Surrender Your Love (Surrender Your Love #1)(37)
Popping a spoonful of delicious pasta into my mouth, I wondered what it must be like to be as rich as these people, and not have to worry about paying the bills or putting food on the table. Even when my mother lost my father and had to make end’s meet by taking a minimum wage job stocking shelves in a local supermarket, I never felt like I lacked anything. But being with Jett in a villa that probably cost more than I’d make in a lifetime, I couldn’t help but feel out of place.
I worked for him but wasn’t part of his world. And I harbored no false hope that I’d ever be.
You don’t want him, Stewart. So get those ‘what ifs’ out of your damn system.
“Damn straight,” I mumbled, opening the Lucazzone file. To my surprise, it wasn’t the same one Jett had left on my desk this morning. I finished my lunch quickly so I could engross myself in Mayfield’s strange work ethic. By the time I leaned back in my chair, I couldn’t help but admire his dedication.
Jett Mayfield knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to take it, no matter how dirty he had to play.
***
The private detective had been following the Lucazzone family for ten years, sifting through family trees, tragedies, secret bank accounts, and visitors with hidden motives. As it turned out, throughout generations the Lucazzone men had played away, taking their pleasure wherever and from whomever they could get it. Alessandro Lucazzone was no different, except that he played for the other team. He had wed his rich wife because he needed her money, which explained why he never fathered an heir. At some point, one of his lovers moved in, and they began to flaunt their romance until his wife put a stop to it by threatening to divorce him.
I wondered why she never carried out her threat. Any woman in her right mind would, and yet Henrietta Lucazzone stayed with Alessandro until she drew her last breath, her body destroyed by a mysterious disease she contracted while vacationing in India. Maybe it was her Catholic upbringing that made her value her vows more than her freedom or a life with someone who truly loved her. Or maybe Alessandro had an iron grip on her, forcing her into obedience. He was well known for his charm and good looks, and it was said that he could even persuade a cobra to hold back her venom at the sight of him.
Obviously, I didn’t believe a word they said. The stories dated back to his youth, when the effects of WWI had made people poor and trusting of the high society that offered a free daily meal and gifted their children clothes to wear. Maybe it was the reason why Henrietta thought Alessandro Lucazzone got away with murder.
According to Jett’s file, it was the first Sunday in December 1953. Henrietta Lucazzone had just returned from yet another shopping spree, of which she was so fond, only to find her husband in bed with another man. While this had happened before, this time the lover next to Alessandro was dead. His torso had been slit open from the throat all the way down to his abdomen. According to her diary, Henrietta never called the police and the body was later found buried in the woods, nak*d, the torso torn open.
No one ever asked questions, no one pointed fingers. Around the time the body was found, Alessandro gave money away to charity, and he was praised for his generosity. The man was identified as a former soldier in WWII, hooked on the bottle and in desperate need of cash to finance his next drink. Mayfield’s private detective only stumbled upon Lucazzone’s secret when he wasn’t granted a visit entrance to Lucazzone’s home, and he stumbled upon Henrietta’s diary in the chapel behind the gardens, hidden beneath the kneeling pad facing the altar.
Although the diary was never sent to the police, the fact that a body was found inside the villa should have been proof enough that someone in the Lucazzone house was a murderer. And yet, the family’s good reputation and wealth protected whoever committed the crime. In his correspondence with the detective, Mayfield had claimed the man was old and sick. If he was indeed the murderer, any justice would reach him after his death. I wondered why Jett wouldn’t just hand the diary to the local authorities. If Alessandro was found guilty, the Italian government would auction the estate and sell it to the highest bidder, in which case I doubted anyone would make an offer in excess of twenty million. It would have been so easy, and yet Jett seemed to want to take the hard road for reasons unfathomable to me.
Closing the file, I placed my empty plate in the dishwasher and headed upstairs for the privacy of my office. Without Jett, the house seemed unusually quiet. As I booted up my MacBook from sleeping mode, I found myself easing slowly into work mode. I looked through the file from front to back cover, twice, without finding anything that could possibly help. The tax records were fine. The estate had financial troubles, but they weren’t severe enough to push Lucazzone into selling. I had no idea what else to look for and was about to close the file when the tiny number printed at the bottom of each page caught my eye. The last page was numbered 147 of 148, meaning one page was missing.
Had it been filed with the others? I couldn’t remember having seen it, but I searched the file twice nonetheless, then my desk and finally the kitchen, without much success. In the end, I decided to ask Jett about it and commenced my administrative tasks. By the time I finished answering his principal business correspondence and postponed each and every meeting as per Jett’s request, it was early evening, and the sound of crunching pebbles beneath tires told me it was time to call it a day.
***
Jett’s business meeting hadn’t gone well. I could tell by the way he slammed the door shut, sending a reverberating quake through the floor and walls. I had no idea what to make of it, so I stayed glued to the spot, inches away from the clothes hanging in my closet, wondering what to wear tonight. Until now it had always been one business suit after another, intermingled with the occasional jeans at night. Tonight I felt a need for a change, maybe something risky like a skirt or a dress. Something to entice the man who hadn’t touched me since our outing to the beach. Why? Because I wanted to get it over and done with.