by C. M. Steele
My sister comes strolling out of her bedroom, looking at me sideways like I’ve suddenly grown two heads. I’m up earlier than usual, but it’s like she’s examining me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you look devastated. We’re twins, and I can sense something’s wrong with you. What’s going on?” She pulls me into a hug, which I greedily accept because that overwhelming sense hasn’t passed.
I shake my head and take a step back. “Actually, nothing in particular. I just had this super bad feeling when I woke up.”
“Like what?”
I can’t put my finger on it. “Like something’s wrong, which is strange because nothing shitty happened at work, other than Andre dropping a pot of sauce that took forever to clean up.”
“Well, you look like shit.” I can’t disagree with that. “Come on. I’ll make you some coffee.” She hooks my arm with hers, and we head over to the kitchen. It’s one great thing about an open floor plan—plenty of space to walk. Other than her clutter near the sofa with all her computers and notepads and the treadmill in the corner of the living room, the house is pretty bare, and we like to keep it that way.
“What are you doing up so early?” I ask her. Anabelle is usually up before I am, but not this early.
“Besides the racket you were making getting dressed, I’ve got a lot of work to do today so I wanted to get a head start on my day.” She saunters off, grabbing the coffee pot out of the dishwasher. I may be a chef, but she makes one hell of a cup of coffee. I bring out the large container of Dunkin’ we snag from Costco once a month during our shopping trips. We don’t need much food, often because we’re both busy; usually I eat at the restaurant, and she grabs some takeout. Still, we always have coffee in the house.
“I was that loud?” Normally I’m not in a rush, so I’ll remember to be quieter since we do have very different time schedules.
“No. You’re just usually asleep for another two hours, and I was doing some yoga. Perhaps you should give it a go. It’ll help with that tension you’ve got in your shoulders.”
“I think that might be a torn rotator cuff,” I say offhandedly, popping a seat on a stool under the island while rolling my right shoulder.
She raises her brow, freezing mid scoop. “Damn, it’s still cracking? You should see a doctor.” There’s that look that says it all. It’s not a maybe, in her mind. It’s a “get the hell out and get it taken care of like yesterday.”
I sigh, knowing she’s probably right and I’ve just created a monster, but I’m not ready to dip into any vacation time. “It’s not bad, but it gets harder on long, busy nights. I don’t want to take time off when Fabio has finally given me my chance. I’m only twenty-two and if I blow this, my career could be over before it starts.”
I’ve only been working for Fabio for two years, first as a dishwasher and then working my way up the chain until about six months ago when our head chef quit to start his own restaurant. He’d gotten into an argument one too many times with Fabio, and so I filled in for a couple of nights until people called in to ask for reservations on nights I was scheduled. It’s been one hell of a six months, and I love every minute of it so I can’t afford to just push pause on my career because I may never get a shot like this again. I’m too young to be taking time off for surgery.
“Relax. You’re going to fuck it up if you continue to work like a dog, and the damage is irreparable. How about you use that good insurance you have and get it looked at? I’m sure you can be seen in the next couple of hours.”
She’s got a point. Maybe I can squeeze in an appointment with my GP and see if they recommend anything special. “Fine. I will, but promise you’ll cut me some slack.”
“Not too much, or you’ll hang yourself with it.” She points a finger at me like she’s all-knowing and wise. It’s usually me in that spot as the technically older twin by twenty minutes.
I roll my eyes and point to the coffee maker that’s still not brewing. “Enough. Where’s my coffee, woman?”
“Hold your horses. You’ve distracted me. Now I have to re-measure.”
“I’ll get started on some breakfast.” I jump off my stool and turn on the griddle to let it heat up.
That brings a smile to her face. “Sounds good to me.”
“Did you speak to our parents?” I ask while digging the milk and eggs out of the fridge for some French toast.
She nods, pulling out the cups. We have way too many cups because she collects them. Although it’s not a hobby for me, she does have some cute ones. “Yes. They want us to come down and visit. I told them that it’s possible for me, but I don’t have any idea when you will be available.”
