Deception

by Aleatha Romig

  He reached out and secured my hand. Turning it over he gently traced the faint bruise on my wrist. “You trust him.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway.

  “I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but trust is something that should be difficult to earn and way too easy to lose. Once it’s lost, regaining it is difficult. Spence may have earned it when he was three, but little cousin, if you knew all I do, you’d never put it in his grasp again.”

  “But with the rumors about Lennox’s wife…” I almost stopped my question. “…you’d let him have it?”

  Patrick shrugged. “It’s not mine to give. But from the look of your wrist, you’ve given it. Do you really want to take it away?”

  Do I?

  The boa was back.

  “Good night, Pat.”

  “MR. DEMETRI,” NIKKI, my newest secretary, said as she opened the door to my office. “Daryl Frazier is here to see you.”

  I glanced at the clock on the corner of my desk. He was five minutes early—as far as I was concerned, a point in his favor.

  “Show him in, and bring us both coffee.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I didn’t listen as she asked Daryl the obligatory questions—cream? sugar? Life would be much easier if everyone drank coffee the way it was intended, black. What was the point if sugar and cream muted the strong, robust flavor?

  “Mr. Demetri,” Daryl said as he entered my office, his hand extended.

  “Oren,” I corrected as he took the seat across my wide desk. “As you can imagine, my schedule is quite busy. I’m glad my girl was able to squeeze you in, but to be honest, I don’t have much time.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll jump right to the point.”

  The door once again opened. Nikki entered, her tight skirt accentuating her small waist, her high heels defining her shapely legs, but it was the neckline on the silk blouse that demanded Daryl’s and my attention. The large scoop fell low enough to showcase her most obvious assets, however, not too low to have them openly on display.

  “Your coffee,” she said as she bent at the waist and sat two cups of steaming-hot brown liquid on my desk.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I replied. “Hold my calls.”

  “Yes, Mr. Demetri.”

  “You were saying?” I encouraged Daryl, as I reclined slightly, rocking my large leather chair and moving my eyes away from Nikki’s assets.

  “Yes, there’s this parcel of land, just south of Danbury.”

  “Connecticut,” I confirmed.

  “Yes, sir. It was just made available. As you’re probably aware, the population of this area has grown exponentially…”

  Being on the receiving line of elevator pitches never got old. For years, ever since I worked to make a name, I was the one delivering the pitch, the one doing what needed to be done.

  I wasn’t born to money but worked damn hard for it. Born to a longshoreman, I had a respectable example of hard work. I also saw firsthand who really made the money. It wasn’t my father or the other men who worked their asses off on the docks or out on the boats. It wasn’t their supervisors, because my father made it that far. It was the men who owned the docks.

  It was the families that owned the city.

  It was the ones who took risks.

  My parents wanted me to accomplish something no other Demetri had done. They wanted me to get an education. They believed that would give me the ticket to move beyond the blue-collared world.

  I did, but it didn’t.

  Oh, it helped. It opened doors, but the real doors required more than a piece of paper or letters after my name.

  I worked hard—night shift on the docks doing the same job my father had done, while I took classes during the day. I not only learned about business, I saw it. I watched who was paid to keep everything running smoothly, heard stories of unlikely alliances, and knew the truth about the unions.

  I’d heard my whole life how they took their piece of my father’s paycheck. He never complained because, according to him, the union and its representatives were why he made good money—why a man with an eighth-grade education could support a family. They were also why he had health insurance and a retirement plan. He willingly paid his dues, and they took care of him. It was the way it was done.

  There were men and women in my classes at New York University who came from money, those with the proverbial silver spoon. I never conceded to their birthright. Most of them had no idea where I came from or that I worked all night to sit in the same class as them. The more I got to know them, the more I recognized that half of them would be eaten alive in a place like the docks of Brooklyn or New York City.

  Business was not learned only in books.

  I did what my parents—God rest their souls—wanted and completed my degree. In the long run, it did for me what working the docks did—it gave me connections. I knew not only the men and the families I needed to know but also up-and-coming people in the world of business. Some things had been too good for too long. I heard the rumors of change. With my fingers dipped in both pies, I was prepared to move with it.

  When I first graduated from NYU, I played the game. I worked for the man. I applied for legitimate jobs in big glass buildings. I wore the best suit I could afford and perfected my pitch. I knew the recession was hitting everyone hard, but I refused to give up. I knew the sacrifices that my parents had made for me and refused to squander them.

  I made my name known working my way through the ranks.

  It was there in the glass buildings with the fancy views that I learned that it was the same game. Everyone played it. Just like the dockworkers, everyone paid. It didn’t take me long to change my goal. I didn’t long to be someone else’s best employee. No. To truly succeed, I needed to be the one who received the payouts.

  I determined that Oren Demetri would be on the receiving end, not the one paying out.

  I renewed alliances. My friends had friends who had family. We knew who deserved their cut and who didn’t but got it anyway. It wasn’t the same as my education at NYU; however, it was just as valuable.

  The economy improved. Energy was no longer in short supply and business was once again booming. And then the FBI began its stings. Feds began questioning and taping and building cases that didn’t need to be built.

