Page 142 of Scarlet Angel

“You’ll never understand. It’s Aunt Catarina’s fault. And maybe my parents. You and Willow spent too much time on your own, watching television and TikTok. You’ve been indoctrinated.”

“Who has been filling your head with this nonsense?”

“Let’s not argue. You want to know what it’s like these days? Papa only cares about protecting his sole heir.”

“That’s a good thing, Orlando.”

“He was arraigned, you know? The only reason he’s not sitting in a cell right now is because he’s got some of the best lawyers around. He still has to stand trial. And the case against him will be a tough one because of the evidence you supplied. It’s not too late, you know. If you refuse to testify, he can throw the case.”

I’m silent because what can I say? Orlando refuses to accept it, but his father ruined my life. And yes, with time, perhaps I can forgive Uncle Alessio. But forgiveness and absolution are not the same. He still must suffer for his sins, against me and against all the innocents his crimes have hurt. If forgiveness cleared one of all sins, there would be no hell.

He sighs as if my silence pains him. I glance up and meet Nick’s concerned gaze, his blue eyes alert and protective.

“I hope one day you’ll understand my position. It’s my hope you’ll go on to university, and when you take the helm of the business, whatever business that might be, that you do good.” I swallow down the emotion threatening to erupt. “That’s what Willow would want.”

Guilt swirls in the shadows, threatening me for the lie of omission. His sister is alive. That knowledge might be all he needs to change course, but I can’t risk her new life. If Orlando is going to find his way, he needs to do so on his own.

The screen on my phone lights, and I read the message.

Unknown number

Your death day is here.

“Orlando, did you just text me?”

I hold up the mobile for Nick to see. His eyes widen with alarm.

Nick grabs the phone from me and taps out a response.

Me

Who is this?

“I’m on the line with you. Why would I message you?” Irritation laces Orlando’s words through the handheld speakerphone.

Unknown number

Your friendly prophet.

Nick carries the mobile to the others.

“Orlando, I’m going to need to go.”

“Wish I could say?—”

A loud crash explodes in my ears.

My body lurches.

Gunshots ring out.

Pain shoots through my knees and hands.

A cupboard opens.

I scramble for the mobile on the ground.

The men grab guns.

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