First Comes Blood by Lilith Vincent

13

Vinicius

“Ineed to see Mr. Ferragamo. The matter is urgent.”

As I pass the young man leaning over the front desk practically begging to see Cassius, the concierge nods to me. He presses a button to call the elevator which will take me up to Cassius’ penthouse.

“Please, just call Mr. Ferragamo and tell him I have a letter for him,” the man pleads.

I keep walking, half-listening to the exchange. Some random man isn’t going to be able to speak with Cassius. I wonder what made him think he could.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” asks the concierge.

“It doesn’t matter who I am, but if I don’t see him then I fear what Mr. Fiore will do to her.”

Fiore? Salvatore Fiore? And who’s “her”? I slow to a stop. Then I turn around. It could be nothing, but I always enjoy making other people’s business my business. You never know what you might find out.

“Who is the message from?” asks the concierge, who’s rapidly losing patience.

“I can’t say, but it’s very important that I speak to Mr. Ferragamo.”

I stroll closer to this messenger and tap him on his shoulder. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear. Is it possible that your mistress is a beautiful little blonde, about this tall?” I hold up my hand at chest height.

The man stares at me. “You’re Vinicius Angeli, aren’t you? A friend of Mr. Ferragamo’s?”

I smile at him, showing him my teeth. “His best friend. How may I help you?”

The man glances around the lobby and then pulls me aside and whispers, “Miss Romano has a message for Mr. Ferragamo. It’s a matter of life and death.”

I smile broadly at him. “Say no more. I’ll escort you up to the penthouse myself.”

As we walk toward the elevator that the concierge called for me, I pull out my phone and make a call. “Come to Cassius’ penthouse, now.”

“Why the fuck—” begins an irate-sounding Lorenzo, but I hang up on him. The messenger gives me a puzzled glance but seems reluctant to question me when I seem to be giving him the one thing he wants.

As soon as the elevator doors close and we start to rise, I reach out and hit the emergency stop. “I’ll take that message.”

The man’s eyes widen. “No, it’s for Mr. Ferragamo. My instructions were to give it only to him.”

The smile drops from my face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Stephan. Stephan Russo.”

“Stephan, did no one ever show you a map of this city? A real map of this city. Right at this moment we’re standing on the slice that belongs to my dear friend Cassius Ferragamo, and he…”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Normally I enjoy using nothing but a few words to get what I want. It’s a game, watching the way color drains from someone’s face without me needing to skirt anywhere close to a threat, but right now, the game doesn’t feel fun. The message this man is holding has something to do with Chiara Romano and my patience has vaporized.

I hold out my hand. “Give me the message or I’ll knock your fucking teeth out.”

Stephan scrambles to do as I say, and he places an envelope and a black velvet box into my palm.

“Thank you,” I say, and restart the elevator. I give the letter a cursory glance and shove it in my pocket, and then turn my attention to the velvet box. Inside is an exquisite diamond engagement ring, fit for a princess.

Or Coldlake’s equivalent of a princess, Miss Chiara Romano.

“Salvatore always did have excellent taste in jewelry.”

Stephan stares in horror as I put the ring back into the box and slip it into my pocket. “But—”

I pat his shoulder. “Don’t get overexcited. I’ll hang on to these, and you can give your message to Mr. Ferragamo.”

“The letter is the message,” he protests.

The elevator pings and opens directly into the penthouse. Cassius looks up from the sofa where he’s reading on his tablet and raises his dark brows. He was expecting to see me, but he wasn’t expecting our guest.

“Lorenzo’s on his way. This man has something for us.”

Stephan starts to say that his message is for Mr. Ferragamo, but Cassius closes his tablet and speaks over him.

“Why is Scava coming here?”

“I told you why. I’ll have a vodka. Anything for you?” I ask, turning to Stephan, who shakes his head.

Scowling, Salvatore disappears into the next room and comes back a moment later with two Grey Goose vodkas on the rocks. It’s always Grey Goose at Cassius’ penthouse and at his clubs. I take a mouthful, watching Stephan stare around at the enormous interior and the view of Coldlake through the floor to ceiling windows.

Five minutes later, the elevator doors slide open and Lorenzo strides in wearing a vicious glare and a white T-shirt spattered with blood. “I was in the middle of something.”