  The well-oiled machines that had controlled the docks, the construction industry—from the materials to the workers—and the city since the early 1900’s began to falter. The commission was still strong, but not what it had been. Just last December, Castellano—Big Paulie—was murdered on the streets of Manhattan, and the rumblings stirred something inside me—a drive.

  My father didn’t have the same option. Not only because he didn’t have a degree, but because his timing was wrong, and his dedication was to my mother and me. That’s not to say I didn’t care about my family. I’ve always adored Angelina. She’s been the love of my life since I heard her laugh in sophomore English.

  I still remember her sitting with three other girls looking at a magazine. If I closed my eyes, I could see her—brown hair, big blue eyes, dressed in jeans and a Metallica t-shirt. She was about as far from the type of girl I usually noticed as possible.

  My preference had always been women like Nikki, those who dolled themselves up, knew their assets, and didn’t mind flaunting them. That wasn’t Angelina. It was as if she didn’t realize how fucking beautiful she was or the way her laughter brought sunlight to the classroom, even to a tired schmuck who’d worked all night, gone home to shower, and dragged himself to class.

  It took me time, years, to finally make my move. I had a name to build. A beautiful intelligent woman like Angelina Costello deserved better than the son of a dockworker. Besides, her family had connections. Her family was connections. I knew the name and valued my life. It wasn’t until the name Oren Demetri had clout that I could pursue a woman like her.

  As Daryl Frazier opened the canister of blueprint
s and laid the large sheets of paper over my desk, I smirked at how far I’d come. No longer was I the one searching out investors. People were coming to me. I’d taken those lessons and in this new climate, turned them into a reputable business. Demetri Enterprises. It sounded official.

  The families taught me something that NYU only confirmed. Never put all your eggs in one basket. That’s what my father and all the men like him had done. They’d worked hard, given everything they had, for one thing—a paycheck. People who received paychecks never got rich. It was the ones who wrote the checks who made the real money.

  “And you can see how this subdivision will fill a need not met in the city. These lots are half an acre each. The clearance requires twelve feet on each side of every structure. As you can imagine, people who’ve lived in the city will pay big money for that much space. It’ll be like a mile to them.”

  “Do you have the prospective on utilities?”

  “Yes,” he said, as he dug in his briefcase for another folder.

  OUR BROWNSTONE IN Windsor Terrace wasn’t as grand as I wanted, but Angelina never complained. My goal was to move my family—my wife and one-year-old son, Lennox—from Brooklyn one day. It would take time. Currently, the money coming in was mostly going back out. It was the way it worked and I knew it.

  I looked at my watch as I parked my car. It was later than I’d promised to return home. I’d told Angelina I’d be home for dinner. I’d planned to be. After the meeting with Frazier, I had multiple more. I was on my way to call it a night, when I got the call.

  I’d been invited to Carlisle’s, an out-of-the-way little restaurant and bar in Little Italy. The invitation meant two things: my growing success was getting noticed and—since no one refused an invitation—I was going. The meeting went well. I had faith it would. Angelina’s cousin Vinnie had been the one to invite me. Family took care of family.

  From the porch I saw the faint glow of a lamp in the living room. Quietly, I opened the front door. On the sofa, covered in a blanket, was my wife. Her long hair was mussed as some of it was bound in a low ponytail and some was free with bits over her beautiful face.

  I stood mesmerized for a moment or two, unsure if I should wake her or allow her to sleep. On the end table near her head was a small white box with a thick, golden-colored antennae. It was the newest baby monitor, the one she’d wanted. With it, she could hear Lennox from anywhere in the house even though he was upstairs in the nursery.

  I’d always told her not to wait up for me.

  Since our son was born, she needed sleep. He was a demanding little guy who now, at nearly a year, was finally sleeping through the night. Every now and then, he’d wake just to see if he could get a response.

  Angelina turned, her bedroom eyes slowly opening. “You’re home?” Her raspy voice sent shivers down my spine. Even now, it was like her laughter from college. It was my sunshine.

  “I’m sorry about dinner.”

  She shook her head as she sat up, the blanket falling and her large t-shirt-type nightgown falling from her bare shoulder. It made me smile. If I’d been asked when I was younger, I would have said my wife would wear silk negligees, not oversized cotton shirts.

  “I got your message,” she said. “There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you’re hungry. I can warm it up.” She shrugged. “I made lasagna.”

  I sat beside her and reached for her hand. “Damn, I love your lasagna. Baby, Vinnie called. I couldn’t say no.”

  “Did it go… okay?”

  I leaned forward and covered her lips with mine. She was so damn beautiful.

  As the temperature of the room increased, Angelina pulled slightly away while a smile graced her lips. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

  “Yes, it went very well. I have a few investment opportunities, and it seems as though the backing is there.”

  Her smile faded as her hand fidgeted in mine. “Oren, things are going well. I love our home. I miss you. If you take that money you know they’ll expect more.”

  “Yes, baby, and so will I. I’m not keeping the money, I’m paying it forward. The interest I’ll collect will more than cover what I’ll owe. I was looking at plans today for a new neighborhood just south of Danbury. The houses will be spaced apart with yards. Just imagine a real yard for Lennox. “We could have a swing set and a patio.”

