by Howes, Ann
I get how he feels because I miss Gianni. It’s been two weeks since Joey’s funeral and the man’s caught and reeled me in like a starving little snapper on a shiny new hook.
He and Marco left early yesterday morning to deal with fire marshals and insurance adjusters while I talked to the FBI and the local police.
My phone pings, startling me. It bounces in my hand, until I get a grip.
De Luca, you home yet?
My heart beats faster than a racehorse at the Belmont Stakes and it takes several attempts to type in Yes.
On my way, see you soon. x
A kiss!
It’s a small thing but my smile’s so big my face might break. I’m willing to take a step forward and believe in what he showed me at the hospital. To trust that raw emotion in his eyes when he looked at me and take a chance it’s something deeper. Almost dying has taught me life’s too short to not have a little good in it. And Gianni’s good is exceptional.
Truman’s ears perk and a beat later there’s a knock on my door. Mom pokes her head through. I offered her my apartment but Gianni insisted we all stay at the house until I’m recovered. Who am I to argue?
“May I come in?” she asks.
“Of course.” My voice, although much better, is still a little scratchy. I motion for her to sit on the bed which she crawls onto, tucking her bare feet underneath herself. She scratches Truman’s ears. He snorts and licks her hand.
“I was hoping we could talk in the car but you fell asleep.”
“Sorry.” I grimace. “The drugs make me woozy. What about?”
“You and Gianni.”
“Mom…” I groan and close my eyes.
God!
I’m not ready for this. I’ve barely wrapped my own head around it.
“Look,” she says, wrapping her fingers around my ankle. “Lord knows I’m grateful he saved you. I can’t imagine what I would have done if…” She takes a deep breath and blinks away tears. “If that psycho killed you or…worse.”
I shudder. “He didn’t.”
“Thank God.”
Technically, thank Gianni, Marco and Carmine but whose quibbling.
“Look, honey, you’re an adult and I can’t tell you what to do, but are you really sure you want to get involved with him?”
“I don’t want to talk about this. You don’t need to worry.”
She angles her head, and when I meet her eyes, there’s something in them other than worry that I can’t quite read. “I do. You’re my child and it would be remiss of me not to warn you. You know he has a reputation?”
Dangit. This is what I wanted to avoid. Having Gianni’s reputation shoved in my face. “I know you’re afraid he’s going to hurt me.”
She swallows then lets out a breath. “Something like that. He’s a Cadora. They’re beautiful, charming men. But dangerous. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I want you to think about coming back to LA with me.”
Shit. I don’t need this.
“I’m making a life here, Mom, and you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Am I?”
“Uh huh.” I nod.
“Still.” She takes a deep breath through her nose, then lets it out. “You have the shittiest luck with men and I have to say it. All I’m asking is you be careful?”
“I will. Besides, this is stuff I already know.”
I hold her gaze for a few seconds longer and a kernel of unease sprouts, but it’s nothing I can grab at. “Unless…what are you not telling me?” My head cocks as I squint at her.
Her eyes widen slightly, then she shakes her head. “Nothing, honey. Just me being…well, you know.”
“Mom?”
“No, no…you’re right. I’m being overly cautious. I’m backing off now. Anyway, you said in the hospital you wanted to talk about your dad?”
“Yeah.” I sigh and relent. Since I really do have questions.
“Ask away.” She straightens and repositions her legs under her, seeming relieved to change the subject. Well, her and me both.
“I’ve been hearing so much about how good he was at hiding money.”
She nods but her expression turns guarded.
“I’d forgotten how many people loved him.” I let out a small chuckle. “He’s like a legend here.”
“Yeah.” Her smile is sad. “He was a good man.”
“But I don’t understand something. He seems to have helped a lot of people, but what about us? ’Cause I remember when we didn’t have a lot. That tiny little apartment in West Hollywood before you got married and we moved.”
“He did take care of us.” She blows a strand of dark hair off her face before tucking it behind her ear. “I had to be careful after he died. Couldn’t do anything to attract attention from the government. There were foreign accounts I couldn’t touch, at least not right away.”
“You’re saying it was all for show?”
“Yep. We lived off cash he’d stashed and what I had in the bank. Then, when I started working, I slowly converted some of the money into stocks and other forms of income.”
“Were we on a watch list?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I wasn’t taking chances.” Her lips curl into a cryptic smile.
“What?”
No response, but her smile gets wider.
“Mom?” I draw it out.
“There’s an account in your name in the Caymans. Sort of a trust fund.”
“Say what?” I ogle her. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope.”
“A trust fund?”
She nods.
“A frigging trust fund?”
She giggles like a schoolgirl. “Your dad wanted you to learn how to handle money before you had access to it. When you’re twenty-eight, it’s yours.”
“Oh my God. That’s why you vacation there every year?”
“Mm hmm.”
“How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She waves a hand and pulls in her lips. “Probably close to a couple million by now.”
My jaw drops.
“Give or take.”
“I have two million dollars sitting in an offshore account?”
Holy fizz pops!
“I’ve been dying to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?” My eyebrows are still in the vicinity of my hairline.
