Then, to my surprise, instead of a black livery car or even a limousine or armored vehicle, a beat-up San Francisco cab pulled in front of my building. I held my breath as the door swung open and Nico climbed out. Part of me was waiting for gunfire to echo through the silent night. When it didn’t, I relaxed. The men below were part of his security crew.
If I hadn’t spent the previous week memorizing his body, I probably wouldn’t have known it was him getting out of the cab. To anyone else, he looked like an older man wearing a stocking cap and heavy work boots. I pressed a button on my phone and spoke through the intercom when I saw him reach the front steps. “The door will open. Take the stairs to the top floor. I will meet you there.”
I clicked open my front door with another button. I waited until the cab pulled away, and then I headed downstairs to greet Nico.
Inside my loft, the door to Rosalie’s bedroom was open. She was dressed in a pink nightgown and her long dark hair was still slightly damp from her earlier bath. She was sitting crossed leg on the floor playing with her Barbie house, talking to herself as she made the dolls interact. Django lay lazily by her side with his eyes closed, his nose pressed up against one of her legs.
I poked my head in. “We’re going to have a visitor tonight, remember?”
“Yes,” she said without turning toward me. She was very busy playing. An adult visitor was boring, apparently. She kept her cheery chatter going, but Django raised his ears and turned to look at me. I swear sometimes I thought that damn dog understood everything I said.
I opened the front door and waited. I heard footsteps growing closer. Then I saw a stocking capped head followed by his face. His dark eyes flashed with what looked like genuine happiness to see me.
“Gia,” he said. He leaned in to kiss my mouth, and I quickly turned my head so his lips landed on my cheek. I didn’t know if Rosalie was watching. The sudden rumble of Django’s growl behind me made Nico draw back suddenly. The dog was standing in Rosalie’s doorway with every hair on his body bristling and his teeth bared.
“Non fa niente,” I said. That’s all right. He instantly relaxed.
“Come in,” I said to Nico. Once the door was closed and secured behind him, he crouched to his knees and then looked up at me.
“May I?”
“Django, he’s a friend.” My dog wagged his tail at the words.
“Come here, boy,” Nico said.
Django ran over and smelled him and then wriggled his entire body in delight as Nico pet him roughly and praised him. “You are such a big bad ferocious beast!”
I laughed.
Then I noticed Nico had stood and was looking over my shoulder with his mouth wide open. I turned.
Rosalie stood in the doorway of her bedroom, holding one of her dolls, staring at Nico.
My mouth was suddenly dry.
“Rosalie, this is Nico Ortiz Morales.”
She stared at him, biting her lip.
He crouched down again and spoke to her in Spanish.
Her brow furrowed. He kept talking. It was something about how he’d been friends with her mother. Her eyes grew wide.
“Would you like me to tell you more about her?”
“Yes, please,” she said and walked over. He pointed at my couch.
“Shall we sit and talk?”
She nodded and pulled herself up on the couch. He sat down and Django jumped up on the couch between them. He spoke absentmindedly, petting Django as he did. He was still speaking Spanish. Rosalie’s attention was rapt. I headed into the kitchen area and poured a shot of bourbon. I swallowed it and then poured another.
Dante was beside me, pouring his own drink, a small glass of Frangelico.
He downed it before speaking.
We couldn’t make out what Nico was saying, but Rosalie was smiling.
“This is surreal,” I said.
“I’ll say.”
After a few minutes, my door buzzed.
Dante looked up in surprise.
“It’s James.”
Dante’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “And I thought it couldn’t get any weirder around here.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I said.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing James in his wheelchair. Rosalie and Nico stood.
Rosalie ran and jumped into James’s lap, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his face.
He loved her. She loved him. It was simple and pure.
It still broke my heart to see him having to use the wheelchair. His legs were still too weak for him to walk. He was in full-time physical therapy, getting disability from the police department, which had hired him back and told him he could start work whenever he was ready. He worked there part-time and did PT another several hours each day. He was a busy guy, but he always made time for Rosalie.
I introduced James to Nico.
“This is James. He’s been a big part of Rosalie’s life from the first day she came here.”
“Thank you,” he said, thrusting his hand out to James, who shook it heartily but kept his eyes trained on Nico’s face.
“Rosalie,” Nico said turning toward her. “It must be nice to have a police officer for such a good friend.”
“Yes,” she said and seemed uncertain.
I was not surprised that he knew who—and what—James was.
“That’s why you always have to listen to what he says, right?”
“I do,” Rosalie said grinning at James.
“Except when I tell you to let me win at chess,” James said. “You are not a very good listener then. Not at all.”
“Rosalie, why don’t you, me, and Dante take Django up on the roof for a little bit,” I said.
“But I want to see James,” she said frowning.
“He’s staying for dinner. We ordered take out from Katrina’s.”
“I want to stay down here,” she said.
