Bad Sons

by Isla Cristeon

  After putting in the code and opening the door, I gesture to the desk in front of a wall lined with monitors. “Go on and sit.”

  She complies, and I put my hands on the back of the chair to spin her forward. Leaning over, I brace one hand on the desk and gesture to the controls in front of her.

  “This is the control panel. Shift plus F1 brings up a feed for Capulet suite. F2 is for Montague, F3 will show Prospero, and F4 will show Navarre. If you want to bring them all up on each screen, just hit Command while you press the corresponding number.”

  “Why all of them?”

  “Once the family completes their own first level easy game, a door will open to the other family’s side which has a question about that family. The correct answer for that room will then lower the family to the second level.”

  “Holy shit,” she murmurs.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m not really looking forward to that part.”

  Aida shifts in her seat, her eyes meeting mine briefly. “I don’t know if my father will let me down here.”

  “He won’t be down here. He’ll be directly involved in the games. Even Eli might not be down here. He has a means of accessing the feed through his own devices.”

  She swallows as her eyes scan the keyboard and then the screens. “What am I looking for? What should make me end the game before they’re done with it?”

  I tilt my head back and shove my hands through my hair. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Everything should be controlled. I’ll give you a signal … um …” My gaze drops to the crescent inked on her forearm. “I’ll hold out my arm and tap my tattoo.”

  “What if … what if you’re tied up or something?”

  I exhale a low breath as I rest my hand on the back of her chair. “Shit. Or even gagged.”

  She leans away from me, glaring at my arm, as if I’m offending her with my proximity.

  “Maybe even blindfolded,” she adds with a smirk.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Stay on topic, Navarre.”

  “You started it.” I give her a pointed look. “Prospero.”

  She forcefully bashes her forehead against my ribcage.

  “Ow,” I straighten to standing. “Did you just headbutt me?”

  A low chuckle comes from her throat. “Just trying to get you to refocus, Fernando. And a warning to stop getting so close to me.”

  I scowl and rub my smarting ribs.

  She crosses her arms and leans back in the seat. “So if you’re tied up, blindfolded, and/or gagged, and you want me to stop the game, just like, go completely limp.”

  The corner of my mouth curves.

  “Quit it,” she grins. “I know where your mind is going.”

  “You’re leading me there.”

  She pretends to consider for a moment, and then shrugs. “Perhaps. Anyway, do you think you could manage that, Fernando?”

  “To go … limp?”

  Aida nods.

  “As long as you’re not in the room, I can go limp.”

  She breathes out a short laugh and pushes away from the desk before standing. “Okay, good. Let’s get out of here. I have somewhere to be.”

  “With Abram?”

  One of her perfectly arched brows lifts. “None of your business.”

  I exhale sharply through my nose and move myself closer to her. She shuffles back a step.

  “That night when I thought it was you …” Clenching my jaw, I look away with the reminder of the humiliation.

  She gives me a pointed look meant to seem uncaring, but expectancy flickers in those golden depths.

  I move another step toward her, and her immediate backward movement brings her flush against the wall. Raising my forearms, I brace them on either side of her, caging her against me. Her citrine eyes dart around, looking for escape.

  “It wasn’t just sex. I made love to you, Aida.”

  Her eyes widen perceptibly.

  “I gave you tenderness.”

  She scoffs. “Well, I’m glad I wasn’t there, because I only like it rough.”

  I press my forehead to hers and close my eyes. “That’s because it shuts you down emotionally. I won’t let you do that with me.”

  “How dare you think—”

  My chin tilts forward and I brush my lips against hers, a whisper against her skin. I’m careful not to apply pressure or deepen the sensation, only keeping feather light contact as my tongue grazes her upper lip.

  With an aggressive air, she leans forward, looking for a crushing, bruising kiss. I pull my head away just enough to avoid the full contact, but again, teasingly nuzzle her lips.

  “Come back to my room with me, Aida,” I murmur. “Give me one night.”

  “Just one night?” she repeats.

  I nod.

  “And you’ll leave me alone after that?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I glare at her. “You left me a letter. Do you remember it?”

  “It was stupid of me to write that letter.”

  “You made a request to the universe—”

  “Stop,” she says, a warning look in her eye.

  I quote the words I memorized. “ … ‘that our souls be united one day’”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Fernando.”

  “... ‘whether it’s here on earth, or one day when the dust of our bones blends together to nurture the veins of a mighty oak.’ What has changed, Aida? I’m here, you’re here. We don’t have to wait until we’re dust. We’re flesh. We have now.”

  “But we can’t really be together!” she blurts out.

  “We will.” I raise one hand to her face, stroking my thumb along her jaw.

  Tears cloud her eyes and she jerks her chin away from me. “I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to be ready. And I’m not going to have a relationship with a married man.”

  “I’m not asking you for a relationship right now. I’m asking you for one night. Let me show you how much you mean to me. Give us one night.”

  My eyes beg and plead in silence as she stares at me.

  “Please, Aida,” I say softly.

  She swallows, then her answer comes out in a nearly inaudible whisper. “One night. That’s all.”

