Dark Justice Read online

  His father had taught him to make the most of what God had given him. He’d said, “Son, we need to do the best with what we’ve been given.”

  But his father, dumb old fool, had also encouraged him to settle for a small, simple life.

  Maybe that had been okay for his parents, but as soon as he got a taste of the good life, he never looked back.

  His poor father must be rolling over in the grave since he died knowing that part of the good life that Charles lived involved putting another man’s cock in his mouth. Too bad. Didn’t dear old Dad realize he’d made him that way? When Charles had been caught having gay sex to pay for his prom date, his father had kicked him out of the house.

  At that point in his life, having sex for money was the only thing that kept Charles alive.

  It wasn’t his favorite thing, but selling his body had paid the bills. It was how he lived in this mansion with the indoor pool and elevator. It was how he would become filthy rich.

  It never meant that he had lost the desire to taste the sweetness of a woman.

  And he must have matured, because there was only one woman he wanted. He wanted her so bad he would crawl inside her skin and be her if he had the chance.

  She was intoxicating.

  And glory of glories, she loved him back. With a furious passion he hadn’t known existed. And it was all for him.

  If he did as she wanted.

  And if he could bide his time.

  Because she had dreams as big as his.

  And making them come true would not be easy. But together they could do it.

  When they were together, they could do anything.

  He unlocked the door to his apartment and ran up the last few lights of stairs. No reason to wimp out now this close to the finish line.

  That applied to their plans, as well.

  Even though the end was in sight, he wasn’t sure he could put up with it much longer.

  At times, if he allowed himself to think about it, the whole thing made him sick.

  What got him going each day was thoughts of a future with his true love. He’d promised her so much. Their dream life was just around the corner. They would live like a king and queen. Fuck all night and sleep all day. He would rub her feet with that special lotion made from crushed diamonds and bathe her body in the most expensive perfumes. He would wash her hair every day himself.

  But a lot of people had to die before he could make good on his word.

  Mostly, one man had to die.

  The one man who stood in his way. The one man who stood between him and a future that most people could only dream about.

  Each day, the only thing that kept him going was to imagine, vividly, the man’s murder. He couldn’t wait to see the man bleed to death, alone, looking up at him with hatred.

  All in good time.

  Then he could be with his true love.

  There were so many obstacles in their way, but true love would conquer all.

  One by one, they would die at his hands. And someone else would pay for it while he rode off into the sunset with his love. And no one would be the wiser.

  It was funny; he had never realized that he had the stomach for murder. Who knew?

  He was less worried about the actual killing and more worried about getting caught.

  But he had a foolproof plan to get away with it.

  One that was so crazy insane nobody would believe it in a million years.

  Thank god he’d kept in touch with his Army buddy. And luckily his Army buddy was one of the smartest dudes alive. And luckily, he still liked getting his dick sucked.

  His beautiful lover wasn’t crazy about the idea, but she knew they were both going through the motions and doing what was necessary to create the future of their dreams.

  Four

  When I got to the hotel, I was fat and happy.

  It had been great to catch up with Tony and hear about him becoming a grandfather. He’d lost touch with his kids when they were young because he’d been in prison. It was heartwarming to hear that he’d been forgiven and given a second chance as a very involved grandfather.

  He watched the grandkids during the day and drove at night. Usually.

  He’d made an exception for me. I scolded him.

  “Family first. Always.”

  “It’s cool,” he said. “I can still drive you during the day now that I’m back. Grandma likes to have the kids to herself for a few hours. They can do girlie things—get their nails done, all that bullshit stuff I hate.”

  I sighed and took another big bite of clam chowder. “Fine. But family first.”

  “I get it. I get it,” he said.

  Now, on the curb of the hotel, he handed the valet my suitcase, and I stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on his grizzly cheek.

  “Thanks for everything, old friend,” I said.

  He mumbled something gruff and got back in the car. He got embarrassed by sentimental stuff.

  I was already checked in on the mobile app, so when I stepped into the elevator, I hit the hotel suite button and let the laser scan my code. Dante had also arranged for me to have an “employee key card” on my phone to access other parts of the hotel if necessary.

  It made sense. In less than a month, if all went as planned, we would be the new owners of the hotel.

  The elevator opened directly into a private hallway. There were two doors. One to the rooftop Jacuzzi and one to my suite.

  My suitcase was already sitting in front of the door to the suite.

  I opened up the door and was greeted by golden hour sunlight. It was such a welcome change from the gloomy, shadowy streets below. Once upon a time, San Francisco’s gray skies and shadows had comforted me. Now, after living in Mexico, San Diego, and Barcelona, I craved sunshine.

  Being in the hotel suite was almost like taking off from a cloudy day in an airplane and then rising above the clouds into the glorious, heavenly sunshine.

  I could get used to it.

  And Dante knew that.

  Somehow, he’d convinced me to go in with him in buying the hotel. I was pretty sure we could get financing from the company I owned. But we had another obstacle in our way. The current owner agreed to sell to us, but had one strange condition first—exposing an employee who had betrayed him.

