Bad Sons

by Isla Cristeon

  Bea’s eyes light up in understanding. “Gotcha.”

  I gnaw on my lip. “I’m just really worried my dad is going to go too far.”

  “We’re all in this for the long haul, Aida. I understand. My mom and I will do our best to make sure my dad follows through before anything reaches that point.”

  Slight relief soothes my anxiety. There’s one more person I need to talk to before this whole thing goes down tonight, and he’ll hold more answers than anyone.

  Chapter 10

  THE MEN WAIT FOR me in the Control Room, Eli seated comfortably while Frank paces, gnawing on a thumbnail.

  Eli folds his hands over his abdomen. “They’ll be here within the next hour. Obviously, Frank and I cannot be seen, so Abram will take the lead in directing them to their rooms.”

  “Make sure you talk up our massage services to your dad and uncle,” Frank says. “My daughter will make sure the forms get signed.”

  I cross my arms and brace my shoulder against the doorway. “And who will be making sure they don’t take full advantage of that dress she wore today?” My gaze pins Frank’s. “Who the hell decided she’d wear that?”

  By and large, Aida’s beauty outpaces the other masseuse. Deirdre isn’t bad looking, she’s just average. Aida has an otherworldly beauty that brings to mind Brazilian bikini models. Wearing that skin tight dress with fabric that clearly shows the shape of her breasts and outlines of her damn nipples, the other woman will practically be invisible next to her.

  His lips tighten. “She is well aware of the stakes and potential consequences and has made peace with any outcome. I suggest you do the same.”

  My lip curls in disgust. He, above all people, should realize what my dad and uncle are capable of. After shoving off the doorframe, I crouch next to Eli. With a few mouse clicks, I pull up the list of available feeds. “Are there cameras in the massage rooms?”

  He shakes his head. “Only audio.”

  The tightness in my chest eases. At least I’ll be able to monitor her safety that way.

  I stand and turn to Frank, sitting on the desk and bracing my hands on the sides. “Please don’t put her at risk,” I say softly. “I know I’m your enemy’s son, and you have every reason to hate my entire family for what my dad did, but don’t risk Aida to feed your vengeance. She’s …” I swallow the words and drop my eyes to the floor.

  She is beloved to me.

  “She’s what?” Frank says, stepping forward.

  I sniff and bring my gaze to meet his, unflinching. “She’s important to me, as I know she is to you.”

  His face remains eerily blank. “Then how dare you think I’d risk my own daughter?”

  Eli clears his throat, and rises to stand between us. “Speaking of daughters, there’s something I need to share with you both.”

  My attention moves to Eli, and Frank takes a slow step back.

  “I should have told you before, but to be honest, I was too much of a coward. Beatriss Capulet is my daughter borne from Clara.”

  My focus sharpens on his face. He’s not joking. Quickly, I try doing the math in my head.

  Frank manages it quicker. “Impossible. Clara must be trying to pull one on you. You were in jail.”

  Eli presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Clara never told me. Have you seen Bea? Look at her, and tell me she’s Donnie’s daughter.”

  My eyes widen as pieces of a messed up puzzle fall in perfect alignment. Her and Rome have the same skin tone, and hair texture—soft and curly, but somewhat coarse. Bea is also tall, maybe a couple inches under six foot.

  Frank crosses his arms. “But how? You were in jail.”

  “Somehow, Clara found out about what Donnie and his friends did to Evie. This was like several years into my sentence. Evie hadn’t responded to any of my letters at this point, and served me with divorce papers within months of me being there. One day, I got pulled into a room by a guard who said I had an appointment. Clara walked in, said she paid for a conjugal. I mean …” His eyes dart over to me with a look of contrition. “Your aunt is an attractive woman, and I was lonely.”

  I raise my palms outward in a motion to show it’s none of my concern. “It’s whatever to me, man. I’ve got stories of my own I’ll tell you someday.”

  Such as the one where I impregnated the woman your son loves, and then repeatedly enjoyed relations with her until she remembered him.

  Nerves churn in my belly at the thought of one day revealing that truth.