  “We have a yard,” she said.

  We didn’t. We had a postage stamp of grass out our back door. That hardly made a yard.

  “These houses will be on half an acre. I was thinking that I might commission two lots. That would be a whole acre. That’s more land than we’ve ever owned.”

  She stood. “I’m going to check on Lennox. Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

  I stood and pulled her close. “Not for food.”

  Angelina playfully shook her head. “Well then, you’d better plan on eating lasagna for breakfast for the next few days.”

  The corners of my lips moved upward. “The breakfast of champions.”

  AFTER TOSSING AND turning for most of the night, I woke early and decided that more sleep was not in my immediate future. The cold sheets were my stark reminder that I was alone. In only a short time, I’d grown accustomed to waking beside Nox, basking in the warmth radiating from his hard body. Closing my eyes, I imagined the way I’d often find his muscular arm draped protectively over my waist as our bodies spooned, fitting together as one. As night turned to morning, even in his sleep his erection would probe my back, the best alarm clock I’d ever had.

  Sighing in the dark of Patrick’s spare room, I concentrated on what had happened to that fairytale. I thought about what I knew or what I thought I knew. I replayed the scene from the night before a hundred times. As I did, I realized that I hadn’t asked Nox if he’d killed his wife. I’d asked him to tell me that he wasn’t responsible for her death.

  What would a man like Nox deem as responsible? What did Pat mean about a hit? What kind of case and testimony did Jocelyn’s family have against Nox? Why hadn’t it already been pursued if her death occurred years ago?

  More questions swirled.

  I recalled weeks ago that Deloris told me Demetri Enterprises was an umbrella, one with some nefarious subsidiaries. Well, she hadn’t used that word, but now with Bryce’s note, it seemed accurate. Nox had said that Demetri Enterprises was an investor in Infidelity. Was that what Bryce meant by prostitution?

  Still lying upon the bed, my shoulders straightened indignantly, my bare feet sliding upon the soft sheets as I wondered how Bryce would feel if he learned that for only a brief time, I’d been an employee of Infidelity. If Pat were right that Bryce needed me for a cover, maybe I wouldn’t be his best choice.

  I also wondered if Patrick had considered Millie Ashmore, my high school best friend, an easy lay? Was she on the list he’d supplied? The idea of her, the girl claiming to be my friend, sleeping with not only my boyfriend but also my cousin made me physically ill.

  I threw back the blankets. The train of thought I was riding had taken a downward spiral. It was time to disembark before it crashed. Willing myself forward, I decided to get my day going. Despite all hell breaking loose around me, I had class this morning, followed by a discussion session. From everything I’d gathered, the discussion was invaluable.

  Thirty-five minutes later, showered and dressed for class, I was contemplating my breakfast and raiding the refrigerator of fruit when Pat entered, all debonair and dressed for work. His spicy cologne reached me even before his footsteps stopped.

  Turning his direction, like a thief with my hand caught in the cookie jar, I smiled. “You really do clean up well!” As he made his best GQ-worthy pose, I giggled and asked, “How are things at Kassee?”

  “Going really well. Are you finding everything you want?”

  “Yes,” I replied as I laid the food on the counter. “You did say make yourself at home.”

  “I did,” he confirmed. “I don’t know if you remember, but on t
he day of your… interview, I had a presentation at Kassee that I couldn’t miss?”

  Though that wasn’t high on my radar that day, I did remember.

  “I do. Did it go well?”

  His brown eyes sparkled as he took a piece of my pineapple. “It went so well, later, one of the partners talked to me about employment after my internship is complete.”

  “Pat, that’s fantastic. What does Cy think?”

  “Hmm?”

  I squinted my eyes his direction. “Why are you humming at me?”

  “Because as much as you’re fighting it, you’re thinking like one of a couple. If you weren’t, you’d have said, that’s fantastic. What are you going to do?”

  I shrugged as I hit the button on the coffee machine. It hissed and sputtered filling the kitchen with the delectable aroma of a French roast brew as I recalled my lonely wake-up. “I miss him. I woke up this morning and rolled toward him.”

  Pat’s fingers laced through mine. “Honey, I bet he feels the same. Call him. Do it now, or you’ll never be able to concentrate on those boring professors.”

  I squeezed his hand and then released mine. “Thanks for the advice, but as I said, I left the ball in his court.”

  “You know, you can’t—”

  I interrupted, almost telling him I could, but settled for saying, “I know.”

  Pat glanced at the clock on the microwave. “I didn’t think you went to class this early.”

  It wasn’t even seven. Since I was up, leaving early was part of my rebellion against surveillance strategy. “I don’t, but since I’m up I thought I’d head to campus and get a little reading done in the library before class.”

  “You can stay here. I’m heading out. It’ll be quiet.”

  I shrugged. “I know. Thanks, but I need to move.”

  Patrick kissed my forehead. “Sure thing. You move. Have you called that bodyguard guy to drive you?”

  I stood taller, holding my cup of coffee in both hands and gently blew across the steaming molten java. Looking at my cousin through my lashes I replied, “Nope.”