Page 52 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

S erafina

“I’m heading out to the store, Sera. Is there anything you need?” Viola calls up the stairs.

“No, I’m fine, thank you. See you later.”

I fasten the second diamond stud to my ear and then tuck my hair over one shoulder.

I’m already counting the hours until Andreas comes home.

Even with Benito here, we still can’t keep our hands off each other.

I kind of wish he’d brought Tess so her boyfriend wouldn’t be the spare wheel while he’s staying under our roof, but she’s preparing for a dance tour with her new company and has to stay in New York.

She calls daily though, eager to know if Benito and Andreas have extinguished their father.

I don’t like to think about it. I’m not concerned for Andreas’ safety—if anyone can protect themselves from venomous small-minded gangsters, it’s my husband.

But knowing about someone’s murder being imminent to being taken aback when you aren’t expecting it are two very different things.

Knowing makes me an accomplice and while I’ve managed to accept many labels in recent weeks, colluding side-kick isn’t one I’m open to.

They left in the early hours of this morning to meet with some of the Di Santo soldiers. I don’t know if the purpose is to discuss ‘business’ or the location of Leonardo Bernadi, and I don’t want to.

I’m glad for the peace and the space. I want to cook something for my husband and his brother.

Something that doesn’t require a knife. As far as I’ve come since I moved in here with Andreas, he still hasn’t removed the padlocks from the drawers and cupboards.

We discussed it and I didn’t object. He wants to assure my safety and I want to let him. It won’t be forever.

I pull a thick sweater on, walk into the kitchen and take a cookbook down from one of the shelves.

I won’t need a knife to bake a cake. I carefully lay out the bowls, spatulas and ingredients, then weigh everything out, setting them aside into neat piles.

I haven’t baked anything in ages and I just know already it’s going to soothe me.

The house is quiet and peaceful, my bare feet on the kitchen tile the only sound to be heard.

I gaze out the window. Snow is beginning to fall on the trees and lawns, which only makes the silence softer.

With the branches mostly now bare, I can take in the extent of the land on which our home sits.

It’s vast and beautiful. A warmth fills me up as I remind myself again how damn lucky I got.

It’s been quite a ride to get here, but the perfect life has unfolded alongside the revelation of who I really am.

Just as I bend to switch on the oven, the doorbell goes.

It’s probably Viola having forgotten her key again.

She’s been doing that a lot these days and it’s making me a little worried.

She’s become like a mother to me and I couldn’t bear to see her health deteriorate just as she’s been brought into my life.

I loosen the oven gloves and drop them onto the counter, then make my way to the door. I open it, expecting to see Viola’s apologetic face, but no one is out there.

A dart of anxiety jabs me in the chest at the thought it might possibly be Andreas’ father.

He certainly appeared devious enough to put me in danger just to hurt his son.

The only reason I’ve felt safe is because Andreas has promised me that he and Benito are on his tail.

I have no doubt he’ll be turning up in the Connecticut River before long.

I go to close the door but a package on the stoop catches my eye. It’s a manila envelope just like the one Andreas used to present his plans to Governor Grayson. A shiver threads its way down my spine. Because this one… has my name on it.

I pick it up and glance around the front of the house one more time before closing the door and bolting it firmly.

My fingers are shaking as I carry the envelope to the kitchen. I rip it open and pour the contents onto the counter. At first sight, they’re just plain sheets of paper, but when I turn them over, my heart thuds to the floor.

They’re photographs.

Grainy. But clear enough.

My gaze zones in on my husband. My strong, powerful, commanding husband, decked out in the suit he wore to the Cosmos Club in Washington. I recognize the tie I ripped from around his neck the second we fell into our hotel room.

He’s holding someone. My lips start to lift, knowing it must have been me. My husband has only ever held me. While we’ve been married at least.

But the smile falls when my gaze drifts to the person he’s holding. It’s a different woman. A very recognizable one. Long, flaxen blonde hair; too-short, too-tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Thickly painted lashes closed and red lips pressed against my husband’s.

Astrid Olsson.

My breath sticks in my throat as nausea crawls up it. This can’t be real.

I flick the photo back and forth looking for any sign it might have been tampered with somehow.

But I don’t know what I’d be looking for and I can’t really see beyond the obvious—that my husband didn’t simply take Olsson out of the business dinner to issue her with an ultimatum.

He took her out so they could catch a moment alone and discuss the deal like the ‘old friends’ they are .

Vomit lurches up my throat and I barely make it to the sink before that morning’s breakfast appears in front of me.

I turn on the faucet and watch the former contents of my stomach swirl away, then I grip the edge of the counter to stop the room from spinning.

Slowly, I return to the photos. All three of them.

Each one is grainy but they were definitely taken that night and depict my husband and Secretary Olsson in similar compromising positions.

I turn them over again to see if there’s any clue as to where they came from or who would have left them at the house.

When I see nothing, I inspect the manila envelope.

There’s a small slip of paper inside. Tipping it out, I read the one sentence scribbled in black pen by a wizened hand.

“You deserve to know the truth about your husband. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure he doesn’t enter your house again alive.”

I read the short note several times because my mind is fighting it. My head is scrambling for an explanation but my heart is breaking down the middle. The resulting swirl of emotions builds in the base of my stomach like a tornado. It comes on so quickly I can’t breathe.

Instinctively, my eyes flit about searching for something sharp.

Why didn’t I insist on the locks being removed when Andreas brought it up to me?

He would be so disappointed if I cut myself now.

I glance at the photos of him kissing another woman and question whether he’d even care?

Was I just a tool? Because of my connection to Cristiano?

Were my instincts right in the beginning?

He’s used me to get his hands on Boston?