  Eli looks down at his shoes. “Anyway, I thought you all should know.”

  “This can’t change anything,” Frank says pointedly. “She’s still going to be used as a bargaining tool.”

  “How, exactly?” I ask.

  Frank sighs. “No one will get hurt. I swear it. However, be aware that it may seem that way, but you have to trust me.”

  I don’t.

  My words stay safely inside my head, but I glance at Eli who nods.

  If he trusts Frank, I have to as well.

  A sleek SUV with tinted windows rolls to a stop in the circular gravel driveway outside the mansion. The cue to go greet my family. I exhale an unsteady breath as Bea grabs me by the hand and drags me through the doors. As we walk, I shoot her a sideways glance. Roman Montague’s sister. It’s amazing how all these threads have connected.

  My father comes around the back of the SUV as the trunk opens, giving a commanding look to the bellhops. The young men spring to action, pulling suitcases from the vehicle.

  He slants a cursory glance in my direction as he opens the passenger door. My mother steps out, extending her arms to me with a patient look of understanding. My tension must be glaringly obvious. I step into her arms and hold her tightly. She doesn’t deserve to spend the remainder of her life with a man like my father. I’m comforted to know that after the next couple of days, he will no longer be her problem.

  When she pulls away to greet Bea, my father shuffles to my side and pulls me in for a half hug, ignoring the way my shoulders stiffen with the straightening of my spine. This man had Aida’s mother raped, then murdered. I can never forget it.

  “Hijo, good to see you again.”

  I clench my jaw. “Yeah,” is my response.

  Donnie and Clara step out of the back seat of my parents’ SUV. I keep my eyes focused on my aunt, forcing a smile in hopes I can hide the hatred I carry for my uncle. He, too, I haven’t seen since that fateful day at the attorney’s office. The tension in my belly curdles into nausea.

  Clara pulls me into a hug then steps back, giving her husband an expectant look.

  Donnie stares down at his phone, before briefly locking eyes with me. He gives a short upward tilt of his chin to acknowledge my presence. I give him my back in return, extending one elbow to his wife and the other to my mother.

  “Check it out, Teresa. They preserved the columns. I love it,” Clara says, glancing over the original Doric Grecian columns as we climb the short length of wide stairs.

  Even though I’m sure my mother filled Clara in on the fact that I supplied money on this investment, I’m not sure how much the family knows about my involvement. As it stands, the less they know the better. Bea knows the most, but we weren’t able to speak in depth at breakfast like I wanted. So for now, I’m in the dark about some facts as well.

  As we enter the foyer, Clara points up to the capiz shell beehive chandelier. “That’s gorgeous.” She turns back to Don. “Look, honey, a beehive! You think it’s an ode to the hives your granddaddy had here?”

  A muscle in my uncle’s jaw ticks as he looks up at the hive. “Hmm, maybe.”

  Fanned in front of our family, Tempest Estates employees stand in a line. Abram steps forward, his broad shoulders and inked savagery hidden beneath the confines of a tailored emerald-green, velvet suit coat. Charcoal colored slacks ground the ostentatious finery. I suddenly feel as if I’m thrust back in time to the grand opening of a vintage circus, ready to be awed by feats defyi
ng reality.

  Step right up.

  His hawkish green eyes scan each family member, then his lips spread in an almost startling beatific smile. “We at Tempest Estates would like to welcome both the Navarre and Capulet families as our honored guests. I am concierge of this fine establishment.” Abram extends one hand toward the library. “Capulet family, your wing is to the right just through the library, and Navarre family, you’ll find yours to the left just beyond the dining room. Lined up to my right here are the dining room and kitchen staff, along with bellhops and room service. To my left are the spa employees. Masseuses extraordinaire, Deirdre and Ana, along with our hair and nail technicians, Grace and Lila. All spa services are on the house, but they will accept tips at your discretion.”

  Donnie nudges my father. “I’ll give a big tip.”

  My dad laughs darkly and crosses his arms, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his eyes caress Aida’s curves.

