Star-Crossed Secrets

by Kali Brixton

  You’re welcome, ladies and gentlemen.

  The full-length locker room mirror shines like a new penny, allowing me to get a really good look at myself. From my white feather and rhinestone-encrusted bustier and my matching booty shorts and mask to the facade which conceals my identity, I look every bit the ice queen that the patrons have come to know me as here at RISE. But the one mistake they always make is to underestimate just how harsh the cold can be.

  So many people fear the flame when they should fear ice just as much.

  Because when you don’t give them both the respect they deserve, you inevitably get burned.

  20

  Luca

  “Mr. Giordano, you have a visitor here to see you,” Patty, one of the firm’s secretaries and consequently my favorite, announces through the phone. I prefer her ten-to-one over the secretary we had at the Italian law firm I worked at for two years before coming home. Patty’s a sweet older lady who reminds me of my own grandmother, as opposed to the horny harpy I had to deal with at Antonio’s cousin’s law firm in Italy. You never knew from day to day if she wanted to rip your balls off or lick them. Thankfully, I avoided both scenarios. The only unwanted advances I have to worry about from Patty is when she insists I take home way more of the baked goods she brings every Friday than I have time to burn off at the gym.

  Looking at my calendar, I don’t see so much as a dentist appointment written down for this time slot. “Did they give a name?”

  The sound of a phone scuffling against something filters through the phone, then Patty's lowered voice follows suit. “It’s DA Redmond,” she whispers conspiratorially, giving me a heads-up.

  My brows scrunch in confusion. Why is Skyla Redmond here to see me? “Send her in, please.” I try to tidy up as my working space can get chaotic when I’m pouring over a case. My office is small, but the law firm I work at is reputable for all the right reasons. I’ve never had to take on a client here that’s a sleaze or obviously guilty as fuck like some of the ones I had to work with and defend at the Italian firm.

  This wasn’t where Antonio wanted me to work when I came home, but I explained to him that lawyers who start out here usually are more equipped to handle their own law practices in the future. I had read up extensively on the various firms in Atlanta before applying to a few, and this one was the most recommended when it came to the actual practice of law, not hooking and crooking the system. Antonio didn’t mind it because it would give me an instant amount of credibility, which I would carry with me when I finally had to go work at the law firm he uses.

  Taking one last quick swipe at my desk to clear any unnecessary clutter, I finish just in time to hear a sharp knock on the door.

  Patty ushers in the beautiful redhead who’s known for being a tough DA. “Mrs. Redmond.” I gesture toward the seat in front of my desk.

  She walks with confidence in every black-heeled stride she takes. Extending my hand to her, she shakes it firmly as she addresses me before sitting down. “Mr. Giordano.”

  I hold up my hand. “Please. Just Luca.”

  She curtly nods as she takes in the office, searching every nook and cranny with those watchful blue eyes. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  I nearly ask her what she means but given that Antonio made a huge official announcement in the Atlanta society sections of the local newspapers a few days ago, it’s safe to assume she’s talking about my forthcoming wedding. “Thank you.”

  She smiles, though her demeanor is one hundred percent business-oriented. “I’ve heard from Jarrett Thompson that you’re making quite a name for yourself at the firm.”

  I bow my head, appreciating the high praise from such an esteemed lawyer. “A good one, I hope.”

  “Mr. Thompson was complimentary of your track record. Said you’ve got a knack for finding innocent clients.” Her grin is telling, as few clients are ever as innocent as they claim to be.

  My hands fold together on the large desk. “I try to be selective in who I represent. If I don’t believe they’re innocent, I take my concerns to the partners and present the reasons why I don’t think they’d be a good client for the firm.”

  She squints her eyes. “Even the ones you know will be a honeypot?”

