by C. C. Gibbs
As they were finishing dessert, Rafe leaned over to speak to Nicole.
“If you have a moment, Rafe,” Gora said, anticipating his guests’ early departure. “I’d like to see you in my study.”
Rafe’s first impulse was to answer no. “Of course,” he said instead and gave Nicole a reluctant nod. “I won’t be long.”
“Nicole and I will have our coffee and grappa in the salon while we wait,” Camelia said, coming to her feet. “Bring your trifle if you like, Titus. Ah, thank you, Andrei, the carpet was saved. Come, Nicole, you must tell me how you met Rafe. It’s obvious you’ve charmed him completely.”
Following Gora, Rafe was nearly to the hallway when his mother spoke. He spun around. “Don’t grill her, Mother.”
Nicole gave her head a little shake. “I’m fine, Rafe.”
“We’re just going to chat.” Camelia waved him off.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said, his voice measured.
His mother smiled. “Oh, dear, that sounds like a warning.”
“It is. Don’t embarrass me.”
“I didn’t think that was possible,” Gora said under his breath, waiting in the doorway for Rafe.
“Then we’re both surprised,” Rafe said, equally softly, turning to Gora. “I didn’t think you’d be sailing down here.”
“That’s what we have to discuss.”
Rafe grimaced. “As long as it doesn’t take long. Mother’s making me nervous.”
“She’s never had a female friend of yours to chat with before.” Gora moved down the hall with Rafe following behind him. “Considering your friendships,” he said over his shoulder, “it’s probably for the best.”
“I don’t think we want to start comparing morals.”
“Certainly not. I am, however,” Gora said, opening the door to his study, “concerned with the imminent dangers you face. Come in, sit down. I’ll make this brief.” Gora walked behind his desk, dropped into a green leather chair, and unbuttoned his taupe linen sports jacket. “ A man I hired found those bank account numbers you need.”
“Christ, that’s great. Thank you.” Rafe moved to a modern sculpted chair all ergonomic curves in brilliant orange leather and sat. “Anyone I know?”
“Probably not. A Russian. He’s worth his weight in gold. Literally. That’s his price. Here.” Gora slid a computer printout across the desk.
“Fucking A.” Rafe scanned a list of roughly thirty numbered accounts.
“As you see, they aren’t all Swiss.”
“I see that. Jesus, Zou must have been looting his department funds long before Ganz took his share. That’s a helluva lot of money.”
Gora ran his hands through his cropped salt-and-pepper hair in a quick, restless gesture, then dropped his arms on his desk and leaned forward. “The urgent question is: Should I send my men to talk to the bankers? Or do you have the proper operatives? Those accounts have to be shut down quickly.”
“I have some men who can deal with the bankers, but fuck, thirty or more accounts. And they have to be dealt with simultaneously or someone will spook and call in the authorities.”
“Exactly.” Gora’s gray gaze was cool. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this. For your mother’s sake.”
“Sorry. Ganz saved the company from Zou’s hacking unit many times. So even if it wasn’t good for business, as a friend, I feel an obligation to help Ganz avenge his father’s assassination.” Rafe smiled slightly. “Like you feel obliged to try to talk me out of this for Mother’s sake.”
Gora nodded, then sighed. “What do you need from me?”
Aware of Gora’s Balkan mafia background, Rafe wasn’t sure of the fit. “No offense, but a certain subtlety is required. The men have to be able to get in the door, and into those offices.”
Gora smiled. “I might have a bit more experience than you. Tell me who you need and I’ll find them. I know when to be subtle and when not to be. This isn’t a gentlemen’s game—if it ever was. Zou has his back to the wall. That makes him unpredictable, and, God willing, careless.”
“We should be so lucky. Look, find me half the agents to deal with the bankers. I’ll get the rest. Have your people here sometime tomorrow if possible. It’s not complicated threatening men who have a lot to lose,” he murmured, studying the list as he spoke. “They’re not going to risk their lives for Zou. Fuck, I know who runs Nederman & Ney. I’ll speak to Balthus. He can block that account. Now, a question for you. When you said Mother was worried. What does she know?”