Lorenzo’s always in the middle of something. The man doesn’t know how to relax. I nod at his shirt. “Who died?”

“No one yet, so fucking get on with it.”

“Vodka?”

“I said get on with it.”

I look at Stephan. “Go on. Tell them what you told me about Chiara Romano.”

At the sound of her name, the other two stop scowling and perk up. Lorenzo’s tattooed arms have been crossed tightly over his bloodied chest, but now they loosen.

Stephan steps closer to Cassius. “Mr. Ferragamo, I came here tonight with a very important message from Miss Romano. She said I should only deliver it to you.”

“It’s Miss Romano’s birthday today, isn’t it?” Cassius murmurs, peering at the ice in his glass. He knows it’s her birthday. Last year on this day we all met the blonde beauty, and at the end of the night we watched as her mother was murdered.

Cassius was the one who was covered in blood that night. There was blood and pool water all over Chiara, and he was the one to grab her when she tried to jump into the swimming pool after her mother. He walked her away from the edge of the pool and stayed close to her, fearing she might try it again.

Chiara was eerily calm. Shaking slightly, but totally silent.

We listened as Mayor Romano called the police and told them that he’d just found his wife dead in the swimming pool. Then he told the four of us to leave.

Chiara grabbed hold of Cassius, the man who’d awkwardly tried to comfort her after her father had just slit her mother’s throat, and started screaming hysterically. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here alone with him.”

Cassius prised her fingers from his arm and pushed her away. We all left before the police could arrive, Chiara’s sobs echoing through the house. Standing by our cars, the four of us looked at each other, and at the bloody water soaking Cassius’ shirt, and I knew we were thinking of the same four people.

Amalia.

Evelina.

Sienna.

And Ophelia.

“That was fucked up,” Cassius seethed. He got into his SUV, slammed the door and roared away.

Now here we are on the anniversary of that night, and Chiara Romano has something for us.

“Yes, it’s her birthday,” Stephan confirms. “Mr. Fiore came for dinner, and then after, Miss Romano had me come here with a message.”

“Well, where is it?” Cassius snaps.

“Mr. Angeli took it from me in the elevator.”

I take a mouthful of vodka. “I’m sorry?”

“The message, and the ring. You took them from me in the elevator.”

“What ring?”

Stephan’s face drains of color. “Miss Romano’s ring. It’s there, in your jacket.”

I frown and put my hand in my pocket, and draw out the velvet box. “Oh, you mean this? I’d forgotten about this.”

I throw the box across the room to Cassius, who catches it with a glare. Screwing with people is a habit I have no intention of breaking.

Cassius opens the box and nods appreciatively at the diamond ring. Then he shows it to Lorenzo and me.

I smile broadly. “An engagement ring, for us.”

“No one’s ever proposed to me before,” Lorenzo says, and even Cassius laughs.

“The ring is for Mr. Ferragamo,” Stephan points out, more confused than ever. “And you need to read the letter. I don’t think she intended—”

Cassius speak over him. “When it comes to Miss Romano, anything that she gives one of us is for all of us.”

Stephan’s baffled expression tells me he doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to.

“Give him the letter,” Stephan says to me.

“The what?”

The poor man is practically in tears. “The letter, the letter! You have her letter.”

I push him toward the elevator. “It’s time for you to go. Say thank you to your mistress for us. It really is a lovely present, and so thoughtful considering it’s her birthday.”

Stephan is still protesting when the elevator doors slide closed.

I turn to Cassius. “I’ve got the letter, but do we really care what it says?”

Cassius takes a thoughtful sip of vodka and gazes out the window at the night. A moment later, he holds out his hand, and I give it to him.

He reads it, and then crumples the letter into a ball with his fist and throws it aside. It bounces on the rug and skitters under the sofa. “No, we don’t care.”

Lorenzo takes my vodka from me and drains the glass. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem interested in hurrying off to whatever blood-soaked activity he left behind.

He pins us with his electric blue gaze. “We know what we’re going to do, don’t we?”

I nod slowly. “We do. But when, and how?”

Cassius glances into his glass and heads for the kitchen. “More vodka. I think we’re going to need the bottle.”