  The words of Rian Greene ring through my head. “A wise man once told me a good name’s hard to build but easy to destroy.” Even though it’s been eight months since Kieran dropped the bomb that his dad might not be as squeaky clean as we’d all like to believe, nothing concrete on the matter has materialized…yet. Of course, with Kieran still gone, there isn’t anything else to do but watch and wait. “I’d like to believe that if my name’s ever compromised, it should because of my own actions, not from defending the carelessness of others.”

  That statement earns a more genuine smile from her. “Interesting take.”

  I straighten up in my seat, wanting her to read me as genuine. “Just being honest. Personal responsibility is important to me.”

  DA Redmond mulls my words over for a moment, the low humming of my desktop computer the only sound filling the air. Adjusting her position, she leans forward a bit. “Luca, I’d like to get your take on something… Something I hope will shed some light.” She pauses, searching my eyes as she takes a noticeably deep breath. “What would you say your relationship was like with Giacomo Cervelli?”

  I shake my head, knowing my relationship with my future brother-in-law, who consequently is also my ex-brother-in-law. “Well, he’s…” How to put that he was a massive dick to my sister without sounding like I’m running down my future relative by marriage. “Our relationship was—” I still, noticing her word choice for the first time. “Wait, was like?”

  Her face is now stony, and her mouth tightens in a grim manner. “They found him in his cell this morning. An apparent suicide.”

  “He’s dead?” I ask, unsure if I heard her correctly the first time.

  DA Redmond crosses her legs and sits back, folding her hands into her lap. “The story’s not been released yet. We’re trying to piece together some information before the press gets wind of this.”

  I can’t believe it. The bastard’s actually gone. “Have you notified the family yet?”

  “The police are meeting with them right now,” she says, a seriousness in her demeanor.

  I lean back in my seat, with thoughts of Antonio and Gia on my mind. I wonder how they’re taking the news…

  “I understand your sister visited him in prison not long ago.”

  Her last comment crawls under my skin. “My sister?”

  “Yes, a Magnolia Laurent?”

  What the hell? “That’s her, but why was she visiting Giacomo?”

  She moves her hands over her knees, never taking her gaze from me. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I didn’t know that she had.” I get up to pace because this doesn’t make any sense. Why would Lia go to prison to visit the abusive asshole who treated her like shit for two years?

  She clears her throat, causing my pacing to stutter. “We’re hoping to talk to you both, but given the circumstances, I believe it would probably be best if we do this somewhere away from my office and the police station. Is there somewhere that would be a good location?”

  DA Redmond’s not the only one who needs some answers. I dial her number, knowing she’s more than likely in the middle of a shift right now. “Let me try to get a hold of her. I think I know a place.”

  21

  Everleigh

  “Kher Bear, can you hand me the oven mitts?” The bottom of my dad’s Kiss Me, I’m Irish apron flutters as he turns from the sink and heads toward the oven.

  I toss the mitts to him and go back to collecting the pieces of silverware out of the cabinet drawer. All of us work in tandem like a well-oiled, supper-fixin’ machine, each person manning their own station. Being in my parents’ kitchen always brings back so many happy memories of funny mishaps as well as traditional Irish and Southern infusion di
shes. I inhale deeply as Dad sets the clear glass rectangle on the stove, my senses happily assaulted by buttery potatoes and savory beef. “Oh my gosh! It’s that Cottage Pie?”

  My dad’s lopsided smile grows as he glances at Mom over his shoulder. “Told you she can tell the difference.”

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, knowing her ruse of trying to pass Cottage Pie off as Shepherd’s Pie is officially over. “You, your father, and your bloodhound noses,” Mom’s laughter turns to a squeal when Dad comes up behind her and makes a gnawing sound on her neck, just like two teenagers in love. She swats him away so she can finish slicing up the tomato for the salad like it’s no big deal that he’s so openly affectionate with her.

  “Mom, you’ve gotta admit that it’s so much better with beef.” Because lamb was no real contestant against certified Angus.