Gora sat back and flicked his fingers. “None of this. She heard me talking to Dominic Knight late one night. I’d raised my voice and she woke up when she heard your name. I told her it was just this little affair of yours that’s problematic for Nicole’s uncle. But no matter how small, if you’re involved in any issue, she worries.” His brows lifted. “Although I’m getting the impression this is more than a small issue.”
“No comment,” Rafe said flatly. “I’m not discussing Nicole.”
“Fair enough. Although you should find someone more—”
“Don’t say it. You have no right.”
The subject of his rights was forbidden, although it hurt to hear his son reject him. But Camelia had to be protected, Rafe’s inheritance protected, the company protected. Maso’s useless relatives could make claims. So he accepted the responsibility, along with the pain. “Very well,” Gora replied mildly. “Now, if you have any specifics regarding the quality of the operatives you need to deal with the bankers, let me know.”
“Anyone who looks capable of handling a hundred million or more for their client. Not that the bankers haven’t seen all kinds come in, but I don’t want them to give our people a second look. No visual red flags.”
“I’ll start recruiting tonight. And indulge your mother when it comes to her acquaintance with Nicole. She’s pleased you brought Nicole to dinner. Your mother blames herself for your—how shall I put it—callous indifference to women. She’s afraid all the difficulties you’ve endured have inoculated you against love.” He shrugged. “Women are more romantic, and she doesn’t know the full extent of Maso’s depravities. You unfortunately saw them at close range. He should have died years ago. I’m sorry he didn’t.”
“You, me, and a lot of other people. Look,” Rafe said softly, “I’ve been making my own decisions since I was very young, so we might not always agree, but I want you to know how much I appreciate your love for Mother. She deserves it. You deserve it. The world can be seriously fucked up at times.” He sighed. “Now particularly.” Rafe came to his feet. “I’ll talk to Carlos and Ganz after Nicole goes to sleep. I don’t want her anywhere near this dangerous shit.”
“Agreed. Will she be here long? I’m only asking in terms of risk to her. I’m taking your mother back to Trieste tomorrow.”
Rafe blew out a breath. “I shouldn’t have even brought her. That said, I’ll send her home when I have to. The timing’s moot.”
“She’s very lovely,” Gora said softly, rising from his chair. “I understand your dilemma. Now then,” Gora said with a faint smile, “let’s see if your mother has discovered all your and Nicole’s secrets.”
Rafe groaned.
Gora laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry. Miss Parrish looks as though she can take care of herself. You almost lost to her in that video game.”
“Yeah.” Rafe smiled. “Nicole’s good at a whole lot of things.”
“How fortunate for you,” Gora said gently.
Chapter 8
Titus was offered his choice of movies by Andrei and settled in front of the TV with his cake. Camelia and Nicole decided to enjoy the evening air on the deck outside. Andrei served the ladies at a small table under an awning, then returned to the salon to be within call from either the ladies or Titus. Andrei had served as Rafe’s good-natured caregiver too. He was family.
“Since I have orders not to grill you,” Camelia said w
ith a smile, pulling out a chair from the table, “allow me to at least tell you how pleased I am that you came to dinner.” She looked up as she sat. “Rafe’s happy. I expect it’s because of you.”
“I’m not sure, but thank you.” Sitting opposite Camelia, Nicole reached for her grappa. “He has your eyes.” And stunning looks, she thought, taking a sip of her grappa instead of mentioning what might have been construed as unctuous flattery. Camelia was tall, dark-haired, flawlessly beautiful, and elegantly dressed in a simple sleeveless, full-skirted chartreuse silk dress with a scarlet poppy print motif. Her skin, a sun-kissed golden hue, was a lighter version of her son’s—but in all else, the resemblance was strong.
“I confess, it pleases me that we have features in common.” Camelia smiled. “A mother’s vanity. By the way, I recognize your dress. Céline designs are lovely.”
“And comfortable. I don’t like to fuss with clothes.”
