Alberto’s charmed life would be over. No more summers in the Hamptons, no more polo at Cowdray Park or in Argentina or Callien in the South of France, no more champagne and chukkas, no more racing in fiendishly expensive yachts, no more private jets and politicians and high-ranking policemen seeking favours from the don.
All that would be at an end.
Instead, there would be prison, for a lot of years.
Annie stood up. It was too painful to think that Alberto, her stepson, her friend and supporter over so many years, would be lost to her.
Would Max finally believe then, when ‘Golden Boy’ Alberto was behind bars, that there was nothing between them? She thought of Layla and Alberto. Thought of the transformation her daughter had undergone, and the way Alberto had looked at her.
Annie sighed. She didn’t want that pain for Layla. She wanted a straight, uncomplicated man for her. Not Alberto, who could be gone at any moment. But it wasn’t her decision to make. They were together, right now. It was out of her hands.
She went over to the door. Bri had let someone in. Who? He should have been tapping on the study door by now, letting her know who was calling. She opened it and glanced out into the hall – and froze.
Bri was lying on the floor by the closed front door. He was on his back, and he was twitching.
‘Bri-’ Annie was stepping forward, her heart racing.
That was when she saw the big man with the shock of red hair step out from behind the staircase.
She spun round, almost fell back into the study, slammed the door, ran for the desk. He was there, flinging the door open, sending it crashing on its hinges. Shaking, terrified, she fumbled to open the top drawer, grabbed the can of Mace. Somehow she held it ready, stared at Rufus Malone standing there in the open doorway.
He moved like an athlete, surprisingly light on his feet for a man that size. The long, curling red hair gave him a wild appearance. The dark grey eyes were cold. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt and a beige corduroy jacket that seemed too tight, stretched across his bulky frame. He was carrying something in his right hand: a black plastic item the size of a small transistor radio, with two buttons on the front.
He smiled almost gently as he pressed one of the buttons.
There was a sharp zapping sound. Two electrical probes shot out of the thing on wires and hit Annie like a thunderbolt.
Next thing she knew, all the strength went out of her. Her fingers went numb. She dropped the Mace. Instantly, she collapsed in a heap, every particle of her body short-circuiting.