“Um…I really don’t know if it’s possible.” I go on to explain last night to her and she plops back on her seat with her mouth open.
“Girl, I can’t believe it. Tell me…was it as amazing as I imagined?”
“Way better.” I sigh with a huge smile, thinking about kissing him again and so much more.
“Then I’ll think about going to see our parents alone.”
“But the ticket will be expensive.”
“Business expense. I have a client in Florida that I have to meet.” She winks.
I whip the eggs and milk, add some cinnamon, and then dip the bread before tossing it on the griddle. “Do you have any clients down there?”
“Actually, I do. Maybe I can make an excuse for a one-on-one.”
The French toast is done about the same time as the coffee. So we sit down with our delicious breakfast and hot coffee and dig in at the kitchen table because we don’t have a dining room.
“You forgot the syrup,” she gripes. Just then, my phone buzzes with a text. “You know the rules. No phones while eating.”
“It might be important.” Given how I’m feeling, I know it is.
“Fine.”
I pull it out of my pocket, and it’s from Andre. “It’s from my sous chef.” I read the words and can’t comprehend them. My phone crashes to the floor, and my heart crumbles.
“Franco,” I whisper. Anabelle scoops up my phone and reads the message. Your boyfriend has been in an accident. It’s all over the news.
“Wow. Oh my God. Are you okay?”
I hear her, but my brain can’t handle the truth of his words. “I’m not sure,” I cry, tears streaming down my face.
Anabelle wraps me up in her arms and hugs me until I’m too tired to stand. “Poor Fabio.”
I turn on the news and see it everywhere. “Helicopter crash kills several. One survivor has been airlifted to the nearest medical center, condition unknown. The helicopter had been carrying four passengers, but that’s all the information we have so far as families have yet to be notified and the manifest has not been made public yet.”
“I can’t.” I run into my bedroom and slam the door shut, needing to breathe into my pillow and pray that he’s the survivor, as selfish as that sounds. I’d felt it in my gut earlier, waking me from my sleep as if I’d known it.
It’s dark when Anabelle creeps into my room. Sitting on my bed, she says, “He’s the survivor.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, letting sleep take me.
****
It’s been a week—seven brutal days. I’ve managed to compose myself, not letting anyone see that I’d been more upset than I had the right to be. My grief and suffering was mine to cope with. After all, we’d only met once and he could have only wanted one date. I shouldn’t care about him so intensely, but I can’t shove these feelings away.
I stand outside his hospital room, wanting to go in and check on him, but he’s still out of it and I’m a big chicken shit. I drove all the way up here on my day off to see how he’s doing, and yet I can’t muster the courage to go in and see him. I find myself coming up with reasons I should leave.
It’s foolish to even be here because we don’t really know each other at all. One brief encounter, and nothing more. I stand outside for a few minutes, and
then I hear a voice behind me calling my name. “Isabelle, what are you doing here?”
“Hi, Fabio. I just wanted to check in on your brother,” I spit out, blushing furiously. This is how he spent Christmas. I ended up staying home, and Anabelle hugged me while I cried and then we video chatted with our parents, but I excused myself after a couple of minutes. Of course they asked why, and Anabelle gave them a brief, partial lie so they wouldn’t worry too much.
“Thanks for coming.” He gives me a hug, and I feel his pain as his grip tightens on me. He releases me and says, “Still, right now there’s nothing we can do until he wakes. The doctors put him in an induced coma after all the surgeries.”
“I suppose I’ll go now.” I don’t want to leave, but what can I say? I’m crazy about your brother and I want to beg him to wake up?
I’ve never seen Fabio with a sad look before, and it’s terrifyingly upsetting. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you did.” He hugs me tightly before letting go, eyes red-rimmed.
