Page 52 of Last Breath (Blood Wine Dynasty #2)

Jett swallowed. A part of him, a part that sounded like Nella, told him not to trust anyone associated with the La Marcas. But another part, the part that could always tell when a foster home was going to break him, that knew when it was time to leave, told him Raphael wasn’t trying to trick him.

‘Ariana was sick, wasn’t she? When you went away?’

Jett swallowed again.

Raphael nodded. ‘The letter your boss slipped under her door said if she didn’t get the footage, there’d be more where that came from, until it wasn’t food she was spewing up, but her own blood, her lungs.’

A rock fell in Jett’s stomach. ‘Nella wouldn’t ...’

‘Oh, but she did. Tell me, Randall, have you spoken to your boss since you returned from Milan? Did it ever occur to you that she might be avoiding you too? Because of what she did?’

Well, yes, because of one very specific reason that had nothing to do with Ariana La Marca and her fiancé’s incriminating dash cam footage.

‘She—’

‘She signed it, Randall.’

‘Nella would never put anyone’s life at risk, not even Ariana’s.’

‘I’ve seen her in court. I watched you carry her away at her father’s funeral. There is nothing that woman is not capable of. And you’d see it too if you weren’t so busy drooling over her perky little tits.’

Was Raphael really suggesting Nella had been poisoning Ariana the whole time they were in Italy so that she could blackmail her into getting the dash cam footage to convict him of the wine poisoning?

I think the chinotto’s off. That’s what Ariana had said to him. Nella had organised the chinotto – not strange, she never travelled without it. She’d put it in the back of Jett’s car herself.

It was her idea.

‘I see it in your eyes,’ Raphael hissed.

‘You know I’m right. Leave, Randall. Get the fuck out of here.

Take my advice, take my mercy and don’t waste it this time.

Get out while you still can, because they’re all about to go down.

The La Marcas will take this to trial, and even if Forrest is incriminated, the Barbaranis are going to sink further.

Get out before you get buried in their coffins with them. ’

And with one last look, Raphael shoved past Jett and fled back through the trees.

Adrenaline prickling, Jett yanked his door open, fumbling for his phone in the glove box.

Missed calls from Tom, Grey and a private number. He hated that his stomach twisted when he saw that Nella’s name was nowhere on his lock screen.

He should call her. He should hear it from her. Listen to her try to deny what Raphael had said. He should warn her.

But he couldn’t call her. Because even though Raphael was a soulless, sociopathic cretin, he was also right.

About the Barbaranis, about Jett. He was right, and Jett had been so wrong.

So blind. He hated that his first instinct was still to call Nella.

So it was therefore the one thing he absolutely could not do.

Grey. He’d call Grey back.

‘Jett?’ Grey sounded more out of breath than he’d been at the peak of their treadmill run. ‘What the hell took you so long?’

‘Long story. Raphael came at me, he—’

‘Jett.’

His blood ran cold. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Nella? What’s happened?’ He was already sprinting round to the driver’s side like back in his carjacking days.

‘It’s Tom.’ Grey drew a shaky breath. Jett hated that his heart started beating again. ‘He called again. He said he was being followed – reckons someone tried to run him off the road.’

‘Shit.’

Tom was known for being dramatic, but his enormous pride was a handicap that would have stopped him from calling Grey unless he was actually scared.

‘I’m going to him, if the firies haven’t blocked off Cove Road,’ Grey said. ‘It’s weird – he’s down by the Cuttlefish Heights development, near Nannup. Do you know anyone who lives down there?’

‘No.’ Jett leant back against the headrest, keys still on his lap. ‘But you do.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Sophie. Your ex.’

‘Why would Tom be driving to Sophie?’

‘Well, it’s not for sex,’ Jett said, ‘so it must be the other thing she’s done for the Barbaranis.’

‘Bribing Sophie to write a story about how the Barbaranis all sing with the birds in the morning and save drowning kittens from wells is not going to be enough for a judge to dismiss the La Marcas’ case.’

‘He’s desperate.’

‘Tom’s not the one you need to be worried about now, Jett.’

He could feel it. And he was not going to let it.

‘She needs you.’

‘No. She doesn’t.’ He couldn’t get Raphael’s words out of his brain; they were niggling their way in like maggots.

‘Jett.’

‘No, Grey, listen. This isn’t a coincidence, Tom being followed, Avery’s fiancée getting hit, Clarkson – there’s a pattern, there’s something familiar ...’

‘What are you ... Look, how far away are you? I can swing by and—’

‘Listen to me.’ There must have been something in his tone because Grey went quiet. ‘Stay by your phone. I need to check something.’ Before Grey could answer, Jett hung up and scrolled to his newest added contact.

‘Avery speaking.’

‘It’s Jett Randall, the Barbaranis’ driver.’

‘I know. I’ve got your number saved under my Suicide Watch list.’