I run through the questions with complete disbelief.

It would all make total sense but I simply can’t believe Andreas would do that to me.

Surely he wouldn’t go to all the trouble of getting me well, paying for a therapist, a personal trainer, a chef, to help me overcome my demons.

Surely he wouldn’t have persevered through fifty-six orgasms to watch me eventually learn to love myself.

He didn’t need to do those things and he wouldn’t have done all those things if he didn’t… love me?

I look back at the note. What did they mean by Andreas not entering the house alive again?

How could he not? I walk back into the hall and open the closet.

I remember Viola taking a pair of binoculars from inside so she could show me some of the birds that came to the yard.

I find them in a box stacked on the floor then I make my way up the stairs.

I go to the guest wing first and look out over the front of the property.

I can’t see anything of note through the viewfinder.

I hurry through the rooms to the back of house and look out over the gardens. Nothing obvious catches my eye.

Then I see it.

A man dressed in camo gear crouched down behind a cluster of trees at the far end of the garden.

He must have been the man who delivered the photographs.

I’m about to lower the binoculars but another movement to the right draws my attention.

I lift the binoculars again and see another man.

Slightly more concealed but it’s obvious he’s trying to stay out of sight.

I definitely wouldn’t have seen him if I didn’t have binoculars.

My heart pumps faster. How many of these men are there?

I coast the entire back section of the grounds and spot one more. He’s lying flat in some of the longer grass where Viola and I are planning to grow wildflowers come spring.

None of these men look anything like Andreas’ father.

What’s going on? Who are they?

I duck away from the window and run to the primary wing.

Hiding behind the wall I lift the binoculars again.

I spot two more men to the side of the property.

Now I know what I’m looking for, I identify the frozen figures more easily.

I move fast and quietly around all the rooms. There are twelve men in total. The house is surrounded.

I run back down the stairs to the kitchen. I still don’t have a cell phone of my own but Andreas has left a burner for me in one of the drawers. I thank God it is a burner because I have no doubt all numbers registered to this property will be monitored.

My hand shakes as I lift the phone to my ear.

Andreas answers after one ring.

“Babe, you okay?”

It’s unusual that I have reason to call him so his concern is understandable.

“No. There are men surrounding the house, Andreas. Twelve of them. They’re armed. ”

“Fuck.”

I hear him mutter something urgently and figure it must be to Benito.

“Are the doors and windows locked?”

“Yes.”

“Has anyone tried the door?”

“No but an envelope was delivered. I opened the door to find it on the stoop, so they know I’m home.”

“Jesus. What was in the envelope?”

I swallow and my voice trembles. “Photographs.”

His tone turns dark. “Of who?”

“You. And… Secretary Olsson.”

He doesn’t seem too alarmed by this, which, strangely, reassures me. “What kind of photos?”

I close my eyes and hope so hard that this is all a complete fabrication. “You’re kissing.”

“We’re what?”

“You’re kissing… at the Cosmos Club.”

“Fuck!” I hear something slam, then Benito shouts something in the background.

“They’re not real,” he rushes out, his voice thin with vitriol. “They can’t be real, Sera, because I did not kiss that woman. I threatened her.”

“I believe you,” I whisper.

“Get the fuck off me Benny…”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

There’s a rustle, then Benito speaks down the phone. I ask again what’s going on.

“He’s just broken his fucking hand punching a wall. What did you just say to him?”

“There are men surrounding the house. They’ve sent me forged photographs with a note that says my husband won’t step foot in our house again alive.”

“Mother FUCK.”

My husband grabs the phone. “I’m coming home.”

“No!” I plead. “They’ll kill you Andreas—you can’t come home, not while they’re here. Can you send someone else? Someone they might spare?”

“Sera, I am not leaving you in that house alone with those fucking parasites. I’m coming to get you.”

I start to sob frantically. He can’t come home. They’ll kill him.

“Look, we’ve found Leo. Benito can take it from here. As soon as that man is dead, the others will fall—they have to. I’m coming home. I don’t want anyone taking you anywhere except me.”

“No, Andreas, please. I’m going to be fine. Stay where you are. Do what you have to do. I’ll lock myself in the bathroom. Just… please don’t walk into their trap. Please .”

“I need you to do something,” he says, completely ignoring my pleas. “Inside the hallway closet is a door.”

Hold up. I was just in that closet and never saw a door!

“It’s hidden behind the coat rail. Open it. There’s a light switch to the left. Close the door behind you, lock it, and go down the steps. That’s my gun cellar.”

His what? That’s one room Viola failed to include in my initial tour of the house.

“All the guns down there are locked and loaded, okay? Grab one that isn’t too heavy. One you think you might be able to fire if you have to, okay?”

My heart lunges up my throat and the image of Tess holding a gun at Trilby’s wedding sends a shiver through my bones.

“Uh huh.”

“Stay down there until I get home. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper, weakly.

“Go. Now. Take this phone with you.”

“Okay.”

He pauses, briefly. “I love you, Sera.”

“Don’t say that,” I reply. “That feels so final. Don’t say it.”

“Okay. Then, I’ll see you soon, baby.”

He hangs up and I immediately run to the closet in the hallway. There’s a fricking door in here? I push through all the coats and jackets and, well, blow me down with a feather. There’s an actual door. I open it and flick on the switch.

Oh dear God. If a group of camo-clad men don’t finish me off, this creepy cellar might.

I have to push any fear of cellars, spiders and cobwebs to the back of my mind and bolt the door behind me.

My life was put in danger the day my sister got engaged to a Di Santo, but this is the first time I’ve ever felt so close to death.

I hurry down the steps into the bowels of the building. When I reach the bottom I look around and my jaw drops .