  While I’m sure Dante loved the idea of owning a boutique hotel, the truth is, what he was most interested in was the Michelin three-star restaurant that was the true penthouse of the hotel.

  It had spectacular views and world-class dining.

  Dante already owned several successful restaurants, but to him, this was the crème de la crème.

  “Come on, Gia,” he’d said a few days before. “You are going to be bored out of your pretty skull unless you have a project to tackle.”

  “What’s so challenging about plunking down a wad of cash and buying a hotel. Boring. Snore.”

  “There’s some underhanded shit going on there,” he said in a low voice.

  I was instantly intrigued. Dante never swore. If he used the word “shit” that meant whatever was going on was a royal clusterfuck of massive proportions.

  “Do tell?”

  “Someone is embezzling from the current owner. His name is Gunther. Herr Gunther Janson. He lives in Berlin. For whatever reason, he likes me.”

  “Is he gay?”

  “What?” Dante said, annoyed. “What does that have to do with it? You don’t have to be gay to like me, Gia.”

  “I was just wondering.”

  He ignored me.

  “So, you’d have to live undercover there for a while to figure out who is behind it all.”

  I was starting to like the idea more and more.

  “Undercover?”

  “Gunther has a house in Napa too. One of his many houses. He likes to come visit his vineyard once a year. He’s been coming to my restaurant for years. He asked me over to his place and gave me the pitch. He wants to sell, but he wants to unearth the employee wh
o betrayed him first. He said if I can figure out who it is, he will sell to us at a bargain price.”

  “Huh,” I said. “So, if you can figure out whose fucking him, he’ll give us a deal?”

  “Exactly,” Dante said, his voice excited. “But I can’t do it on my own.”

  So, now I was checking into the hotel suite as a guest, when really, I was a fucking spy! I loved it. I was excited to be all James Bond and shit. What that entailed, I wasn’t really sure yet. But it would come to me.

  The Hotel suite was mostly a wide-open, sunny space. Double doors led to a master bedroom and bath.

  I wheeled my suitcase into the bedroom. The bed was hanging from massive steel cables attached to the edges of a skylight that took up most of the ceiling. I could just imagine the starlight that would shine down at night. I was already excited for bed.

  Everything in the hotel suite was sleek, yet warm. For instance, while the couches had clean, modern lines, the material was plush gray velvet.

  The bed had light gray silk sheets and a darker gray velvet duvet cover.

  Thick white fur throws were tossed on both the couches and the bed.

  The dining room table was black marble with white leather chairs pulled up to it.

  I walked around, touching all the materials. It was as if the hotel suite had been designed with me in mind. I loved the sensuality of how things felt.

  No scratchy wool sweaters for me. Soft-as-butter leather pants, silky blouses, velvet blazers? Yes, please.

  I stepped out onto the balcony that ran the length of the hotel suite facing the Golden Gate bridge. Spectacular view. But cold.

  I came back inside and stripped on my way to the bedroom, throwing my clothes on the floor behind me as I walked.

  After a long, hot shower to wash the travel filth off me, I dressed in comfy yoga pants and a tee, poured myself a Bourbon from the mirrored bar, and settled onto the chaise lounge facing the TV. I flicked through the channels and settled on an entertainment show based in Hollywood. I needed light, mindless escapism.

  Hearing about the exploits of movie stars was always fun.

  This episode was just beginning as I settled in. The host, a gorgeous woman—unfortunately dressed in an ugly, frilly pink chiffon number that only an aged hooker would wear—promised the latest on the duchess (apparently a former maid accused her of racism, which I doubted was true), how Deepfake technology had made it appear that Tom Cruise was eating lollipops on TikTok (it was mind-blowing and terrifying how that video technology could make someone dangerous like Vladimir Putin appear to say things he never said), and how a hot affair had destroyed a storybook marriage between two Oscar-winning movie stars.

  I was all in.

  Getting caught up in the dramas of celebrities was a fitting escape. My own life had been filled with so much dark, deep shit, that the fluffy crap they had to deal with was comical. I mean, sure, it was still serious, but cry me a river. Boo-hoo, someone is impersonating you on TikTok, Tom. And sorry, Meghan, that you’re accused of shit you didn’t do while you are living in LA hobnobbing with celebs. And what a rough break, that your celebrity marriage ended.

  By the time the show was over, I’d made and finished another drink and was feeling no pain. I was also exhausted. I’d fought my jet lag as long as I could so I could try to get back on a normal schedule. The long travel day from Indonesia had finally caught up with me. There hadn’t been any direct flights, so I’m pretty sure I’d lost a day or two in getting back. It was all a big blur. I’d slept on both flights, so I was really disoriented when the pilot finally announced we were on our descent into San Francisco.

  All I knew was that if I stayed awake a few more hours I’d have half a shot at getting back on a normal West Coast sleep schedule.

  I decided to crawl into bed before I ended up sleeping on the couch.

