  Neither she nor Leon spoke, the location instilling a mourning silence.

  A few minutes later, the crunch of boots on gravel grew louder and headed towards them. At first, Maggie thought that it was a group of tourists, coming to unknowingly interrupt their clandestine meeting.

  But it was something much worse.

  Armed men and women stormed in from all angles and circled them like a pack of predatory wolves.

  Maggie suppressed the instinct to fight. There were too many guns pointing at them, but no one made to shoot. Yet.

  She counted six in total, three women and three men, before another set of footsteps approached. Maggie stiffened as a familiar face rounded the corner.

  “Isabella,” said Maggie through gritted teeth. “How could you?”

  Isabella shook her head and stared over her shoulder as another woman entered.

  Angela Rossi.

  Carlo’s granddaughter followed behind Isabella and held a gun to her back, shoving her into the man-made circle with Maggie and Leon.

  “It was you?” Maggie gaped at the woman. “You had your own family killed?”

  “I did.” Angela nodded to the man standing to her left with his gun trained on Maggie. “Ricardo helped with Carlo, but I stuck the knife in Stefano’s back myself.”

  Maggie recognized the man as the shooter from the roof. He sniggered at her behind the safety of his weapon, and Maggie’s fingers itched to punch the expression off his face.

  It wasn’t lost on Maggie how Angela referred to the men in her family by their first names. She could almost taste the venom that laced her words. Her beauty took on a vicious edge in the light of day, now that the truth was out.

  “Why?” Leon asked. “Why would you kill your own family?”

  Angela narrowed her eyes. “They’re not my family. My mother was the only family I needed.”

  “Carmella?” Maggie asked.

  “They killed her.” Angela’s gun wavered in her hand. “Covered it up to make it seem like some tragic accident, but I knew better. Mother always told me that if anything happened to her, to look no further than them.”

  “What happened?” Maggie didn’t particularly care, but she needed to keep the woman talking long enough to figure out how to keep her and Leon, and even Isabella, alive.

  Thankfully, Angela was in a talkative mood, finally able to admit to what she’d done and revel in it. “My father used to beat her. Every day. Any time he got drunk, or she did something he didn’t like. He always made me go to my room, but I knew what he was doing. I could hear the screams. Saw the bruises my mother tried to cover up afterward.”

  “Why kill your grandfather?” Leon asked, stalling for time, too.

  Maggie scanned the area, looking for an exit route. Something, anything, she could use to their advantage. So far, she was coming up short. Their boat was at the other side of the cemetery, leaving them stranded with no way out other than a body bag.

  “I went to him for help.” Angela’s voice rose with anger. “Told him all about my worthless father and how he hurt my mother. Do you know what he said? That those things were between husband and wife and I should do as my father told me. He could have put an end to it. Stopped it before it was too late.”

  “But he didn’t,” said Isabella, Maggie only now noticing the welt across her face.

  Angela narrowed her eyes. “No. Which was why he had to die, too. There was no other option once I learned he helped Stefano cover up Mother’s murder, making it seem like she was mugged in the street instead of being beaten to death in her own home.”

  The woman closest to Maggie was just out of reach, and she inched towards her, eying the gun and calculating the risk of making it her own. “Carmella died years ago,” she said to Angela, remembering what Guido had told her.

  “When I was ten years old. Ever since that day, I vowed to make Stefano pay for what he did. I bided my time until I could make it happen. Waited all those years for the moment when he would peer into my eyes and know how much I hated him. Know why he was about to die, and that his precious daughter was the one to do it.”

  Maggie gave Angela a sad, knowing smile, doing anything she could to keep Angela talking instead of ordering her henchmen to tie up her loose ends. “I lost my mother when I was young, too.”

  Angela scrunched her nose. “I don’t care about your fucking mother.”

  A raging calm settled over Maggie, as dangerous as it was silent. Up until then, Maggie understood why Angela went to great lengths to see the men in her life dead. She didn’t blame the woman for wanting revenge. But those last words had been a mistake. They’d hit a sore spot in Maggie that unleashed the killer within.

  Angela Rossi would live to regret pissing her off, but not for long.

  “You’re just like your father.” Isabella stepped forward, her fists shaking. “A spoiled, damaged brat who I’
ve had to suffer with for six whole years. Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

  Angela slapped Isabella with the back of her hand.

  Isabella’s face twisted to the side, but she didn’t flinch or show any sign that the blow hurt. “Silly girl,” she said, somehow managing to be condescending despite the situation.

  Even while surrounded with armed men and women, Isabella showed no signs of the fear Maggie knew she felt inside. Looking around the small island, she felt it too.

  “You think I didn’t know who you were?” said Angela. “Where you come from? You may have fooled my grandfather, but I saw right through you.” Angela spat on the ground. “That’s what I think of you and your government.”

  Isabella laughed. “You’re going to die sooner than your father did.”

  “Is that so?” Angela’s cheeks flushed in anger. Isabella knew just what to say to get under the younger woman’s skin.

  Back straightened, Isabella looked down her nose at Angela. “Yes.”

  Angela circled around Isabella, her heels crunching under the gravel. “Perhaps you’re right. But you won’t be there to see it.” Angela pulled the trigger and shot Isabella pointblank in the head.

  Blood and globs of brain matter splattered the gravel. Isabella collapsed to the ground in a crumpled mess. Maggie winced and closed her eyes. Isabella deserved better. She’d sacrificed so much to try and take the Rossi family down.

  Angela kicked the dead body. “Bitch.”

  Maggie’s nails dug into her palms. She wouldn’t let Isabella’s sacrifice be in vain.

  “She was trying to take down Carlo and Stefano, just as you were,” said Maggie, voice steady, refusing to show Angela even the tiniest hint of fear.

  “No. She was trying to tear apart the Rossi empire. My empire,” corrected Angela, smoothing her jacket and checking for blots of Isabella’s blood, like it was merely spilled marinara sauce. “Now that those bastards are gone, I can lead the family in the right direction.”

  Maggie cocked her head. “If that direction is down the toilet, then I’d say you’re doing a bang-up job.”