‘Avery, listen, your girlfriend ... on the night she fell onto the road, you said you guys were in the Bindi Tavern just before, right?’

‘Yeah, we were, but Randall, can this wait? Hazel’s just got out of hospital and I—’

‘Who did she speak to? At the bar, before she left. Who was she talking to?’

Avery’s deep sigh sent a shot of anger through Jett, but he was too wired to absorb it.

‘I thought you would have heard – she had an argument with Nella Barbarani. Look, Hazel wasn’t in the best place and she provoked Nella but—’

Eliza’s words from that night slammed into him. There was a real dressing down . She’d told him something had happened between Hazel and Nella. Why hadn’t he registered the connection then?

Because you were thinking with something else besides your head at the time ...

‘They argued? Right before she got hurt?’

‘Yeah, that’s what I said. What are you insinuating, Randall?’

Jett ended the call without speaking.

Hazel. Ariana. Clarkson. Accidents, illness, death. And now Tom, possibly in danger.

Clarkson was the only one who didn’t fit. To Jett’s knowledge, he and Nella hadn’t argued.

But there’d been conflict, hadn’t there? The Barbaranis (except Tom) wanted Nella to take the case, but with Clarkson there, that wasn’t going to happen. Or was it as Nella had always thought, and Clarkson had discovered something that they didn’t want coming out?

The evidence in the Lake Orta house had cleared the La Marcas of Clarkson’s death as far as Jett was concerned. Unless Clarkson had found something else ... something hidden in his Boogie Board notes ...

‘Grey.’ The ex-fixer picked up on the second ring, diligently waiting as he’d been instructed. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘I need you to check something for me.’ Jett explained what he needed.

As he hung up to wait for Grey’s response, Jett heard the first whoosh of a car, which reminded him there were other people in the world – not just the Barbaranis and the La Marcas.

There was another life out there. He’d just forgotten.

He closed his eyes, door still open. Grey’s text could take a while . ..

Something moved in the bushes around the edges of the car park. Blood pounded in his ears. He sat back up. ‘Who’s there? I can ... Razor ?’

Razor stumbled out of the shrubbery, his white coat filthy with forest debris. ‘What are you ... how did you get out? Here, boy, come here.’

They were miles away from the property. How had Razor found him? How had he made it all this way? Unless ... had Jett been so distracted that he’d left the garage open? Had Razor been in the back of the ute the whole time? Or was this Raphael too?

‘Here, boy.’ Jett bent down, arm extended.

But Razor wouldn’t move, holding his dirty front paw inches above the ground. ‘What’s wrong, boy?’ Jett knelt beside Razor, hot, panting dog breath in his ear. He couldn’t quell the feeling he and Razor weren’t alone, that someone was watching ...

‘Shit!’

Razor snarled as Jett touched his paw. What he’d thought was dirt was dark blood, pooling from a deep gash down Razor’s leg.

An animal couldn’t have done that. It was too precise, too straight.

‘It’s all right, boy, you’re okay.’

It was not all right. The blood was still streaming. Jett ripped off his shirt and wrapped it tight around the wound, then laid Razor across the backseat.

‘It’s okay, boy, hold on – just turning the key now. Hold on.’

The ute wheezed. He twisted the key again, punching the clutch hard enough to break a hole in the bottom of the car.

‘Fuck! FUCK! ’ The car wouldn’t start. The car always started. It never broke down – he kept all the cars in excellent health. But he’d been distracted lately. Had he missed something?

He popped the bonnet. He didn’t have time to mess around – Razor didn’t have time. They were an hour and a half’s walk away from Eliza’s clinic. He wouldn’t be able to carry Razor, and that wound needed more than a shitty T-shirt tourniquet.

He checked his phone again. Still no text from Grey.

He opened Google Maps. Dammit. The only person he knew who lived in this part of town was the one person he couldn’t ask a favour from. Even asking for assistance with animal medical aid would be considered symptomatic of Fuck Boi-itis. He couldn’t do that to Daisy. He wasn’t that person.

DING!

Grey’s text came through and the whole world stopped. His vision blurred. Razor slumped against him.

Fuck. Focus, Randall.

If what Grey had just texted was true, then Daisy was in danger too – anyone who’d been in that office was.

He had to warn her. Tell her to run – to go to her mum’s or a friend’s in Perth.

Just get away from Nella Barbarani. Even if that advice made him the biggest hypocrite in the southern hemisphere, he couldn’t let Daisy’s name be added to the list. Clarkson, Hazel, Ariana, Razor, maybe Tom.

Because if Daisy was hurt, it would be entirely, completely, wholly, his fault.

He cradled Razor’s head as he flicked through his contacts, praying his dog wasn’t going to die because Daisy refused to answer his call.

Because of what working for the Barbaranis had done to him, had turned him into – the kind of guy who breaks it off with a perfectly nice woman because he can’t stop fucking his friend in his head.

Razor was not going to die because of what Nella had done to him.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.