“Rafe spends a good deal of time in shorts and sandals.” A little curl of a grin. “The young generation. Even in business, a suit and tie is no longer obligatory.”
“Rafe wore a suit for you tonight, then?”
Camelia nodded. “He’s a sweet boy.”
A phrase only a mother would use for Rafe Contini, better known for his audacity and vices. But Nicole had to admit that he could be endearing. More than that, lovable—a major problem considering the transient nature of their holiday.
“Titus is sweet as well,” Nicole remarked, making a smooth U-turn from her train wreck speculation. “I have three brothers, all in high school now, but I remember them young and bubbly like Titus.”
“You’re the only girl?”
Nicole shook her head. “I have two sisters. My mom came from a small family, so she wanted a big one herself. My dad wanted whatever my mom wanted. They get along. And Dad has eight brothers and sisters, so it wasn’t a stretch.” Nicole grinned. “Holidays are a zoo. Everyone gets together. The din is unreal.”
“I can imagine.” Camelia suspected Nicole’s openness appealed to Rafe; a change from her son’s usual female companions, who were accommodating for a variety of reasons, marriage to a billionaire preeminent. “It sounds like fun though. When Rafe was young, it was generally just the two of us. Maso was away from home a good deal. Then Rafe went away to school”—she exhaled softly—“and he grew up overnight.”
“When was that?”
“He was nine. Maso wanted to send him away at eight, but…” Her voice died away for a moment. Drawing in a breath, she said very softly, “I convinced him to wait another year. I couldn’t bear to have him leave.”
Wow, thrown out into the world at nine. “Rafe seems to have managed well,” Nicole said, keeping her voice neutral with effort.
Camelia sighed. “I’m afraid it’s all past mending now. But Rafail made some dear friends in those difficult years. The boys are very close. For that I’m grateful.”
“I met Henny, Basil, and Ganz in Monte Carlo. They have their own special bond, joking and teasing, yet are intensely private beneath all the banter. My best friend from primary school and I have that kind of friendship. And in a large family like mine, if you want someone to talk to, whine to, or cry on, you take your pick.”
Camelia smiled faintly. “How nice to have a supportive family. I hope you appreciate it.”
“Most of the time.” Nicole grinned. “We fight too, but no one holds a grudge. Mom won’t allow it. Our housekeeper, Mrs. B, is even more adamant about forgiveness. ‘What goes around comes around’ is her favorite saying. And she has the chops to enforce her philosophy.”
A small considering look. “Chops?”
“Authority. She orders everyone around. Even my uncle Dominic doesn’t argue with Mrs. B and he likes to think he’s the ruler of the world.”
“Some men do, I’ve found,” Camelia said.
No way she was replying to that soft, underlying fury in Rafe’s mother’s voice. “I figure it’s a testosterone thing.” Nicole smiled. “I try to ignore it.”
“Ignore what?”
Nicole turned at the sound of Rafe’s voice.
“That second dessert. Or I try at least.”
Rafe grinned. “No you don’t.”
“I said try, okay? You wanna argue?” she purred.
His smile was dazzling. “Not on your life.” He held out his hand. “Come on, Tiger, it’s time to go.”
A moment later, Rafe leaned down, gave his mother a kiss good-bye, thanked her for dinner, tossed a glance back to Gora standing in the doorway of the salon, and waved. Drawing Nicole to the stairway, he descended so swiftly that Nicole stumbled. Sweeping her up in his arms, he leaped down the last two steps without missing a beat. “How about I’m always here to catch you, pussycat?” he said with a grin. “You okay with that?” He lifted a brow when she didn’t answer quickly enough. “Only one answer allowed.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” The word forever had been hovering restively on the tip of her tongue and she required a moment to restrain herself from using it.
“Perfect. Good girl.” And he carried her—a full grin on his face—to the waiting launch.
Camelia and Gora stood at the rail, hand in hand, waiting for the launch to get underway.
“What do you think?” Gora murmured in their native language.
Camelia didn’t have to ask what Gora meant. “She’s caught him. Or Rafe’s caught her. I can’t tell.”