“Because I thought if I did, you wouldn’t learn responsibility and would get yourself into debt knowing you had a windfall coming.”
“Mom, I have almost no cash in my account but I also have zero debt other than the current balance on my credit card. Everything’s paid off. My car, my student loans. Everything.”
Except rent which is due in a week.
“Do you know how long it takes to build a clientele from scratch or how expensive it is to live in this city? My rent is ridiculous even with the break Marshall cuts me.”
“I’m so proud of you.” She beams, showing even, white teeth. “I taught you well.”
“I guess you did.” I’m in shock. My jaw’s dangling and I’m still staring at her when my phone pings.
Cass: Let me in, I’m at the gate.
I lift my leg over Truman and roll over to push the code on the keypad next to the bed. Then adjust my black leggings and loose turquoise tunic top before shoving my feet into some flats.
Mom sniffs Truman’s head. “Does he smell like apples?”
I snort and shake my head, still staring at her until I’m out the bedroom door. There’s a thunk and a moment later Truman, recovering from a nose dive, scrambles behind me. We head down the stairs to the front door with my head spinning.
Two million dollars?
I could afford to buy into a partnership with Cass.
Truman beats me to the front door, bouncing off his front paws. His short legs can handle the stairs going down much better than going up.
Cass has unloaded several bouquets of flowers from her Audi when I open the huge doors. We hug, then she
examines my bruised neck.
“That fucking asshole. Marco told me you smashed his face with a wine bottle.”
“Uh huh. Broke his nose.”
“You’re such a badass.” She grins wickedly at me. “Wish I’d been there to see that.”
I emit a hoarse chuckle and point to the flowers. “Are those for me?”
“My God, yes! They’ve been arriving non-stop at the salon. The break room and your station are covered and I’ve run out of room.”
“Put them on the table, here in the foyer,” I say, picking up an arrangement of pale blue hydrangeas and white roses.
“Oh,” she smirks. “We’re going to need more room than that.”
“Holy Toledo,” Mom says, coming down the stairs. “There’s enough for a pop-up florist.” She smiles when she sees Cass and holds out her hand to shake.
“I’m Lisa, Shelley’s mom.”
Cass returns her smile, green eyes twinkling. “Nice highlights. Shelley do them?”
“Of course,” she says, and hold out her hands for a bouquet of sunflowers and gerbera daisies. “Let me help you. They’re gorgeous.”
Once the flowers have been placed in available spots, I remove all the cards and place them on the kitchen table, touched by all the love from my clients. “That’s a lot of thank-you notes to write,” I mumble to Cass. “Want some coffee?”
“No time. Got a date with Marco.” She gives me a lopsided grin. “I’m meeting him for dinner.”
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“I really do,” she whispers. “He makes me laugh. Look, I hate to ask, but when do you think you’ll come back to work?”
“Next week.” I show her my palms. “Much better, thanks to being stuck in the hospital, they’ve healed nicely.”
We talk for a few minutes more, then I walk her to the door, and wait while she climbs into her car.
As she circles the driveway, she honks her horn, sending the dogs into a frenzy. Another car comes up the driveway at the same time and at first I don’t recognize it, then my heart leapfrogs into my throat when I realize it’s Gianni.
Good God, he’s hot in that car, like it was made for him. He’s hot in the truck too, looking all blue-collar and badass, but in that pricy BMW, he sizzles.
Woo.
I refrain from fanning my face. He stops parallel to Cass and they chat through their respective windows.
Can’t get caught ogling, so I shut the front door and lean against it. When my heart slows, I stroll back to the kitchen to collect my get-well notes. I’m opening them with a butter knife, acting all cool, when he steps through the garage door with Truman taking his back.
Our eyes meet and all the air’s sucked out of my lungs.
“There you are,” he says, pushing the door closed. He hangs his keys on the little dragonfly hook before dumping a briefcase and suit jacket on the table next to several floral arrangements, never breaking eye contact. Then five steps later (I counted), he palms my face and stares down at me.
“You owe me one hell of a kiss, De Luca.” Those words are spoken low and sexy, making my belly do that whooshy thing and my heart feel too big for my chest. Before his mouth comes down on mine, his eyes darken to that stormy gray that I realize now means he’s emotionally engaged.
He sucks my bottom lip between his, teasing me with the tip of his tongue. Heat surges between my legs when I open my mouth, allowing him to take possession. My arms slip around his waist pulling him closer, because I can never seem to get close enough. He groans and deepens the kiss, our tongues clash before settling into a wet, sexy rhythm. He tastes like chocolate and sin. I lose myself in his incredible smell, savoring his warmth while his fingers lace into my hair and grip a handful.
“Missed you,” he murmurs against my mouth, then moves to the spot below my ear and sucks on my skin.
Sensations ripple through my body and I wonder if now would be a good time to test the sanctity of the pantry, since his bedroom’s way too far away.
“Oh, dear God!”
Her voice, though not too loud, penetrates and we both stiffen and pause.
My mother!
“I’m so sorry.”
