Inheritance

By T.C. Winters

Renowned artist Dante Costello's carefree lifestyle is shattered by his father's brutal murder. Although his mafia family is suspect, when he confronts the person he believes is responsible, the man is executed right before his eyes.

In a bizarre twist, his younger sister is arrested for their father's murder, and Dante is ordered to locate a priceless stolen painting to exonerate her.

During his search, Dante investigates the family business and is devastated to discover his father's legitimate lifestyle was only an illusion.

As the hunt turns deadly, Dante must race against time to protect everyone he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.C. Winters
• Release date: Aug 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780990663843

Book preview

Chapter One

My filbert brush stroked the delicate area under her exposed breast, highlighting the fullness and blending the colors. The acoustics of classical music swelled and crashed around me as I contemplated my next move on the canvas. The portrait came to life with each caress of the brush.

The bright afternoon sunlight slanting from the skylights turned gloomy as the clouds rolled in, limiting the natural lighting in my private studio above the garage. The space was littered with easels and paints, but the vinyl flooring made cleanup easy. Off to my right, I’d personally installed a secret hiding place behind a bookcase for my finished canvases.

The floor rattled underneath my feet as the automatic garage door cranked to life. From outside, a screech similar to the sound made by a garbage truck startled me, causing me to drop my brush.

What the hell? I stormed to the studio window overlooking the driveway. Vincent, my uncle, stood behind my father’s 1962 Ferrari 250 GT SWB California Spider while a tow truck prepared to winch the car onto the flatbed. My feet barely touched the carpeted hallway as I flew down the stairs and out the front door. Rain pelted me when I bounded off the porch and the earthy smell of the damp ground assaulted my nostrils.

My shoes were soaked by the time I slid to a stop near the tow truck. Have you lost your mind? Dad will stroke out if you touch his baby. He hasn’t driven the car once this spring because of the rain.

Vincent barely lifted his upper body from under the hood. Dante, you’re too young to remember, but this car belonged to my father. Antonio stole it from me. He swung his body in my direction and allowed his gaze to swallow mine.

You can’t drive it without his permission.

Your father told me I could have this car over his dead body.

His tone and the breeze made me shiver. I swiped at the hair whipping into my eyes as I absorbed his unspoken message. My heart clanged and my mind reeled. Where’s Dad? What’s happened?

Jimmy, Vincent’s ever present wingman, smirked. Go back to your crayons, little chicken. You no longer have ties with the Costello family.

Vincent and Dad had been close when my mother was alive, but things changed following her death. At times, they acted like archenemies instead of brothers. Dad and Oren wanted to steer clear of the family business, but Vincent didn’t approve. When I chose to earn a master’s degree from the Art Institute of Chicago instead of becoming one of the reigning princes of the Costello family alongside my cousin Luca, a volcano of hate and anger had erupted inside Vincent.

My voice remained neutral, but my heart nearly imploded. Is he all right? My gaze searched their faces for some inkling. Vincent, how bad is it?

His voice flat and toneless, he said, The worst.

I didn’t believe him. Why should I? In the last decade and a half, he’d been nothing more than a distant relative I saw at extended family functions. I yanked my phone from the pocket of my jeans and called my father’s private line. When he didn’t answer, I hung up and dialed his personal assistant.

She answered on the second ring. Oh, Dante. I cannot bear this travesty. Her voice broke into a wail. He must’ve suffered so.

I clicked off without saying another word. Jimmy’s laughter surrounded me as I careened into the house and charged toward my stepmother’s suite. Skidding to a halt in front of the closed door, I bowed my head at the sobs reverberating from inside. Lonely after my mother died from cancer, Dad let years pass before he dated another woman. Then he met Serafina and was captivated. Even though I wanted to verify his death with her, I tiptoed away from the door because she needed time to grieve in private.

If only I could take back the last few hours, I would tell my dad I loved him before he left the house this morning. Instead, I’d been holed up in my studio, painting. I stumbled away from the door and collided with the wall behind me. My rubbery legs couldn’t hold my weight, and I sank to the thick carpeting in the hallway.

Vincent had always been a bastard, but to deliver this devastating news in such a cavalier manner was low, even for him. My mind raced along with my pulse. Bettina would be home from school soon, and Caterina would be delivered from the academy shortly thereafter. My sisters would be crushed. Rubbing my temples, I willed my brain to formulate a plan.

