Westerham Witches and a Venetian Vendetta by Dionne Lister (top rated books of all time TXT) 📕

his head ever so slightly, and he pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say something.

There was no way I was going to bring up her infidelities, but maybe her son knew, which was why he was holding back right now. Was it something everyone in the family ignored? Maybe Francesco was sick of it and her behaviour. If he knew it hurt his father, no wonder he was angry. Add to that his grandmother defending Mrs Dal Lago, and, well…. I almost choked on my cake, and I coughed.

Isabella slapped my back a couple of times. She was surprisingly strong for an old lady. “Are you all right?”

I nodded and took a sip of wine to wash the cake down. “I think so. It just went down the wrong way. I’m so clumsy, even when I’m eating.”

She stared into my eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I smiled. “Yes. Definitely.” Except that I think your grandson killed his father. But why did I think that? He wasn’t the one doing things wrong. Maybe he hated that his father didn’t stand up to his wife or leave her? I mean, if you were going to kill someone, why wouldn’t it be her? Or maybe Francesco didn’t kill him. Maybe he knew his mum did and was angry that she’d done it? If I were any more confused, I’d be having head spins. Maybe Isabella had forbidden him to say anything? Were they all accessories?

The only way to find out was to keep pushing. Guilt washed through me, and I hated myself, but I’d do anything to find Angelica. Upsetting grieving people was not on my list of things I wanted to achieve, but sometimes we had to do what we hated to get results. Life could be so unfair.

I took a deep breath and looked across the table at Francesco. But before I could say anything, he spoke. “Are you one of those agents?”

“No. I just help them sometimes.”

“Your friend who went missing, she’s one?”

Time to go fishing. “Yes. We think whoever killed your father has taken her.”

Isabella shifted in her seat and glanced quickly at her nephew. He stared at my plate. Was he feeling too guilty to look in my eyes? My leg bounced under the table. He finally looked back up at me. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

I wasn’t going to say anything about Lorenzo—let them think Mrs Dal Lago was the only one left on our radar. “Just your mother. I’m sorry.” My heart raced—lying was awful, but I was about to tell a biggie. I needed some kind of reaction… admission… if there was any to give. “I hear they have some new evidence and might be close to making an arrest. I’m so sorry.”

His eyes widened, and he turned to his grandmother. She tilted her head to the side and put both hands on one of his. “Bello.” Whatever she said next was all in Italian, and I couldn’t understand. I subtly took my phone out of my pocket and put it on my lap, drew on my magic, and asked my phone to record. Isabella jerked her head towards me. “Why you use magic?”

“I spilled some wine on my top.” I gave her a nervous smile. Crap. The last thing I wanted to do was upset her when so much was going on. What I’d just said wasn’t really meant for her, but when else was I going to get an opportunity to speak to him?

Francesco looked at me. “She didn’t do it. I know she didn’t.” He lifted his chin and gave his grandmother a “don’t stop me” look. My heart raced. Was he about to confess? She grabbed his forearm, but he shook her off and swung his gaze back to me. Resignation shone from his eyes. I leaned forward. Please be the breakthrough we’re waiting for.

Isabella’s magic tingled my scalp. Was she going to stop him from talking?

Out of the corner of my eye, a dark shape flashed towards me. Before I had a chance to look, something smashed into the side of my head and pain engulfed me. As my head snapped to the right, the last thought before I lost consciousness was that I wasn’t going to hear what he had to say.

Damn.

Chapter 9

Reluctant awareness. Throbbing head. Nausea, a building eruption swelling through my stomach, my throat. I opened my eyes to pitch-black, sat up slightly, and threw up. And then, because my hands were stuck together, I overbalanced and fell off what must be a bed. The distance to the floor was short but painful. “Oomph.” I’d landed on my forearms and front.

Oh, God, what the hell was going on, and where was I?

I tried to pull my arms apart. Not happening. I brought my hands to my face and felt around with my lips. Rope tied my wrists together. I tried to move my feet apart, but they were tied together as well. And just to add to the pain lancing through my head, I’d landed in my own vomit. Had I died and gone to hell? I tentatively felt the left side of my head. An ostrich egg and roughness matting my hair—likely dried blood. No wonder I felt like my head had been smashed in… because it had. Lucky me.

I breathed in and gagged at the vomit odour. Ew. I edged backwards to escape the worst of the smell. The hard floor was cold but easy to slide on. It was probably terrazzo. Once I was a foot from where I started, I rolled over onto my back and shut my eyes. Where had I been before this? How had I gotten here? Who had hit me, and what had they hit me with?

As I struggled to think, I listened. I was alone—the lack of someone else breathing was a giveaway. Could I still use my magic? There was only one way to find out. I opened