  I quietly seethe, but lean toward them. “I had a massage from the one with the long dark hair. She’s really good.”

  “She looks like she’d be really good.” My father turns, arching an eyebrow.

  “I got dibs,” Donnie says with a chuckle.

  My dad lifts his chin. “Pssh, we’ll see about that.”

  I roll my eyes and groan inwardly over these overgrown man children clambering over an attractive woman within earshot of their wives. If I could scrub my DNA clean of my familial ties, I would. As it stands, I’m forced to be beside two men I hate and be guilty of their waywardness through my association.

  “Navarre family, feel free to enjoy a drink at the bar. Capulets, allow me to show you to your suite,” Abram says.

  The employees disperse as Donnie, Clara, and Bea follow Abram. Aida heads to the bar and leans her elbows on the counter as she waits for the bartender to take notice of a waiting patron. Her dusky pink dress clings to her shapely ass, and I’m overcome with the urge to stand behind her and cage her body within mine to block her from everyone else's view.

  My father’s arm lands heavily on my shoulders, but his eyes stay pinned to the bar. “Come have a drink with your old man.”

  I’m pulled along, equally by him and the simple desire to be near her.

  The bartender, a handsome Mexican guy, leans toward Aida, listening intently to every word. He laughs and raises an eyebrow in question, but she only shakes her head.

  He gives her a resigned look, and as my father and I draw closer, his words can be heard. “Fine, no vodka. But you’re missing out.”

  “Maybe I’ll try it later,” she says, the smile clear in her voice.

  “What’s good here?” my father asks, standing directly beside her and settling both hands on the bar.

  The bartender slides over a menu. “Our specialty is a pomegranate lemonade with a rosemary infused vodka. Ana here has broken my heart by asking for it virgin.”

  “I have to work still,” Aida says with a wide smile. “And the pomegranate lemonade is delicious.”

  My father openly appraises her. “I’ll take one of those. Not virgin.” His gaze remains on her and she stares back.

  The bartender slides Aida a to-go cup of lemonade with a black straw.

  “Water for me,” I say.

  “Oh come on, hijo.” My father looks to Aida for support. “Tell my son to loosen up and have a drink with his father.”

  Aida’s pillowy lips wrap around the straw as she takes a quick pull of the liquid. “Loosen up, hijo,” she says in a low, sultry voice, her defiant eyes on me.

  I exhale. “Fine. Shot of tequila, please.”

  “Ay, Fernando,” my dad says in admonishment. “Something to drink, not a shot.”

  I shrug like a pouty child as I watch the bartender mix my father’s drink. All along the edge of the bar are fresh sprigs of rosemary, bright mint, and fragrant lavender.

  “So how do I get on your schedule?” my father asks Aida casually.

  She smiles and runs her fingers over her thick braid. “I have a twelve o’clock open today if you’d like to get in right away. Otherwise, you can just dial the spa from your room and make an appointment.”

  “Ana, right?”

  Aida nods.

  “Rosemary vodka lemonade.” The bartender presents a drink, complete with a sprig of rosemary.

  My father accepts the glass and leans against the bar, his body turned fully to her and his back to me. So much for a drink with his son.

  “I’ll see you at noon, then,” my dad says to Aida.

  She smiles brightly. “Great, I’ll add you to my schedule once I get upstairs.”

  Her heels tap on the marble floor as she walks away. Even I can’t avoid staring at the slight jiggle of her butt with every step she takes. It’s like a snake charmer. I can’t look away. She reaches the stairs, and faces us to start climbing, making her heavy breasts sway with every step.

  I feel lucky to have spent the night with her, but equally starved for more of everything she has to offer. The bartender sets a shot of tequila in front of me, and I drain it immediately.

  Once she’s out of sight, my father whistles low and turns forward again. “Now that’s a fine piece of ass.”

  “C’mon, man.” I set my empty shot glass upside down on the rubber mat lining the edge of the bar. “Your wife is right over there.”

  I aim my gaze in the direction of my mother, who’s wandering toward the library. He has no reason to even look at other women when his wife resembles Penelope Cruz. My mother’s beautiful features only grow more regal and defined as she matures.

