White Lies (A Twisted Fate Series) (Volume 1) (18 page)

I had to put the paper on the dashboard as my tears poured out. Carson’s arms wrapped around me. “Shh… I’m here. I’m here, Willow. It’s okay.”

More sobs. Those words were from my dad. I missed him so much. He knew me so well. If only he were here with me.

Finally, the tears subsided, and I straightened up. I handed the letter to Carson; I desperately wished things were different.

I knew Dad loved me. But after having the most horrendous five months of my life, it was something I needed.

“Wow, Willow. I don’t know what to say.”

With a watery smile, I turned back to Carson. “Me, either.”

Gently, he folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. “What do you want to do?”

“Hear Trent out, I guess. Dad wanted me to.”

I took a few more minutes to calm down before I announced I was ready to go back.

He gave me a slight nod. Trent looked relieved when he saw us, as if he hadn’t expected me to return. I sat in the chair across from him. “Did you know what the note said?”

“I have no idea.”

There were still so many questions. “When did Dad give it to you?”

“A little under nine months ago. He told me that if you ever needed help, this might help you trust me.”

“Why did he think I would need help?”

Trent shifted in his seat. “Something happened.” I began to speak, but Trent held up his hand. “I can’t share it yet, Willow. Your Dad gave specific parameters on when I could tell you. I wish to hell I could, but I can’t betray my word to him. If I don’t have my word, I don’t have much left.”

Just like Dad predicted, anger rolled through me, but I kept it at bay. It was so frustrating. “Was Dad in trouble?”

“No, he was fine. The situation was handled.”

I racked my brain for what could have happened eight months ago—I’d just finished the last semester of my master’s degree.

This was the worse day to have a hangover. “Honestly, Trent, I don’t know what to say.”

He cleared his throat. “Let me tell you what I’ve found out. We can go from there. I’ll help anyway I can, but I won’t force anything on you.”

It was easy to see why Dad liked him… if this was the real him. Not so long ago, I had been deceived by my husband.

“Carson only setup the initial meeting. Nothing else was discussed.” Trent looked to Carson for confirmation, which he gave by nodding. Carson hadn’t said anything. I wasn’t sure what he thought right now. “I know Ms. Russo was married to Gabriel Alexander Thompson. From her father, I know she didn’t take his name, he had PTSD, and acted erratically different from when he left for deployment. Since he died, I found he had a wife named Candy and a son named after him. And was involved with some shady people.”

I sat there a little stunned. That was almost everything I had learned about him since Alex died.

Trent took my silence as the opportunity to continue. “Alex had quite the gambling addiction. He used his leverage to get his debt reduced. At one point, he owed the owner of Cocktails money. You know him as Harley.”

I processed everything for a second. “Did you find anything else out?”

“Honestly, Ms. Russo—”

“Willow, please.”

His eyes lit up. “Willow, when your dad died, I kept tabs on Alex because I know your dad was worried. I contemplated how to come to you with the information when he was killed. Then I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ve been keeping tabs from a distance to make sure you were safe, but I knew I was already overstepping my bounds by doing that without your permission.”

“Do you know about Commander Taylor?”

“I know he’s a dirty cop. Most of his precinct is.” Trent knew his stuff.

I sat on the precipice of a decision, knowing what Dad wanted me to do. For now, I wanted to see where this led. “What do you think you can do for me?”

“Design a protocol that keeps you safe until we figure out how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

We drove back to the house on Martha’s Vineyard. Everyone had gone into town to eat dinner. They’d texted earlier, saying they were going drinking again, and invited us. It was an easy decline with my head feeling as though a wrecking ball had made a few swings inside of it. Carson had been on the phone arranging the trip to Italy, leaving me with my thoughts.

Trent was an enigma. He seemed honest and to have loved Dad, but what incident had been kept from me? It drove me crazy. The fact was I had no idea when in the last two years the incident occurred. It was hard not to feel a little hurt at Dad for not trusting me with the information. Maybe he hadn’t thought I was strong enough to handle it. How could it be worse than my current situation?

“What did you think about him, Willow?”

I looked around, realizing the car had stopped at the house. “I’m not sure. I guess we’ll see what he recommends for security and go from there.” Facing Carson, I asked, “Was there anything Dad or Trent said that would have led you to believe they were as close as he said?”

“No. Nothing. Trent never mentioned him. He came to the funeral.”

There were so many people who had been there it was impossible for me to remember.

We got out of the car. The cool breeze from the ocean felt refreshing. “Let’s see. I know Trent is clean. I’ve had him extensively investigated prior to using him for security at Whitmore Hotels.”

I figured as much since Carson had helped him. A yawn escaped me. “I think I’m going to turn in. With Rosie having moved on to Mitchell, I think you’re safe to sleep in your own room.”

“Yeah, I’m going to call Francesca. See you in the morning, angel.”

“See you.”

After changing into my pajamas, I charged my phone and saw the notification on the burner from Tack. It was from earlier.

Tack: Thanks for this morning and listening to me.

Something gooey melted inside me, but I forced it away. I was too on edge with all the revelations of the afternoon. Tack remained an unknown, too, and the realization of how much I had let my guard down with him scared me.

