Page 127 of My Dark Ever After
My phone buzzed in my pocket, Ludo’s name on the screen.
“I got him, boss,” he declared, and I thought I could hear the faint whirr of the drone somewhere above me. “He’s ten rows to the left and three klicks down from you. It’s hard to keep a lock on him through the smoke, but I don’t think he’s alone.”
I covered my mouth with the collar of my jacket and indicated at Carm over my shoulder to head left. A smoldering branch broke off with a brutal crack as I raced by, and I turned just in time to see it fall straight for Carmine.
Without thinking, I dove, smacking him out of the way.
The branch landed on the edge of my leg, burning through to my ankle. I hissed at the pain, kicking it off and rolling away from it. Carm helped me to my feet, coughing into his jacket sleeve and patting me on the back in thanks as we started moving again.
As we continued moving east, I heard the faint sound of voices.
I picked up my pace, holding my breath as much as I could through the smoke and wishing fervently that Renzo had already found Guinevere and Zacheo.
We left the fire behind us and exploded into a clearing. A man lay prone on the ground, a visible gash bleeding profusely from his head.
It was Uncle Tonio, passed out in a pool of warm blood.
In the distance, there was the roar of an engine starting.
My predatory instincts raged at me, insisting it was Leo who had attacked Tonio and started a nearby car to race away into the dark.
“Go,” I ordered Carmine in a rough bark as I slapped at Tonio’s face. “Call Ludo and get him tracking the car by drone.”
Tonio came to with a gasp as Carmine disappeared down the hill.
“Leo,” he cried with a broken sob, clutching at my shirt. “My son.”
More blood sluiced down his shirtfront, and I realized he had been shot.
“Did Leo do this to you?” I asked as I pulled his shirt apart to examine the wound.
“He told me he didn’t want to hurt me, but I couldn’t just let him walk away from this betrayal,” he panted through the pain. “I can’t truly believe it. My boy ... why would he do this?”
I helped Tonio to his feet, putting pressure on the wound with one hand and taking most of his weight over my other shoulder so I could walk us back up the hill to the house outside the flames flickering to our right.
“You had no idea?” I asked, taking advantage of Tonio’s delirium to push for the truth.
It seemed wildly unlikely that he had been in on Leo’s plan, given that Leo had shot Tonio and left him to burn in the olive grove, but I would never take trust for granted again.
“I caught him in Carmine’s office, going through Guinevere’s computer. Something seemed to spook him, and I followed him out to the grove only to find it on fire. I confronted him about his deception, and he told me he was just taking back what was owed to him.” He sucked in a rattling, wet breath. “Apparently, your father promised to make him his heir.”
“To keep him in line,” I concluded in a bitter mutter. “Cazzo, he was a bastard.”
“Leo has been organizing this for some time.” Tonio coughed so hard, blood splattered his lips, and I had to take more of his weight for the steeper incline before the house. “He was being cagey at work. I should have been more suspicious, but ... he is my son.”
Yes. Family ties could blind someone to the truth too easily. I had let my same love of Leo veil me from his deception for too long, putting myself and my loved ones in jeopardy.
“What happened?” Martina asked as she caught us coming over the ridge onto the terrace, rushing forward to help me lead Tonio to a chair.
“Leo,” I said like a curse. “Where is Guinevere? Is Renzo back with her?”
Martina’s concerned expression was answer enough.
I was just about to plunge back into the flaming grove when I heard a familiar bark.
A moment later, Aio appeared, with Guinevere stumbling after him through the smoke, Zacheo clinging to her front like a spider monkey, Renzo at their back, curving over them both like a shield.
Her hair was a wild tangle, ash glittering dully in the murky red light cast from the flames, and her cheeks were burnt crimson from the heat, the hem of her silk dress torn and charred. She looked like a queen emerging from hell triumphant, and I was certain there had never been a more beautiful sight than Guinevere alive and heroic in that moment.