  Wrapping my hand around her wrist, I turn and swiftly pull her along. We leave the control room. Once we’re inside the elevator, I pull Aida against me, bracing my back against the wall and her body nestled between my spread legs. She pulls out her phone and rapidly types in a text.

  Covertly, I lower my gaze to the phone like the insecure schmuck I am, and see Abram’s name as the contact.

  Hey, not really in the mood tonight.

  Tomorrow?

  Three dots pop up to show he’s typing then a message appears.

  Scaredy cat.

  Her torso shakes in a silent chuckle as her thumbs fly over the screen.

  Meow.

  I grimace, thinking of him touching her, wondering how much she’s allowed. They can’t have known each other for long. This job just started.

  Don’t ask, don’t ask, I repetitively chant in my head.

  When I saw them leaving her suite this morning, it killed me to think of her being with him. But I was slightly comforted knowing her dad was in there. Even though there’s two bedrooms, I don’t see Franco Prospero as the type of guy who’s okay with his daughter banging an employee under his nose. Who cares if she’s grown, I’m sure the man has standards he holds her to.

  When the elevator opens, I fit my hand to hers and we move through the dim, empty kitchen, then into the dark dining room. We walk in silence as uncertainty and jealousy roil in my gut.

  Halfway through the dining room, I turn to her. “I need an honest answer. Have you been sleeping with Abram?”

  Her eyebrows raise in a challenge. “Again, not really your business.” She nibbles for a moment at her lower lip. “But no.”

  Thank God.

  We keep moving forward. I’m anxious and eager to be alo
ne with her. The Aida I’ve been talking with is guarded and bitter. She’s not the same woman I almost fell in love with in the span of twenty-four hours. A wall stands high in front of her heart, derision being the mortar fortifying bricks composed of pure anger. I’m looking forward to tearing that wall down piece by piece.

  Just before we reach the opening, I drop her hand as my eyes connect with Frank, casually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

  This is so stupid. I’m twenty-five years old, acting like I’m fourteen, getting caught by a parent. But man, if Franco doesn’t intimidate me something fierce.

  Aida coughs. “Thanks for showing me the grapevines, Fernando.”

  With a tight smile, I nod my head.

  Franco raises an eyebrow to me. “I bet your wife is expecting a goodnight call from you.”

  “She is.” Shoving my hands in my pockets, I look down and nod, neatly defeated by him.

  “You should do that, then,” he says in a low tone.

  “Tell Jewel I say hi,” Aida says. “And … thank her for me, too. But tell her it isn’t necessary.”

  A bitter smile curves on my lips as I shake my head. She’s referring to Jewel gathering the papers for our divorce. Tightening my mouth into a firm line, I turn away and walk alone to my room.

  I need a drink.

  Chapter 7

  FML.

  My father gives a silent jerk of his chin, and I fall in line behind him. He doesn’t say a word as he pulls out the ornate brass key and fits it into the lock. He props the door open with his arm, letting me pass through in front of him.

  The door shuts behind us, and I prepare myself for the onslaught of dissatisfaction.

  “Thought I told you to stay away from him.”

  “I’m twenty-eight Babbo,” I say, using the Italian word for dad. “You can’t control my love life.”

  He broods in deadly silence, and I take a quick glance over my shoulder to see him standing near the door with his arms crossed, jaw working, his naturally severe brows sinking even deeper.

  “Love life? You love him?”

  Scowling, I shake my head. “I never said that. He let me into the control room. That’s why I was with him. I know the code to get in the room.” I rattle off the numbers.

  My father pauses. “Good girl.”

  While he has access to the basement and the rooms, for some reason, Eli didn’t give my father the numbers to open the control room.

  I don’t know why he needs to get in there, but at least I can have him off my back about Fernando.

  But he has more to say.

  “Listen, Aida, I have eyes. If you think I’m going to quietly sit here and let you mess around with that sonofabitch Navarre’s only son, you thought wrong.”

  “So you just want to let the past continue to rule—”

  He swells in anger, veins bulging from his neck. “The past is all that matters!” he roars. “That’s where she is, so that’s where I am.” Sucking in a quick breath, he runs his hand down his face, then whispers, “It’s the only thing that matters.”

  Seconds pass in drawn out silence and he tiredly shuffles over to the sofa before lowering himself to sit. My father hasn’t a single gray hair on his head, but a few thread the growth of beard on his jaw. He’s a handsome man who, even at the age of fifty, draws the eye of most warm-blooded women. At the moment, though, a ragged weariness seems to blanket his shoulders. It’s a familiar scene. The simple mention of my mother drags him to the deep recesses of the past, heavy as an anchor.

  “Babbo,” I begin softly, “What happened with Alfonso and Donnie all those years ago?”

  While I understand the hatred, I ache to understand the history that has impacted my life in such an irreversible way.

  My father sighs and pulls up his leg to rest his ankle on his knee. “Eli and I were the muscles of the business, while Alfonso and Donnie supposedly worked as the brains. Donnie handled the world market, while Alfonso took care of more immediate, local business concerns. I stayed low on the totem pole, which I was fine with, but Eli and I knew the tobacco business better than both of them. I’d gotten it down to both a science and an art. When customers began asking for me by name, Alfonso didn’t like that. I kept myself occupied with learning trade secrets from other growers, establishing relationships in the industry.”