Dad’s note became my focus for now.

Me: You’re welcome. Thanks for listening to me. I’m exhausted from last night. The bed is calling my name.

Almost instantly I got a question in response.

Tack: One question… how did the security guy work out?

Me: We’ll see. Not sure.

Tack: Sleep tight, Willow.

Tack: Night, Tack.

I threw on my pajamas and quickly got into bed. Before I knew it, I was out—with all my problems from the day put aside.

T
he car pulled up to the Whitmore Hotel in Florence. It was magnificent with the old stone architecture and Italian sculptures recessed within the walls.

This was a new hotel Carson had acquired six months ago, and it was giving him troubles. My mouth dropped in awe. “Carson, this is beautiful. I can’t believe I never looked this place up on the internet.”

“Do you remember the Rinaldis?”

Memories of the older man brought happiness to my heart. When Dad brought us to Italy, we always stopped by the Rinaldis for tapas and pasta. Dad and Marco were able to shoot the shit for hours. Their parents had been best friends. “Yes, of course.”

“Your dad insisted I stop by Marco’s for tapas and pasta about a year ago.” I chuckled and Carson beamed. “Best damn pasta I’ve ever had. Beats the ravioli we found in New York City with Dad.” I nodded in agreement. Carson continued, “Turns out Marco was ready to simplify his life. He’d asked your dad if he knew of someone who would cherish his building as much as he did. It took a bit to work out the details and renovations.”

Dad would have loved to come here and see this. “Did Marco’s sons not want to carry on his legacy?”

It was rare a family let go of historical places such as this. The Rinaldis were extremely tight knit.

Carson held up a finger to an approaching bellman to hold him off while we finished our conversation. “No, his sons are executives at different companies. They had no interest.”

“Dad would have been so proud of you, Carson. I’m proud of you.”

The pride showed on Carson’s face. He was so accomplished for someone so young. “Thanks, Willow. Means a lot. Let’s get you situated. I have a meeting in thirty minutes with the management.”

We got out of the car, and I whispered, “Do they know you speak Italian yet?” Over the last week I noticed Carson only spoke in English when dealing with this office. They weren’t aware of Carson’s linguistic abilities. He learned a lot when they broke out into their Italian rants.

“No.”

A giggle escaped as I said, “When they find out, I bet they panic.”

He shrugged. “If they did their fucking jobs, there wouldn’t be a reason to talk behind my back.”

Carson raised his hand for the bellman to come get our bags. This was Carson’s hardcore business persona. He kept his cards close to his chest except with me. From business dinners I’d attended, Carson was a different person to the public. Guarded. Untouchable. It always shocked me to see the harder side of him.

The bellman unloaded our luggage, and it disappeared into the hotel as we made our way through the revolving door. Thick marble stone etched in fleur-de-lis framed the archways.

Soft classical music filled the atmosphere. The white marble floors had distressed gray marks through them. Everywhere you looked, another treasure waited to be discovered.

A giant crystal chandelier—wider than I was tall—hung massively over a ginormous flower arrangement.

Amazing.

I spun around slowly as Carson talked to someone. The corners of the lobby had Italian sculptures prominently displayed.

Beautiful.

We opted for the grand staircase made of marble. It was obvious that attention had been paid to the smallest of details, like the accented cord on the lamps with the Whitmore insignia. Carson spoke about how the elevators were too small. Apparently, it would have caused more headache than it was worth to have them expanded due to the infrastructure of the building. Currently, architects were seeing if a larger elevator could be added at the far end of the lobby.

I brushed my fingers along the finely-polished marble banister as we climbed the three stories. Chandeliers twinkled, and the scent of fragrant white lilies and violets permeated the air—both symbolic flowers of Italy.

Perfection. True perfection.

My heart burst with pride. Carson knew his hotel business. The staff made a fuss of providing Carson the best service possible. I’m sure they knew he was pissed. A theft problem, as well as a few management issues, had brought Carson here. People needed to know their stuff was safe when paying near eighteen hundred American dollars a night to stay there.

Security was now top-notch, thanks to Trent, and today the thief would be arrested. On the trip over, I found myself softening a little toward him after hearing all he had done for Carson. He’d been on a few of the conference calls where I’d heard him over the speaker. He never faltered in his professionalism or crossed the line when asking about my case. I respected that.

We rounded the grand staircase to the next floor. Leading us down the corridor, we came to a stop in front of a door. The bellman prattled details to Carson as they walked in. I was too enamored to pay attention.

“This is your room, Signorina Russo. Your things have already been placed in your bedroom. Signor Whitmore, you are in your normal room with your things as you have specified them to be. Is there anything else I can assist you with this evening?” The bellman clasped his hands in front. So far the service here was impeccable.

Carson looked around the room. “That is all, Tomas. Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

I took in the room. It was decadent in cream, gold and black. When we were alone, I spun around and grinned at Carson. “This is gorgeous. I can’t believe I didn’t get over here sooner.”

The view caught my eye as I traipsed toward the balcony. The
Duomo
was in the distance with an unobstructed view. I murmured, “Breathtaking.”