Jacqui Rose - Fatal

Published by AVON

A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

A Paperback Original 2019

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2019

Design by Alison Groom © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Cover photographs: Portrait © Nick Starichenko / Shutterstock

Background © Shutterstock

Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the publishers.

Source ISBN: 9780008287313

E-book Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008287320

Version: 2019-02-26

To everyone who has experienced loss

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Lex Talionis

Epigraph

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part Two

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

One Week Later

Chapter 55

Acknowledgments

Exclusive Extract of Sinner

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

You must show no pity. Your rule should be life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.

Deuteronomy 19:21

Some years ago …

Standing by the grave in the pouring rain, Alfie Jennings felt the cold droplets running down his neck and inside his coat collar. He turned slowly to his friend Abel Gray, who until recently had been an unshakable force, a powerhouse amongst men. Wealthy and driven, a man at the top of his game. Selling and supplying weapons, Abel had been ruthless when it mattered, when he had to be, but at heart he was loyal and generous. But as Alfie looked at his face, drawn and haunted, he could see Abel now was nothing but a broken man.

‘Are you going to be all right, Abel? Cos I can stay if you like.’

‘I’ll be fine, Alfie, I’d rather be left on my own anyway, but I appreciate you coming.’ Abel paused as he reached out to touch the headstone gently. His voice hoarse, he added, ‘We both do.’

Alfie shrugged uncomfortably. He was the only one who had come; over the last few months, Abel through his trauma and sorrow had pushed everyone away who cared, but Alfie was determined Abel wouldn’t do that to him, no matter what he said, no matter what he did.

The two of them went back a long way, first business associates before becoming firm friends, so there’d been no question of him not making the trip to Abel’s isolated thirty-acre country home. The estate, which sat on top of a hill, was tucked away in the New Forest of southern Hampshire, and Abel had insisted the burial take place within the grounds. But it still cut Alfie up to see him like this. The once physically imposing presence, the once sharp mind, all felt like they were crumbling, fading away in front of his very eyes. Sighing, he gave his friend a sad smile.

‘I’ll get off then, but Abel, if you need me, you know where I am mate. It don’t matter what time of night or day it is, just call … And I’m sorry, truly I am. She was really special.’

As Alfie Jennings walked out of sight, Abel dropped to his knees, tears and rain mixing in the wet earth as he began to scrape away at the soil of the freshly filled grave. ‘No, no, no, no, no, baby, no, it’s all right, I’m here, I’m here … I’m coming, Natalia. I’m here.’

And as the rain poured down and Abel frantically dug, his fingers beginning to bleed, he remembered that night as if it were only yesterday.

‘I’ll ask you again, what did you do with my money?’

Panicked and desperate, Abel shook his head, his vision blurred as he stared through the stream of blood that ran from his head. ‘I told you, I don’t have it, I’ve no idea where it is.’

Nico Russo pulled out a blue handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed away the beads of sweat that sat on his olive skin like dewdrops. His eyes as dark as ravens, he gazed impassively at Abel, bloodied and tied to the chair. He spoke again, his voice unnervingly calm, heavy with a North Jersey–Italian twang. ‘You need to speak up, I can’t hear you, but it sounded like you were saying you don’t have my money.’

With blood bubbling from the side of his mouth and the gash so deep on his forehead the bone of his skull was exposed underneath the flapping skin, Abel spluttered his words through lips that had been carved wide open, fear wrapping round him like a tight restraint. ‘I don’t! I don’t have it, Nico! I never did!’

‘Is that right?’

Abel nodded, flinching at the pain shooting through his body. He looked at Nico, pleading with him, desperate to persuade him somehow that he was telling the truth. ‘Please, I swear. I can’t tell you something I don’t know.’

Nico Russo, a second-generation Italian-American who was built as powerfully as a herculean god, shrugged, his mop of unruly curly black hair pushed back far enough for Abel to see the deep lines of a frown appear. ‘If that’s the way you want it, so be it.’

‘It’s the truth, Nico!’

As he walked closer to Abel, Nico’s words were rolled in sadness. ‘You’ve been like family to me, and that’s why this hurts me so much.’

‘Nico, please, I’m telling—’

Nico’s fist swung hard, striking and perforating Abel’s eardrum. He breathed heavily and raised his hand to point at Abel. ‘Never interrupt me, you know better than to show a lack of respect like that. Non mancarmi mai di rispetto. Never disrespect me. You understand? Never ever . Mai e poi mai. ’

Agony shot through Abel as he felt the warm fluids drain out of his ear and down the side of his face. Barely capable of moving his head from the pain, Abel muttered his reply in Nico’s mother tongue.