“I’m not sure it’s a permanent arrangement.”
“I noticed. They’re both being extremely careful. Why?” She looked up. “I expect you know.”
“I don’t.” Gora’s answer wasn’t entirely false. The present danger impacted their relationship, but if there were other reasons he wasn’t privy to them. “Rafe never shares his feelings. Apparently, Nicole doesn’t either.”
“They have that in common,” Camelia said with a shake of her head.
Gora laughed. “I wonder how they converse.”
“I don’t,” Camelia said bluntly. “But he likes her. That’s plain to see. So regardless of your reservations, I insist you like her too.”
“Of course, dear. Whatever you say.”
“I mean it, Anton.” She held his gaze. “Don’t give me platitudes. Rafe deserves happiness. You understand?”
“I do,” Gora said very softly. Camelia as mother lioness reminded him of all the times he’d been unable to protect them from Maso’s malevolence, a matter of regret that haunted him. “If Rafe is serious about Miss Parrish, I wish them happiness.”
“We had to wait so long. I want a better life for him.” Tears suddenly filled her eyes.
“Hush, sweetheart,” he whispered, taking her in his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll see that Rafe’s happy.”
But first, he had to see that his son survived, he thought, watching the launch speeding toward shore.
Chapter 9
Nicole woke up at the sound of the door closing. She wasn’t surprised. Rafe had been especially tender and attentive making love, wanting to please and satisfy her. But he’d been tense in small ways: his teasing more subdued; his smiles fewer; the occasional tic over his cheekbone a tell. She should have just said, “Go. I don’t mind.” From now on she would.
Reaching out, she ran her fingers over the sheet where Rafe had lain, but his warmth was gone and a small shiver of grief slid up her spine. She’d always known he’d leave someday; she’d thought she could deal with it rationally. Hadn’t she always in the past?
But from the first Rafe had been a contradiction, a singular fingerprint on her psyche, deep, strong, capable of leaving emotional debris in his wake. And she’d struggled to stay whole. Unreasonably at times. With bonehead stupidity at other times. Stubbornly. But her freedom and independence had been at risk.
And now without him for the first time, she suddenly felt lost and alone, her equilibrium gone.
It was terrifying.
She’d never felt alone. In fact, she’d often sea
rched for a moment of quiet in a household as busy as hers, in a family as large as hers. It had never occurred to her, not for a second, that this could happen.
Her confidence was shaken.
Rolling out of bed, she grabbed her phone and quickly walked away from the bed, where Rafe so recently had given her untold delight. Crossing the large room, she curled up on one of the sofas, pulled a white angora throw over her legs, and dialed Fiona, who’d gone to Ibiza with Rafe’s cousin Jack. If ever she needed a voice of reason, a fixed point in a shifting, tilting world, it was now.
“Jesus,” Nicole muttered when Fiona answered, the music in the background deafening. “Can you hear me?” she shouted. Summer in Ibiza was a nonstop party.
“Wait, wait, I see your ID, give me a minute.”
If Fiona was wasted, her call was useless. She needed Fiona semi-coherent. She needed someone to steer her clear of this bewildering moment and world-class mess.
“There,” Fiona said. “Now I can hear you. I’m in the bathroom.”
“Whose bathroom?”
“One of your billionaire boyfriend’s bathrooms in Ibiza. Jack has some friends over. What’s up?”
“Are you sober?”
“Gimme a break. It’s midnight. Hey, hey, relax,” Fiona added, hearing the sudden, stark silence and Nicole’s fast breathing. “I’m clearheaded. I stopped imbibing a while ago when some bitch started climbing all over Jack. I figured I’d better take it easy. You know what my temper’s like when I’m loaded. But Jack was sweet, shoved the skank off him, so everything’s good. Paradise is still golden here. How’s it going wherever you are?”
“I’m somewhere in Croatia and I think I’m in love.”
“Jesus! Let me sit down. Okay, run that by me again. I may have been hallucinating.”
“Don’t give me shit. I’m officially in shock. You have to talk me down.”