  I woke with a start at three in the morning. Damn. I knew it was late in Sumatra. Might as well not fight it. I guess I was lucky to get the sleep I did. At least if I got up now, there was a good chance I’d be tired at the normal time tonight.

  For a second, I wondered what time it was in Southern France.

  Where Ryder was.

  I’d jumped in bed with him sort of on the rebound after Nico’s death. But what I’d found in him scared me. He got me. Like Nico, he knew I’d killed people. And, also like Nico, so had he. But he got me on some scary-as-fuck profound level. Like he could see right through my soul.

  I hated it. And I loved it.

  But I ran away from it.

  He has his own life in France.

  I’d thought I’d never see him again.

  But then before leaving Sumatra, I’d called him and asked if he’d ever been to San Francisco. Now he was trying to figure out a way to come out here to visit me…. I couldn’t even think about that yet. I had too much to do here first.

  Today would be busy. I had plans to meet with Dante for the board meeting of our company and then later, we’d go to dinner. Somewhere in the next week, I wanted to swing by the Tenderloin neighborhood and talk to Danny.

  As soon as I finished my undercover work here at the hotel, I’d have to go house hunting in the Tenderloin. I wasn’t sure what I wanted yet—an apartment or an actual house. It depended on what was available, I guess.

  Even though it was still dark, I was wide awake in bed, my mind racing with all these thoughts of what I needed to do that day.

  That’s when I looked up.

  Holy shit. The stars were amazing. I couldn’t believe I was in the middle of a big city and this was my night sky. I sat there in awe for a few minutes, feeling inconsequential faced with the sheer awesomeness of the universe above me.

  I’d lost so much in my life. So many people I loved had been taken violently from me.

  I’d come back to San Francisco because I felt lost and adrift.

  The most compelling reason for my return was an utter, all-encompassing loneliness.

  My family was too busy for me. Eva had her own busy life in Italy running her female assassin boot camp. Rose didn’t want me in her life right then. I knew on some level that this was her attempt to forge her own life. It hurt, but I knew enough about my own journey as a young woman that I had to let her go. I knew she would return to me.

  In desperation, I’d called Dante. And he did what he always does—told me what I needed to hear. He told me to come home.

  As usual, he was right. It was annoying how often this was the case.

  Here I was in San Francisco. And even though I missed the hell out of the people I’d lost—my parents, my first love, Bobby, my greatest love, Nico—I knew I was going to be OK.

  Now, lying in bed looking at the star-filled sky above me, I also knew that I was never truly alone. Those I had loved were out there somewhere. I knew it deep in my soul.

  Five

  Nicoletta Marchese sat primly on the small stool in front of the vanity and examined her face. Her silky strawberry-blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. She’d removed her stage makeup and was spreading moisturizer onto her porcelain smooth cheeks. Her black eyes were stripped of makeup, but her lashes were still lush and dark.

  She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “Did they bother you tonight?” Charles Hollingsworth asked, his eyes squinting.

  “Not really,” she said. “We all left the back way. The guy you hired to drive us was there, and it went smoothly. Nobody was any the wiser.”

  Ever since the opera had announced it would be premiering The Death of Engleberg, a bevy of violent protesters had begun to appear every night in front of the theater. So far, the protesters had been fairly peaceful, mostly holding signs, but lately they had startled to heckle people.

  And then last week, it had gotten violent. A protester had attacked one of the singers leaving late at night. The man had been beaten to a pulp and a note had been sent to the newspapers saying that unless the performance was canceled,
someone would die.

  “It’s fine,” she said again. “It gives us the perfect motive.”

  They’d been plotting the murder for six months, waiting for the perfect time and circumstance. The protester’s threats had suddenly given them the cover they needed to commit the murder.

  He hated leaving her vulnerable. But that was also part of their plan. He had to pretend like he was in love with someone else. That meant being at someone else’s beck and call and pretending he wasn’t madly in love with Nicoletta.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” he said and paced the apartment. “We belong together. The thought of you fucking that gimp…I can’t handle it.”

  “Fuck you,” she said lightly and took another drag off the joint in her fingers. “Just because he has a bigger dick than you.”

  He was in front of her in a second, chest heaving, eyes wild.

  “I’m just kidding,” she said. “Don’t be a pussy. You know you’re the only man for me. Besides do I complain about you getting fucked by someone else?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Listen,” he said. “I know our original plan was just to do the one murder, but it will be too obvious.”

  “What are you saying?” she said. She was clearly irritated.

  “Do you want to get away with this or not?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she said sarcastically. “That’s why I’m fucking someone else. It was your idea, remember? I’m just doing what I’m told.”

  “Okay, okay,” Charles said. “I apologize. It’s just hard for me to swallow sometimes. We need that cop in our pocket if we’re going to get away with this. It’s just one more thing to tip the scales in our favor.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, examining her eyebrows in the mirror over the vanity. “He’s my bitch. He believes everything I say. He’ll do anything for me.”

  “Well, as I was saying… We need to kill at least two other random people, too, so nobody can figure out the motive. If three people die and the detectives think it’s because they all have something in common, they won’t look at us.”