“Sure. I do hope he recovers soon.” I can’t hide the tears forming in my eyes. He nods and then pushes the door open, and that’s when I get the slightest glimpse of the powerful Franco Fiore, lying in a bed, completely still. I gasp as Fabio closes the door.
Turning on my heels, I rush out of the hospital to cry my tears in private. At first, I stop just outside the entrance and let out a good sob, choking on my words as someone whispers that it will get better. I wonder if it will lessen, or will this ache in my chest keep expanding? As I leave I see his cousin that he’d been with that night heading into the building with a devastated Mrs. Fiore. My heart sinks and I drop my head, hiding my face as I hurry through the snow and back to my car.
Chapter Three
Franco
“He’s lucky to be alive,” a voice says, but I can’t see anything at the moment to tell where it’s coming from or who it is. My head throbs painfully as I try to gain some clarity.
“My baby,” my mother sobs in that voice I know well and have heard all my life, and my heart aches knowing I’ve caused her grief. She’s always been the rock, my beautiful, kind but strong mother.
“Mama,” I shout or at least I think I do, but I can’t hear myself.
“Did he say something?” Fabio asks.
“Franco, say something. Please, son, say something.” My dad’s here as well. Wherever that is. From the sound of the constant beeping and the harsh light shooting through my shut eyelids, it’s a hospital. My eyes flicker open, but the movement doesn’t help clear my vision.
“Dad,” I grunt, hoping they hear me this time.
“He’s awake,” Fabio cheers. “Come on, you lazy bastard. It’s time for you to get out of bed already. You’ve been lying there for three weeks.” I blink a few more times as I try to focus.
“One moment, Mr. Fiore.” I feel a warm, wet cloth over my eyes. “You’ve had your eyes closed for a long time.” Once the man pulls it away and wipes my face, I try to open them again and adjust to the light. I squint, unable to handle the harshness of the light.
“Open the door, and turn off that light,” my father says.
“Good idea.” I send up a silent thank you for that as the pain in my head eases slightly.
“Mr. Fiore, I’m your doctor. Welcome back.”
“Where am I?” I grunt, throat extremely thick with dryness and raspy as hell.
“You’re at Rochester Regional Medical Center. You’ve been here for three weeks since the accident. I need to do an evaluation, and I have to ask you questions. Are you up for it?”
“Thirsty,” I mutter, hoping to swallow.
“Good. We’ll get you some water for now.” I don’t understand what’s wrong with me, but I can feel the pain all over and I’m not sure I can move. Slowly, I wiggle my fingers and toes at the doctor’s request. We go through some small and brief examinations and he attempts to explain them, but I can’t concentrate on anything he’s saying with the banging on my brain.
“Did anyone else make it?” I ask, wondering about their families.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Fiore.” My heart sinks, but that’s what I expected after hearing the explosion and seeing the flames. I’m more than lucky to be alive.
“Will I be able to walk again?”
“In due time, but we must take everything slow and steady.” There’s a sense of relief flooding my bones.
“How bad is it?” I ask, hoping they give it to me straight because I can’t see for myself.
“You will have a lot of scarring. We can’t tell if it will be permanent, but you’re lucky to be alive.” Yes. He has a point, but self-pity that I’ve never experienced in my entire twenty-nine years sets in.
“I’m tired,” I groan with all honesty.
“We’ll let you rest. It’s good to see you improve.” I close my eyes, and my thoughts go to Isabelle. Goodbye, my love.
****
It’s been a month since I woke up, a month of slow but steady recovery. Every day I’m improving physically, even if it feels like a snail’s pace. I’m at my estate in Rochester where I receive my daily physical therapy sessions and attempt to work on my upcoming schedule. Thankfully Mia has done a lot of work for me, keeping everything running smoothly throughout the nearly two months since that fateful day.
My insurance company as well as the police are investigating the crash, and so far all they will tell me is that it wasn’t human error. So there was a mechanical malfunction that killed three people and destroyed my life. I take a deep breath, knowing that I’m getting angry and it does nothing to benefit me.
