Charade. Kate Donovan

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СКАЧАТЬ the sideboard. I have a little of everything. The glasses are on the top shelf.”

      With her purse still clutched under her elbow, she grabbed the flowers and headed for the kitchen. Once there, she fished out her cell phone and address book, thumbing until she found the number for Antonio Martino’s consiglieri. Dialing rapidly, she listened to the ringing as she shoved the roses into a vase.

      “Who is this?” a gruff male voice answered.

      “This is Sasha Bracciali. Don’t talk, just listen.”

      The man was apparently good at taking instructions, because his only reply was soft, steady breathing. Encouraged, Sasha hid the cell phone among the blossoms, then returned to the living room, where Carmine was waiting for her with two glasses of red wine.

      Setting the vase on the sideboard, Sasha insisted in a firm voice, “I don’t want any trouble, Carmine. You need to go home and sleep it off before you do something we’ll all regret.”

      “You’re so full of yourself,” he retorted, slamming the glasses down, then stepping to within inches of her. “We can do this friendly, or we can just do it. It’s you’re choice. Either way, you’re gonna thank me for it.”

      “My father would be furious if he knew you were doing this. Your father, too.”

      “Fuck ‘em both. And you. Literally in your case,” he added with a grin, reaching for her neck with one hand while his other began unbuckling his belt.

      But the sound of a phone, ringing from inside his jacket, stopped him, at least momentarily. “Fuck! Who the fuck…?” He pulled out the phone and scowled at the display. Then he grimaced. “I gotta take this. Don’t go away.” Flipping it open, he asked carefully, “Pop? Is everything okay?”

      Sasha watched as his eyes widened with obvious fear. “Sure, Pop. I was just—yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m going. Fuck… Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

      Sasha backed away, trying not to let Carmine see how entertained she was by his transformation. Not that she blamed him. She had heard some fairly gruesome stories about Antonio Martino’s temper, and she imagined Carmine had felt the sting of his displeasure more than once in his twenty-nine years.

      “You bitch,” Carmine whispered, his face purple with anger. “I can’t believe you had the fucking nerve to call him.”

      “Shh…” She put her finger to her lips, then inclined her head toward the roses. “He’s still listening. You’d better go, Carmine. We’ll just chalk this up to all the excitement over the wedding, and a little too much Chianti. Okay?”

      “Bitch,” he repeated, but fear had returned to his voice. And while he clearly wanted to threaten her—or worse—he settled for flipping her off, Martino-style. Then he stormed out of the condo, slamming the door behind himself.

      Sasha retrieved the phone and held it to her ear as she walked over to re-secure the dead bolt. “Zio Antonio? Multo grazie. I know he wouldn’t have hurt me, but I was still scared.”

      “I’m very disappointed in my son,” Antonio assured her solemnly. “First he ruins Gianna’s wedding day, then he dares threaten an angel like you. And after I spoke with him this very evening about the need to treat you with respect. Can you forgive us?”

      “I’m just so grateful for the rescue.”

      “Anytime. Any place. I hope you know that, Sasha.” The don paused, then said bluntly, “Your father will be very angry about this. And with good reason.”

      “Except he won’t ever know,” Sasha promised. “It’s not like I talk to him these days. And even if I did, you took care of everything. So why bother?”

      “You’re a good girl,” Antonio told her in a husky voice. “And my son is a fool. Sleep well, cara mia. Don’t worry about a thing.”

      “I won’t,” Sasha assured him softly, genuinely grateful for his solicitude. “Ciao, zio.”

      Aware of the fact that Allison Gracelyn worked in Washington D.C., Sasha half expected the Athena Academy limousine to take her to O’Hare Airport so that she could meet with the board member on the East Coast. And if not, then to Arizona, where the Gracelyn family lived, and where the school itself was located.

      But to her surprise, the driver took her to the nearby Grand Union Hotel and instructed her to go directly to Room 2003. And so after a quick stop in the restroom to check her appearance—Allison was something of a heroine to her after all—Sasha made her way to the twentieth floor.

      Allison answered the door right away, greeting Sasha with warm enthusiasm. “Come in. It’s great seeing you again.”

      “I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

      “You make an indelible impression,” Allison assured her. “We met at the welcoming reception when you first came to our school, and then again at your graduation. Correct?”

      Sasha felt a surge of pride that this lovely, accomplished woman would remember such details. Of course, it was probably all in a file somewhere. And Allison undoubtedly attended all the initiations and graduations—

      “At the initiation, you and I spoke about the portrayal of Italian-Americans in movies and on television. But at your graduation, all you wanted to talk about was your acceptance to the School of Design. Your enthusiasm was contagious. And I hear your success has been electric, as well. We’re all very proud of you.”

      Sasha bit her lip. “I’m so flattered you remember all that. Especially considering everything that’s going on.” Daring to grab Allison’s hands in her own, she demanded, “Is there any news?”

      “Come and sit with me.” Allison led her to a large table and motioned to one of the overstuffed chairs that surrounded it. Once they had settled in, she explained. “One girl has been rescued. That’s the good news.”

      “Oh! That’s such a relief. But…”

      “The other girl is unharmed. Unfortunately we were unable to rescue her. Mostly because she didn’t cooperate with us.”

      “Why not?”

      Allison grimaced. “She wants to investigate from the inside. To learn who masterminded the kidnappings, and for what purpose.”

      “Cool kid.”

      “I suppose. But she’s driving us crazy in the process.”

      “I can imagine.” Sasha took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I really appreciate getting all this information, especially firsthand like this. But I’ve got to ask. Why are you telling me of all people?”

      Allison gave her a confident smile. “Because you—of all people—are the perfect person to help us recover the missing student. Assuming of course, that you’re willing.”

      Chapter 3

      Tossing his car keys onto his cluttered desk, Jeff Crossman strode to the only window in his sparsely furnished studio apartment, then shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stared through the miniblinds СКАЧАТЬ