I wanted Nico and James to talk alone. “But Django really wants to play ball, don’t you buddy?”
He whined with excitement. It was dirty pool invoking the “B” word. He wouldn’t accept anything less now.
“Okay. Fine,” Rosalie said, but she cast a longing glance back at James as we headed toward the stairwell.
On the roof, Rosalie threw a tennis ball as Django raced to get it and bring it back to her. The rooftop was lit with sparkling lights strung along the pergola and another string of lights along the chest-high wall of the roof. Dante and I watched them for a minute and then turned to face the dark.
Dante and I faced the Golden Gate Bridge to the north.
“What do you think?” I said.
“He clearly cares about Rosalie and seems to be good with her.”
“Yes…” I trailed off.
“What is your main objection to him being in her life? Is it because you are worried she will be in danger? Because I don’t think she’s in any more danger with him than with you.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really. His security is pretty fucking tight,” he said. “Look.”
Down below, there were two armed men in front of my building. At least two cars on my street had shadowy figures inside—also his men.
“He needs that because more people want him dead than want me dead.”
“Well, that’s a switch,” Dante said and, with a wink, nudged me.
“I’ll see what James says.”
“If he gives his blessing, is it a done deal?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
Dante turned and watched Rosalie with Django.
“I think it needs to be up to her.”
“She’s too young to make that decision,” I said, but wasn’t convinced of my own words.
“What else?”
“He’s killed dozens of people. Maybe indirectly, but still,” I said.
“How many people have you killed, Gia?”
I didn’t answer.
Stalemate.
49
Rosalie was leaving to go see her father. Alone for the first time.
It was the third visit for her. The first two I’d gone with her.
During the last one, we’d told her the truth. That he was her father.
At first, she hadn’t said a word, and he’d looked over at me in anguish.
But then she nodded and said, “Okay.”
And that was the last she’d spoken about it.
“Rosalie?” I said now. “What do you think about Nico being your dad?” I winced internally as I asked, but it needed to be said. I’d put off asking for far too long.
“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s nice.”
Well, it wasn’t a fucking ringing endorsement, that’s for sure.
He’d made me promise to double check with her that she was okay with visiting him alone and was okay with him being her father. That he needed to know this before we left made me like him more.
Over the past few months, with our two separate visits, I’d grown more comfortable with the idea of Rosalie spending time with him. If this two-week visit went well, the next one would be longer. Maybe by next summer, I’d consider letting her go for the entire month he’d hoped for. But I realized he was just as hesitant to rush things as I was.
“I promise you,” he’d said on the phone the night before. “If she wants, I will get on a plane with her immediately to bring her home to you. She only needs to say the word.”
“I believe you,” I said.
“Good,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I should go. I have an appointment.”
I was surprised that his words made me jealous. Was it with a woman?
“It’s eight at night,” I said lightly.
“Yes, it is.”
I swallowed. Well, fuck him.
“Gia?” he said.
“What?” I sighed.
“I miss you.”
I closed my eyes. Me too.
But I refused to say the words out loud.
“Have a good night,” I said and hung up.
Now, in Rosalie’s bedroom, packing her small suitcase and backpack, my stomach was doing flip flops. So far both of our trips had been a blast.
The first time we’d gone to the beach house.
Every day, Nico’s men would clear the beach, and we would spend the day there under big umbrellas on lounge chairs while Rosalie played in the waves.
You’d think she’d get sick of the water. Nope. Girl was a fish. Or a mermaid, if you asked her.
Half the time, Nico was in the waves with her, teaching her to body surf, or playing catch with her and Django. The damn dog loved the water as much as Rosalie. It was surprising.
He would bark at the waves coming in and then run over and try to bite them.
Then he would rush into the water and paddle with his tail sticking straight up and wagging furiously.
It was comical.
I was happy Django was there. He was an added layer of protection. That dog would kill anyone who tried to get at Rosalie.
The second time, we’d also brought Django and stayed in Nico’s house in San Miguel de Allende. There, we visited museums and the opera and funky art galleries and pottery studios.
Rosalie spoke Spanish with everyone, and it was heartwarming to see how fascinated she was with the museum exhibit about the indigenous people of Central America.
She didn’t seem to mind traveling everywhere with a pack of armed guards. She’d turned them to mush under her smile. It was the first time I saw any sign of humanity from them. I was glad. They’d have more than just a business interest in keeping her safe. She brought a level of life and joy to that house that I hadn’t thought possible.
But now she was going on her own. I would accompany her on a private plane to Mexico City where Nico would meet us, and I’d turn her over to him and then fly back.
In Mexico City, our private jet was met by a rolling staircase.
I held Rosalie’s hand as we went down the stairs.
Nico was waiting in a big black car. As soon as we were halfway down the stairs, he got out and stood there grinning. He was a damn good looking man.
