“I don’t believe you,” I said. “I met with Alessandro a few weeks ago. He’s in a coma but alive.”
“Clarkson works for me, Brooke,” Nate said matter-of-factly, as if that was the answer to all my questions. “The old man you met was an actor I hired. Or why else do you think the nurse never left you two to talk in private? He was a bit senile, and we had to make sure he didn’t make a mistake, revealing too much.” Nate laughed and played with the knife pressed against my throat, obviously excited by his own madness.
“You and Jett were played from the beginning. Or did you think it was fate?” he asked. “I set up the meeting between the two of you. I even chose the bar. As his new assistant you were supposed to travel to Italy, meet with the old man, and never make it back alive. What I didn’t expect was Jett to fall for you and figure out there was something wrong with the estate, but you’ve done me a favor, Brooke. It makes sense that my brother would shoot you in a jealous fit and then kill himself, unable to live with the guilt.”
“He’d never do that,” I whispered.
“You’re right. But with my help, he will.” Nate’s blue eyes shimmered. I realized he was crazy. Literally crazy. A psycho. “Jealousy can be such a strong motive. And everyone who knows Jett knows he’s a passionate man. It’s a good plan, isn’t it? And when Jett dies, I get his shares of the company as well.”
My heart pounded fast, and desperation washed over me as I looked into Nate’s hard, cold eyes—the eyes of a killer.
“Please,” I whispered. “You’re talking about your brother. Don’t you care about your family?”
“I’m sorry things have to end this way,” Nate said. “But business is business, and everyone has to fight for himself.”
“Let her go, Nate.” A familiar voice carried over from the door. Nate eased enough on the knife, and I followed his line of vision to Jett’s father pointing a gun at us.
“So it was you all along? How could you betray me, Nate?”
“Dad?”
“Move away from her and drop the knife.” Robert waved his gun. “I’ll tell you one more time, Nate. Let her go.”
Nate took a step back, his knife dropping to the floor. I crawled toward the living room door, putting some distance between us. Nate seemed frozen, probably processing the news that his father was still alive. A few seconds passed. Robert spoke first.
“I raised you as my son,” Robert said, inching closer. “And this is how you repay me? After all I’ve done for you?”
I stared at him, confused. Wasn’t Nate his biological son? And what about Jett?
“Who was the guy I saw at the morgue?” Nate asked accusingly. His voice was tinted with a hint of anger.
“Some dead guy who was already dead when we got the body from the morgue,” Robert replied.
Nate remained silent as he stared back at his father. His eyes moved from his father to the knife on the floor. Eventually he asked, “Why did you fake your own death?”
“When I told about the club years ago, I did so to protect you from its influence. But you joined it behind my back and blackmailed me all those years.” Robert shook his head. “I thought I could trust you, but all you did was stab me in the back.”
“I had no choice, Dad,” Nate said slowly. “I was blackmailed, too.”
Robert laughed bitterly. “Bullshit. You went around our backs and manipulated everyone. When I sent Clarkson the money, I already suspected you were the actual recipient. But I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that it had to be a relatively new member, someone who knew my every step by watching me. When Clarence Holton told me you were the new club leader and interested in Brooke’s estate, I couldn’t believe it. I had to see for myself that the son I raised like my own could do this to me.” He paused. “So I led everyone to believe I was dead while I tried to keep Brooke safe and get the book. It was the only way to find out my blackmailer’s identity.”
“Why the book?” I asked.
Robert Mayfield’s eyes narrowed on me. “The numbers are combinations to P.O. boxes containing videos taken during various—” he hesitated “—club meetings. I figured the blackmailer would feature in one of them.” His attention turned back to Nate. “I’m sure if I looked hard enough, I’d find proof that you’ve been blackmailing members for years. Not that I need it now. Your standing here is proof enough that you betrayed the trust I placed in you when I told you about the club. I’ve been watching the apartment for days because I knew if Brooke stopped by, you would, too.” He shook his head, his face a mix of anger and grief. “I’m deeply ashamed of you, Nate. Of what you’ve done to the club. Of what it’s become.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Nate’s manner changed. His face looked guilty, and his voice filled with sadness as he stepped forward, hands outstretched. “If I had known I was a disappointment to you, I would’ve changed a long time ago.”
He was such a good actor—the sudden realization scared me more than anything. In slow motion, I watched Nate pull out a gun.
“No!” I shouted, but it was too late. A muffled shot echoed from the walls. Robert dropped to the floor, and blood began to pour out of his chest.
“Why don’t you admit you’re jealous, Dad? That you could never accomplish what I’ve achieved?” Nate picked up his father’s gun, his eyes fixed on the old man, as he pushed it inside the belt holster at his back. I kneeled next to Robert and pressed my hands against his chest to stop the blood flow.
“What did you do?” I shouted to Nate. The blood began to spread so fast it stained everything. My hands. Our clothes. The floor.
“It’s been long overdue,” Nate said. “And it’s all your fault, Brooke. If you hadn’t run away, my plan would’ve played out neatly.”
“We need to help him, Nate,” I pleaded. “Please call an ambulance, or he’ll bleed to death.”
“I don’t care about him. He’s not even my father.”