I turn my head and glare at her. Her hands are over her eyes but she doesn’t look or sound sorry at all. In fact, she looks like she’s trying not to smirk, having obviously accomplished what she set out to do.
Wench.
“Fuck,” Gianni mutters. “What is it about kissing you in this kitchen?” He pulls in a breath and lets it out against my neck, which of course doesn’t help the situation between my thighs.
“That’s a curse we’re gonna have to break.” Then he turns his head to face her. “Lisa. Good to see you again. Made yourself comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you.” Her grin is wide and unapologetic and, since I know my mother, devious. “I’d forgotten how amazing that view of the bridge is and you’ve remodeled. I love what you’ve done with the foyer.”
I push away from Gianni whose arms tighten at first, but when I insist, he allows me to disentangle myself with a sigh. I figure I’ll let them catch up, shoot the shit about the house. And I’ll catch up with her later in a different way. Her being cautious is one thing, but deliberately obstructing is something else entirely. While I consider what I’ll say to her, I rifle through the envelopes checking out the names.
One in particular stands out. The paper is of exceptional quality and embossed with an unfamiliar pattern and when I peer closely it looks much like Cyrillic.
I don’t have any Russian clients.
My pulse quickens as I open the envelope and start to read. As the words sink in, my skin prickles and a light film of sweat breaks out on my upper lip. Along with the strangled little noise coming from my mouth my legs wobble and buckle. Gianni pivots, catching me beneath my arms just before I drop.
“Fuck, Shelley, what the fuck?” He pulls out a chair with his foot then makes sure I’m seated. He dips to his haunches, placing his hands on my thighs. “Babe, what is it?”
As I hold out the card for him to read, my fingers shake, the writing burned into my brain.
A Cadora killed your father. Guess which one. I love you. Dean.
That asshole! He’ll never stop messing with me, even sitting in a jail cell in Nevada. You’d think he had other things to concern himself with.
I lean forward with my head between my knees to get the blood moving to my brain and silently chant.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Deep breath in.
I do this several times, focusing on something normal like my pink toes peeking through my flats. It’s been more than two weeks since my last pedicure.
On my fifth inhale, it occurs. Why’s it so damn quiet? And why are Gianni’s fingers digging into my knees? It’s beginning to hurt.
When I raise my head, his face, normally so robust with that gorgeous Sicilian coloring, is pale and borderline gray. His eyes are shut and I stare at him for a million years, until he finally opens them again.
“Shelley,” he says softly.
Oh no.
Oh, no, no!
A whimper on the other side of the table pulls my gaze from him. The last time I heard that sound coming from my mom was at Dad’s funeral.
“Oh…Shelley,” her voice cracks on the sob. Her perfectly manicured hand holding the card shakes so visibly I’m amazed she’s still holding it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
It takes a moment for that to sink in, but when it does my hands fly to my face. All the breath leaves my body like they one-two sucker punched me.
“You know!”
“Shelley…”
“Both of you. You know.” My gaze darts between them looking for any form of denial, which after several long moments, I realize is sorely missing. “Oh my God. You’ve always known. You’ve been lying to me the whole time.”
“Honey, I wasn’t…”
They both just stare, neither one seemingly willing to answer.
I slam my fist on the wooden table, blocking the pain shooting up my wrist. My mother flinches while Gianni works the muscles in his jaw. The man’s going to crack a tooth if he keeps that up.
“Who, dammit?” I direct this at Gianni, praying it isn’t him. “Your dad? Uncle Joe?”
“My brother,” he answers so quietly I’m sure I misheard him.
Joey?
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I was, Shelley.”
“You’re fucking lying!” I jump up, pushing his hand from my leg and yell. “Why?” Hot tears roll down my cheeks. Conversely, my mother pulls out a chair and collapses into it.
“Mom?”
“It’s true, honey.” Her voice is shaky. “I wanted to tell you, but you were so…fragile after it happened. And then it never seemed like the right time.”
“Why would Joey want to kill Daddy?”
“He wasn’t trying to kill your dad,” Gianni says, reaching for me, but I step out of his way. “He was trying to kill me.”
“You? What? Why? I don’t understand.”
“Joey thought you were cheating on him.” He’s quiet for a long beat while I stare back.
“No.” I shake my head, disbelieving. “No. None of this is making any sense. I never cheated on Joey, I wouldn’t dare.”
“He thought you were cheating on him…with me. He saw us kissing, Shelley.”
“Us? You mean you and me? No…you’re wrong. We never kissed.”
“Yeah, babe, we did. That day at the marina.”
The day…at the marina?
I gasp.
The day my dad died. Like random pieces of some 3-D puzzle, seemingly not connected, they begin to fall in place. Forming a picture I absolutely hate.
When he was late.
Exactly like my dream. Except now I know it wasn’t a dream, it was a memory. A chill as cold as that windy day waiting for Joey spreads through my spine, turning my blood icy. Except Joey never showed. Gianni did.
“Oh God!” The noise that comes from me is halfway between a groan and a whimper as I finally acknowledge...finally accept what I’m hearing as truth.