Rosalie ran to him and hugged him and then drew back with an embarrassed look on her face.
I walked up and he kissed me on both cheeks and then on the mouth, quickly. I laughed in surprise.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said.
I was about to say “tease,” but looked down at Rosalie who was watching us.
“Gia, why can’t you stay, too?” she said. I was suddenly worried. Didn’t she want to be here?
I crouched down before I spoke, but Nico beat me to it.
“Are you sure you’re okay staying by yourself? You can go back home with Gia. I don’t mind.” He had a smile in his voice, trying to reassure her.
“No, I want to stay. I want Gia to stay, too.”
“Gia?” Nico said. “You are more than welcome to stay.”
I was confused. The whole point was getting Rosalie ready to stay with him for part of the year, wasn’t it? Alone.
“Honey, let’s try you staying by yourself this time,” I said.
“Okay.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “I will miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” I buried my face in her hair and hugged her tightly.
“Maybe next time I’ll come to San Francisco again and you can show me around?” he said.
“Maybe,” I said. I crouched down and gave Rosalie a hug.
“You call me anytime,” I said. “Have fun, Sweetie.”
“Okay,” she said.
I turned before she could see my face.
Damn, this was harder than I thought it would be.
On the plane, I watched as the black car drove away and fought my instincts to race out of the plane and chase after it.
She was not mine. I was only there to guide her and help her grow into an adult. She did not belong to me. No more than she belonged to Nico.
But we would do everything in our power to keep her safe and help raise her into an adult who was powerful and happy and confident and content.
Even though we lived in separate worlds and had separate lives, Nico and I had an unbreakable bond: a beautiful, spirited child we both loved deeply.
That was a bond we’d always share.
I fell asleep on the plane comforted by this thought.
The loft was quiet and lonely without Rosalie. Django had stayed home this time, and I was glad, but he paced and whined, poking his head in her room frequently to look for her.
“She’ll be back,” I’d say trying to reassure him.
Poor baby didn’t understand.
Dante called to make sure I was okay.
“I can come down,” he said. “Just say the word.”
“Maybe this weekend. I’m going to dinner with James tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah.”
“At his house,” I said. As I said the words, I realized I was nervous.
“Wow.”
“Right?”
“To meet the wife?”
“And baby.”
“When you get home, call me immediately. I don’t care how late it is,” he said.
I laughed. “It’s not that big of a deal.” James and I had established a tentative friendship since Nico’s visit.
“The hell it’s not.”
“Stop,” I said. “You’re freaking me out.”
The next day, I’d gone through about a dozen outfits before settling on my trusty faded black jeans, a white T-shirt, a black blazer, and black combat boots. I’d tried on and discarded my worn-in leather pants and a series of black dresses before just putting on basically what I wore every day. The blazer was sort of fancy, wasn’t it? I just hoped that his wife didn’t answer the door in a dress and pearls.
Then again, if she did, we didn’t have a chance in hell of finding common ground anyway, right?
I was terrif
ied to meet the woman who had snagged James.
Even though the timeline didn’t support the theory 100 percent, the reality was that he’d ditched me and had fallen in love with her. Enough to marry her and have a baby right away.
It stung, but I no longer was in love with James.
For some reason having the affair with Nico had made me realize I could have red-hot sex like that with someone else. And that there were other men out there for me to be obsessed with.
I didn’t want to admit it, but I spent a crazy amount of time thinking about Nico. Daydreaming about what our lives might be like together. Me at his side. It was absurd. And, frankly, embarrassing. And, honestly, impossible.
I had my life in San Francisco. He had his in Mexico. Period. End of story.
I had two shots of tequila in the backseat of the car I’d hired before I got out in front of James’s house in South San Francisco.
His wife greeted me at the door with a hug.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” she said. Her smile was genuine. She wore black leggings and a hoodie. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, but she had pink lipstick on. She was pretty and down to earth. Unpretentious. Genuine.
I wanted to be bitchy, but I couldn’t help but smile back.
In the living room, James was sitting on the floor with the baby. I watched as he hoisted himself up to a chair. His wife, Genevieve, leaned down and scooped up the baby, handing her to me. She was a nurse. James had met her in Germany. And wanted her instead of me. Despite this, I couldn’t help but like her.
I held on to the squirming bundle in my arms for dear life, shooting an alarmed glance at James. He burst into laughter.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair beside his.
I did. Once I was seated, I felt more at ease, so I shifted the baby so she was sitting in my lap. She cooed and drooled, and I jiggled my leg, hoping I was doing everything right.
So far, she wasn’t crying so I considered that a good sign.
“I’m glad to see you found someone,” he said after Genevieve left the room.
“What are you talking about?” I scowled.
“Gia, you clearly have a thing with him,” he’d laughed. “It’s so obvious.”
“We had a thing. It’s over.”
“I doubt that,” he’d said.
Stone Cold Page 15