  “Your mother and I have an understanding,” my father says. “One day you’ll be married, and—”

  “I was already married.”

  His attention moves to my wedding ring. “And it’s time to move on, no?”

  He thinks it’s proof that I’m a husband who hasn’t moved on. But he doesn’t realize my wife is very much alive.

  I square my jaw and turn my head away from him. “You took something from me, and I’ll never forget it.”

  He sets his tall glass on the counter. “So we’re going to have this conversation now, eh?”

  “Will you actually admit to it?”

  “I didn’t do anything, Fernando,” he says harshly, his hand curling into a fist.

  “We’ll see about that,” I mutter, lifting one finger to the bartender for another shot.

  My ego is raging right now, which is pure stupidity. Thoughts of Aida and the passion we shared last night have my mind swirling with doubt and fear. I can’t lose her. What I’m supposed to be doing is reminding my dad why he loves his son so much, so when Franco dangles my life like bait on a hook, my father will do anything to keep me alive.

  At this rate, he’ll murder me himself.

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, glancing around the lobby. Abram strides from the library and stops in front of my mother. She turns toward him, her eyes brightening. The bartender sets the full shot of tequila in front of me, and I snatch it up and swallow the amber-colored liquid.

  After fishing in my wallet for a tip, I nudge my dad’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  We move to where Abram and my mother stand conversing in low tones. Abram holds the poise of a seasoned concierge, hands clasped behind his back, chin lowered as he punctuates my mother’s gestures with a nod.

  “Absolutely,” he says. “At noon I’ll do tours for the grounds.”

  “We ready?” my father says.

  Hawkish, moss-colored eyes rise to meet my father as Abram’s lips curve in a smile. “Indeed. Right this way.”

  We trail behind the concierge’s hulking frame. He shifts his gaze as he leads us first into the library. “Many of these books are original to the first build, detailing family history and lineages.”

  My father stops, glancing at the bound volumes in a nearby bookcase. “I wasn’t aware these still existed.”

  “They were found in the basement by the new owners,” Abram says.
>
  “Speaking of the new owners, when will we get to meet them?”

  “Very soon.” Abram’s eyes glitter in concealed amusement. “They’re looking forward to meeting everyone. Follow me.”

  Without waiting, Abram leaves the library and briskly walks through the foyer, leading us to the suites. At the end of the hallway, he stops at the stained-glass window showcasing the Navarre coat of arms.

  “My God,” my father says in a hushed voice, his hand reaching out to trace the veins threading the glass.

  Abram clears his throat. “Here you’ll see the coat of arms for house Navarre of Spain. In the center, notice the emerald, uniting eight gold chains, with a red background known as gules. On top, rests the Royal Crown.”

  A look of awe shines from my father’s face. “Who did this? I need this commissioned for my own home.”

  Abram gives a brief nod. “I’ll let the owners know to pass on that information. Let’s continue. The suite is just down this hall. Your luggage has all been brought inside.” As he walks, he holds up one of the brass keys. “This key is not to leave the property. I’ll be notified if it moves beyond the walls of the building. When you leave your room, we recommend you drop the key at the concierge desk.”

  Once the door is unlocked, Abram walks through, holding it open to allow everyone to pass.

  “Notice here next to the door,” —he taps a set of small, discreet metal panels— “this is where you must leave the key when inside. It’s magnetized and will hold it securely. The room knows when the key is inside, and if you don’t set the key on the lock within ten seconds—”

  Beeping sounds from the door.

  He grins. “... you’ll have to hear that obnoxious sound.”

  With a soft click, the key settles in place on the magnetic holder, but the sound doesn’t stop. Abram pulls the second key out of his pocket and attaches it to the second panel. Silence again.

  “That’s a smart system,” my father says. “I can’t imagine the cost of it.”

  “Cost wasn’t a factor in designing Tempest Estates.” Abram gives a tight-lipped smile. “Anyone who would like a tour of the grounds is welcome to come see me up front in an hour.”