  “So are mashed potatoes with a stick or two of butter melted in them, but I’ve gotta keep this one’s heart from exploding,” she quips, pointing her knife in my dad’s direction.

  Dad slides behind her and lowers her hand holding the knife. She sits it down and he spins her around to face him. “It does anyway every time I look at you.” He wraps my mom up in his arms and plants a soft peck on her lips, which she returns with a longer peck. They go tit for tat, small pecks becoming a passionate liplock. As precious as it is that my parents still love each other so much after all these years, I clap my hands quickly, not needing to see Mom and Dad go at it on the kitchen island. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t make me get the hose out! Save it for later, kids.”

  He kisses my mom on her forehead, her cheeks burning brightly. Swatting her on the behind, he takes his apron off with a flourish, a big smile on his well-aged face. “Don’t worry, love… We will,” he winks. It’s hard to tell what’s gone on in this kitchen since Kieran and I flew the coop, but it’s a thought I’d rather not entertain about my own parents.

  After setting the table, I plop down on the kitchen stool as they finish getting everything else out for dinner tonight. “Can I talk to you two about something important?”

  Mom looks up from the cucumber she’s dicing. “Everything okay, honey?”

  “Is this about a boy?” Dad grimaces as Mom swats him playfully in the stomach.

  “No, Dad,” I half-groan, half-laugh. “It has to do with Greta and Rory, though.” The knife comes to rest beside the cucumber and two sets of ears open wide while I explain the situation—Greta’s declining health, Rory being left alone, and Greta’s concerns for the future.

  Dad hands my mom a paper napkin to wipe the tears that began flowing after I told them Greta’s prognosis as he rubs his hand on her back in soothing circles, his own face crestfallen. “That’s awful, Kher Bear. Greta’s such a fine woman.”

  Mom sniffles as she blots her tears. “And she’s such a wonderful grandmother to Rory.”

  “What’s going to happen to her?” Dad asks, concern weighing down his brow.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about with y’all.” I clear my throat and perch my forearms on the island countertop. “Greta is Rory’s only family, so Greta’s meeting with a lawyer next week to see what would be best for Rory in their situation.”

  “There’s no one to take her in?” The question sounds like it broke Mom’s heart to ask it.

  Now for the piece of the puzzle I’ve saved for last. “Well, I’ve been thinking about asking Greta if I could adopt Rory,” I say, gauging their reactions carefully. “I’ve got the means to take care of her plus good benefits…and I already love her to pieces. There’d be a transition period so it wouldn’t be such a shock for Rory and it would give Greta more time with her.” I pause to see them both looking at each other, talking without words. “What do you all think?”

  Mom gives me a bright smile and covers my hand with hers. “I think it sounds like we could possibly be grandparents.”

  A smile breaks through on my own face. “Yes, you could.”

  “I’ll be back,” Dad says impassively as he leaves the room without further comment.

  Mom squeezes my hand. “You know that we’ll help you in any way possible, right? Anything you need.”

  I nod as tears fill my eyes. How lucky am I to have these amazing parents?

  Hopping off the stool, I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight as she brings her own around me, laughing through the tears. “This is so exciting, sweetheart! When are you going to talk to Greta?”

  Our hug severs as I pull back to face her. “Hopefully tonight before they leave. Do you care to watch Rory while I speak to her in private?”

  “Of course not, honey.” Her warm hands hold my cheeks, her thumbs brushing away my stray tears. “Oh, this is…” She removes one hand and attempts to fan her eyes, only to have more moisture breaching the banks of her eyelids. “My baby’s going to have a baby of her own.”

  I nestle into her hug once more, my heart filling with hope. “Let me talk to Greta first, then we’ll start making plans.”

  Dad comes back into the kitchen, an old measuring tape in his hand, and a mission in his eyes. “Kher Bear’s room is slightly bigger than Kieran’s, but either one of them could handle a toddler bed, plus a play area. There are two outlets and a couple of things that would need to be childproofed in both. And a gate. We’d need to get a gate for the stairs for when she visits.” He scratches his beard, a new addition that’s grown in over the past few months, analyzing the room.