  I yawn at the thought of the tobacco industry. While it was my father’s lifeblood, it never had the chance to seep into my veins before our entire world changed.

  “Keep listening, Aida,” he says, nudging me. “While Eli and I worked our bodies to the bone, Alfonso and Donnie made lives for themselves outside of the business. Little by little, Eli and I were handling everything, while we thought they were out there building a world empire for us all. And they didn’t. Once they got rid of me and Eli, I’m pretty sure they outsourced people to do the work. They didn’t love the fields and the heartbeat of the land like they were supposed to. It’s no wonder they lost it in the end.”

  “Do you plan on killing Alfonso?” I ask casually.

  His pale green eyes get a faraway look. “Believe it or not, Fonso was my best friend. Him, me, Eli, and Donnie were inseparable as kids. Our mothers were good women who raised us well, but clearly Alfonso and Donnie’s mothers neglected something important.”

  Sighing deeply, I cast my father a patient look. “Bad sons can come from even the greatest women. Perhaps their badness is an inherited trait from the fathers,” I tease, a smile curving on my lips.

  He’s too entrenched in the mystery of the past to catch my dig.

  “Fate brought him to me for a reason,” he mutters in a low voice. “And I will not fail her.”

  My phone buzzes with a text message. I glance down at the screen, then stand. “Abram’s on his way,” I say. “I’m getting in the shower.”

  My father nods. “He and I have some important things to talk about.”

  Midway to my bedroom, I stop and turn to him again. “Hey, can you not mention Fernando to him? I kinda blew him off earlier, so …”

  His shoulders heave in a snort. “I ain’t doing your dirty work for you.”

  With that, he stands and tosses me a backward glance as he walks to the door. My brow creases as I watch him pull the door open and step into the hallway, letting the heavy door shut behind him.

  He must have wanted to talk to Abram without a chance of me overhearing. As the concierge, Abram was hired for his specific skill set, and knows more about all of this than me. Curiosity pulls my feet forward. Pressing my forehead to the door, I hover one eye over the peephole, seeing them out there, talking in hushed tones.

  I put my ear against the heavy wood barely able to hear their words due to the extreme soundproofing put into these suites. Carefully, I turn the handle and crack the door, and their words finally seep in.

  “... both of them, for all I care,” my dad says.

  Abram’s low voice drops even lower. “That’s risky. Hell, even one is risky.”

  “You complaining?”

  “No.”

  “Make it happen.”

  Abram stays silent for a moment. “Aida in there?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I came out here. Anyway, that’s all I needed to clarify.”

  The key jangles as it moves in my father’s hand, and I gently release the door before moving quietly to my bedroom.

  After closing the door behind me, I lean against it, my head falling back. I fear what their conversation meant. What did ‘both of them’ mean? Both Alfonso and Donnie, or Alfonso and Fernando?

  With leaden steps, I find my way to the bathroom to shower. Rather than enjoy the relaxing heat of the water and the honeyed scent of my favorite body wash, I stress and agonize over their words.

  I need to warn Fernando somehow.

  Near midnight, I wake with a gasp. I’d dreamt of crazy things, my imagination heightening the mystery of whatever plan they’ve cooked up in order to get a confession from the Capule
ts and Navarres. The dream ended with Abram choking the life from Fernando while Alfonso watched. Even the threat of his son’s death wasn’t enough to get him to speak.

  Pulling my knees together, I slide to the edge of the bed then move soundlessly across the floor. After cracking open my door, I peer through the darkness, confirming all is silent and still.

  I grab the metal key near the door and leave the suite, following the long U-shaped hallway around to the Navarre side.

  After two quick raps, less than a minute passes before Fernando pulls open the door, barefoot and shirtless, wearing a pair of joggers. His hair lay flat and wet from a recent shower, the towel hung about his shoulders.

  My jaw goes slack as my eyes traverse the drops of moisture still clinging to the bronze muscles packing his chest, down to the sparse trail of hair disappearing behind the waistband of his joggers.

  He leans forward, wrapping his fingers around my wrist before yanking me inside. His hands grip my bottom as he lifts me and slams my back against the door, making it shut with a loud crack. My legs lock around his waist and my hands thread through his wet hair. His mouth meets mine in a kiss so intense that my head bashes into the wood behind me. He doesn’t apologize, nor do I want him to. If anything, I need more.

  More aggression, more ferocity. Anything to numb me.

  I tighten my hands into fists, and he hisses out a low sound at the sensation tugging at his skull. The warmth of his body and the warm, wet heat of his mouth on mine promise to bring me closer to the blessed oblivion I need to find.

  Not with a flood of hormones drugging my brain, not with orgasm, but with pain.

  A familiar flavor spreads across my tongue. “You taste like tequila,” I moan into his mouth.

  “Sorry,” he breathes, laughing softly.

  “I love tequila.”

  I grip the back of his head and drag his lips to mine in a sucking, tongue clashing kiss. This is good. The alcohol is good. It’s exactly where I need him to be, with none of that lovemaking garbage he talked about.