My temper boils most days when I look in the mirror. Although I’m dressed in a pair of expensive gray dress slacks and a crisp, clean white shirt, I look like shit. My scars run deep from my face down to my knees, the worst being my thigh where a piece of shrapnel embedded itself into my thigh muscle.
Wheeling my chair down the hall, I head to my office to get to work. I have blinding headaches, so I don’t get a lot done; my vice president has taken over making most of the decisions. Luckily my plate was almost empty when this happened, Mr. Morimoto being my biggest prize.
Mia’s sitting at her desk, which I had moved into my office. At present, I only live on the first floor of my castle-like mansion. Everyone calls it a castle and I suppose it has everything but a moat, but most of it has been modernized and it’s the exterior with its spires that gives it that castle feel.
“Good morning, Franco. How are you feeling?”
“Morning, Mia. I’m good enough to start checking things out. And before you start, I’m not going to push it. I do have a PT appointment in two hours, and François is making my breakfast.”
“That’s great. I’ll go over a couple of things. Most of it is simple paperwork and sign-offs, but there are some issues with regard to the accident,” she says, finishing the ending just above a whisper.
“What is it?”
“Well, the insurance company wants to turn everything over to the FBI. It wasn’t just a malfunction. They found something foreign added to the helicopter that may be the source of the stall.”
A chill runs up my spine. “What?” My ears are ringing. “Why? Who?”
She walks around and presses her hands to my shoulders. “I’m not sure, but you need to take it easy.”
“I need my meds, Mia,” I grunt, feeling my world spin out of control.
“I’m getting them and calling the doctor.” I don’t argue because my chest hurts. It could be anxiety or something worse.
“Fuck. I’ll have to skip work today. I just can’t do this.”
“I should have waited.” She heads over to the cabinet and unlocks it, pulling out my whole tray of meds. “What do you need?”
“My head’s throbbing.”
“Okay.” She grabs the pain meds and a bottle of water.
“Thank you.”
“You should go lie down before it gets worse.” I nod and roll my c
hair out of the office. At Mia’s direction, my head of security helps me back onto my bed. I definitely need more time. Revenge will be mine as soon as I find this person.
As I close my eyes, my head goes back to the person who lives inside of my soul. I need you, my sweet Isabelle. With her, my dreams always ease, even if her presence is only in my head.
****
By the next morning, the shock of yesterday’s revelation has passed and anger has set in. The doctor ordered me to rest for the next few days, but I’ll be taking that with a grain of salt. Revenge, reckoning, and ruin will get me through this. There’s no need for me to search for the killers when Morimoto laid them out…his children.
He doesn’t have any grandchildren, so I won’t feel bad about what I plan to do, but I will own everything he had and then find the evidence I need to eviscerate those involved and have them sent to prison for the rest of their lives.
I work for hours, calling in favors, making new contacts. “Hello, this is Sean Cavanaugh.”
“Yes. This is Franco Fiore. I was wondering if you had a team of people that could do some work for me.”
“It depends on what kind of work.” I read off a list of things I need. The last one bothers him, but he still agrees.
“Honestly, I could ask my brother and he wouldn’t hesitate, but I don’t want him made aware of my plans. He’ll worry too damn much, and I’ve put my family through enough hell for a lifetime.”
“No problem.”
****
Two days later while sitting in my office, I’m hooked into my brother’s security cameras in Fiore’s, looking back at the day I met Isabelle to see if I was followed, watched. I review the footage, but my eyes drift back to the kitchen area and suddenly revenge is out of my head and lust has taken hold.
On the screen is Isabelle as she greets me. The smiling blush on her face reminds me that she felt it too. I pause it and print out a picture of the image for my own personal collection.
Everyone is gone from my home except for my chef and my housekeeper, so I know I won’t be disturbed. Pulling my cock out of my pants, pre-cum already coating the head, I stroke the length. Growling, I picture those eyes looking up at me as she takes me between her plump, pink glossy lips.