  Mom and I exchange a look as he goes through the kitchen, checking cabinets and putting away any sharp objects.

  Or we can just start making plans right now.

  After Greta and I emerge from the office, we join my mom in the living room. Rory sits quietly in her lap, watching as Mom flips through the family photo albums from when Kieran and I were kids. Her little finger points to the pictures and she jabbers on, her words unintelligible as she hugs the little police bear Dad got for her. Mom pretends to understand her and carries on a conversation as she tells her about each photograph. The only thing missing from this sweet moment is my dad.

  We help Greta get her ready to go and I put her in her car seat as Greta thanks Mom for her hospitality. The little white sedan honks before they drive into the night and I realize that things like car seats and diaper bags are a very real thing in my future. And yet standing her on the cusp of a major life choice, I welcome all the change that it potentially brings with open arms.

  When we head back inside, I ask Mom where Dad ran off to.

  “He’s been getting called out more for work lately,” she answers passively as we finish cleaning up the last of dinner. “I think the department’s short-staffed or something.”

  My mind travels back through the recent months since Luca served as messenger pigeon for Kieran and his accusations. I love my dad more than anything and I’ve never met a more honorable man than him, but certain things that are setting off alarm bells in my brain. Alarms that my heart is trying to ignore. “It’s been happening a lot, though.”

  She pauses a moment, her dishrag in mid-swipe on the counters. “Sweetheart, you know your father. It’s impossible to keep him from helping where it’s needed.”

  “Mom, is everything okay?”

  Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Why wouldn’t it be, honey?”

  “Just wondering…” I offer, trailing off. “Have you heard anything from Kieran lately?”

  There’s a flinch in her reaction, but she covers it up quickly. “Not since he went on assignment. It’s been eight months, so I hope we’ll hear something soon.”

  We chat a bit while we finish cleaning up, her changing the subject to the conversation with Greta as well as what’s new with the girls. I let her because something in her reaction tells me that the topic of Dad and work makes her feel a little uneasy. And the fact that Dad didn’t even bother to come to say goodbye to Greta and me before running off causes a brick of worry to settle in my stomach. Little things have started to pile up over the l
ast few months, pointing to a couple of possible conclusions I’d rather not entertain, but can’t seem to avoid now. Especially when I accidentally knocked Dad’s jacket off the hall tree while grabbing my purse and a keycard to a local motel fell out of the front pocket.

  Mom sees me off and I wave to her, the thought of the keycard sitting back in his jacket burning its way into my memory. Could this be related to what Luca and Kieran told me all those months ago? As I ease out of their driveway—a driveway I know like the back of my hand, like I believe I know my dad—I wonder if instead of thinking up excuses of why Kieran’s wrong, maybe I should be following the signs that could mean he’s right.

  22

  Everleigh

  “Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Thompson,” Greta says as we enter the room. The tall fox on the end of her handshake is quite the looker, his salt-and-pepper hair adding to his appeal. “This is the young lady I was telling you about.”

  “Please, just Jarrett,” he says warmly, his bright smile dripping with kindness. “And you are?”

  “Everleigh Greene.” My hand extends across the table to him.

  He squints as he takes it into his own and shakes it. “Are you by any chance related to Kieran Greene?”

  Dear Lord. What have you done now, Kieran? “He’s my older brother.”

  “Ah. I thought you favored him a bit.”

  Now it was my turn to squint. “You know him?”

  He gives me a nod, smiling widely. “Grabbed a few beers with him and my associate before. Hear he’s making quite a splash in the GBI.”

  I wonder who knows Kieran here. “It’s in the blood. He comes by it honestly,” I chuckle, knowing how proud Dad is that Kieran followed in his footsteps.

  “I see. And this must be Miss Aurora,” he says as he gets down on one knee.