Pepper
Singing my own songs again feels good. My voice is better. I got acupuncture every day in L. A. and had no one to talk to. Now, as I stand on the Bellissimo stage holding the mic, my vocal cords feel rested and mostly healed.
Too bad the rest of me still feels like curling up in a ball and dying.
Everything about returning to the Bellissimo slayed me, from the sign with my name in lights out front to the clean vanilla and oranges scent of the lobby. I feel Tony everywhere. I look for him everywhere, even though I pray I won’t find him.
The time away did nothing to alleviate the gnawing anxiety in my gut nor the heaviness that drags my limbs down. I was still greeted like an honored guest when I arrived and informed that my suite was held for me. Even that made my heart ache.
To make matters worse, Sondra and Corey came backstage before the show. “Hey, I’ve been worried about you.” Sondra wrapped me up in a warm hug, like we’re old friends.
I blinked back tears. “I’m okay.”
“You are?” She peered at me doubtfully.
“Tony’s not,” Corey interjects. “The man would die for you. You know that, right?”
Lord. Just take my heart right out of my chest and get it over with.
“He’s not a criminal,” Sondra says. “I just want to say that. They may have come from organized crime, and they may still have family ties, but the Bellissimo men are legit. They have honor and compassion and run a clean business.”
I didn’t know if she was telling me to defend her own man or to advocate for Tony, but all I could do was nod and excuse myself to go on stage.
Now, as I sing my final song, my mind is on nothing but Tony. Is he here in the auditorium? Will he try to talk to me? What will I say? I doubt my ability to stay strong if I see him.
I’m also starting to doubt my ability to go on without him. The buoyancy I discovered since I met him is gone. Life feels heavy again, especially when everything looks the same.
Hugh’s still backstage, purportedly running the damn show, even though I reminded him he was fired. My parents decided to go home as soon as they found out I returned. I guess staying to hear me play wasn’t on their wish list of things to do.
The crowd loves me tonight, which is good, because I’m not loving myself much. I can’t stop the nagging feeling that I let Tony down. That Sondra spoke the truth and I misjudged him. I bow to the standing ovation and jog off the stage.
I hear a shout and see a flash of light.
Izzy shoves me from the side just as something huge and heavy slams down. It strikes her square across her shoulder, knocking her to the floor and pinning her beneath it. Her head smacks the stage with a sickening thud.
A giant metal light pole with the light still attached.
I scream and yank the light pole off her, burning my hands on the hot metal frame. “Izzy! Oh God. Someone call 911!”
She moans softly.
Thank God-she’s not dead.
“What happened? Is it Pepper?” Hugh comes running over. I register him standing behind us, staring, but I’m too busy talking to Izzy, trying to get her to wake up and say something.
Farley calls for an ambulance and casino security pour in, barking orders not to move her and to stand back.
Izzy slips in and out of consciousness during the long minutes it takes for the ambulance to arrive. Someone presses a grape Gatorade bottle into my hand and I guzzle half of it, the strong, salt and sweet taste burning my tongue. Izzy’s eyes crack open and she attempts to make a joke.
Everything’s a blur as the paramedics swarm in and take her out on a stretcher. Then Hugh takes me by the shoulder and nudges me to the dressing room. Anton escorts me upstairs.
I want to go to the hospital to be with Izzy, but when I get to my room, the sensation of being drunk and confused makes me stumble aimlessly around my room.
The door slides open. My foolish heart leaps, thinking it’s going to be Tony, but it’s not.
It’s Hugh.
Suddenly, I’m nauseous.
“What are you doing here?” It’s difficult to make my lips move and get the words out.
“The better question is what are you still doing here? You were supposed to be dead days ago.”
Tony
I don’t like the ‘accident’ backstage. Not one fucking bit. My security guys reported Isabel Fontaine-aka Izzy, the blue-haired stage manager-was struck by a falling light.
Lights shouldn’t fall at the Bellissimo, so this is either a case of gross negligence, or deliberate sabotage. And I need to figure out which right away.
I’m headed out to my car to drive to the hospital to find out exactly what happened when Corey calls my phone.
“What’s up?”
“Hey, I just got a call from Pepper’s stage manager, Izzy. The one who was taken to the hospital.”
“Yeah? Is she okay? What happened?”
“Uh, she was headed into X-ray when she called, but listen. She wanted me to get a message to you.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. “What is it?” I try to keep from crushing my cell phone in my hand as the realization that something is very wrong hits me.
“She said you should stick with Pepper and make sure Hugh’s not with her; I think that’s her manager.”
“What?” Fear lances me, sending adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Why?”
“That’s the thing, she wouldn’t say, exactly. I think she was in a ton of pain so she didn’t make total sense. Anyway, just go make sure everything’s all right.”
“I will,” I grit. I’m running before I even think. I don’t have enough information. I missed learning what Izzy knows or is afraid of, but her fear is for Pepper.
Which means I need to move.
As I run back into the casino, I call Pepper’s phone, call Hugh’s phone.
Cold douses me as I realize: Ernie Denesto.
Hugh.
These fuckers are connected.
Denesto wasn’t after me-he was after Pepper. He’s exactly the kind of low-life killer Hugh would pick out.
Pepper Heart is insured for six mil.
How would Junior know that, if it wasn’t for Hugh telling him? Maybe Hugh suggested we kill Pepper and when we didn’t bite, decided to take matters into his own hands.
I ask my security guys if they’ve seen either of them, and they report that Pepper returned to her room with the bodyguard at her side. No one has seen Hugh.
Fanculo.
Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine, I chant in my head, but full-body prickles tell me it’s not true. Everything is about as fucking far from fine as it can get.