A chime from the alarm system on the front entryway door signaled Bettina’s arrival. I had deliberated too long and my chance to carefully choose my words had passed. At fifteen, Bettina more often than not received a ride to and from school with a friend, sometimes allowing her to arrive home early. I struggled from the floor and returned to the entryway. My pain-laden brooding slowed my progress. I could only hope she hadn’t seen the Ferrari being towed out of the driveway.

As I descended the stairs, Bettina stood with her back to me, waving as a red car backed onto the road and sped away. Next to the dark paneling in the entryway, her school uniform—plaid skirt, white shirt, and chaste white knee socks—lent her a youthful, innocent essence. My next words would change her life forever.

Bettina, something has happened.

My sister whirled toward me. Dante, why are policeman in the driveway? Her sweet lavender perfume hung in the air.

The question was barely out of her mouth when two men appeared on the front porch. Their nondescript khakis and bland shirts—clothes people wear who want to blend—indicated they were detectives. The older man stood back as the younger one addressed Bettina. Hello, young lady. May I speak to your mother?

She pressed her fingertips to her mouth, the whites of her eyes visible. What has happened? Tell me.

I descended the remainder of the stairs two at a time and engulfed her in a hug. "Sorellina, my little sister, these gentlemen are here to explain. Please go to your mother. She needs you."

Always strong-willed, her muscles tensed and her nostrils flared. I silently begged her to do as instructed. A sob escaped as she flew up the stairs to her mother’s room.

I waited until she was no longer within hearing distance, then I inhaled deeply and pivoted to the men at our doorstep. Please come in. I’m Dante Costello. My stepmother is indisposed. May I help you?

The younger man flashed a badge. I’m Detective Sparks and this is Detective Cohern from the New York City Police Department. Could we come inside?

I backpedaled. Yes. Yes, of course. Follow me, please. I led them into the parlor and with a flick of my wrist indicated they were to be seated.

They chose brocade chairs opposite one another. Detective Sparks cleared his throat. It is with regret we must inform you that your father, Antonio Costello, has died. His gaze sought mine for a few seconds, but slipped away.

I dropped into the nearest chair. The truth had been evident by the vindictive gleam Jimmy had tossed my way, but hearing the words stomped the breath from my chest. Silence lingered while I collected myself. Did he die in an accident?

The men shared a glance before Sparks frowned. It’s unlikely his death was an accident. Pending an autopsy, we’re investigating this as a homicide.

The pinched expression told me there was more. Something horrible. How did he die?

Sparks squirmed in his seat and leaned forward. A passerby found his body on a rural road. His injuries were consistent with being chained, then dragged behind a vehicle. His remains were pretty torn up.

I tilted back in my chair and stared at the ceiling while concentrating on taking deep breaths. The room spun as my blood began to boil. He was alive before he was chained and dragged? I knew the answer. The appalling truth written in their tight postures.

Yes. We believe so, but everything is just speculation until we get the autopsy results.

Our gazes collided. I read compassion and empathy in his. My voice hoarse, I whispered, Who would do such a thing?

We hoped your family could help. Would you be willing to answer some questions?

I agreed and we spent the next hour discussing everything from Dad’s state of mind to the type of people who worked for him, not to mention the whereabouts this morning of my family and me. Near the end of the hour, Sparks asked, Is there anyone in your father’s inner circle who could’ve done this?

Before I could respond, the front door opened and eight-year-old Caterina raced inside, her pigtails flying. Dante, check out what I made for you. She held out a paper laden with watercolors, her expression alive with excitement. Well trained in social graces, she slowed when she saw the men. I didn’t mean to interrupt. She backed out of the room and thundered up the stairs, calling for her mama.

Detective Cohern winced and scrutinized his fingernails. Mr. Costello, we’ll allow you private time with your family, but we’d like to come back to discuss a possible motive. He stood and motioned the other man to follow. Don’t worry. We’ll find whoever did this."

I nodded, but my thoughts were racing. So will I.

Chapter Two

Ilingered in the entryway after the detectives were gone. The massive stairway yawned before me like the gateway to hell. Beyond the intricate carvings and curved banister was the family I loved. We’d lived under the same roof for nearly sixteen years—in the house my grandmother left me. If my grandfather had not predeceased her, the house would have gone to Vincent, the eldest son. Flurries would have peppered Hades before the old man bestowed anything