His eyes briefly meet my mother’s, and with those final words, Abram leaves the room.
Chapter 11
ALFONSO NAVARRE STANDS IN front of me holding a clipboard. A swath of his silvery dark hair falls over his forehead as he lowers his focus briefly to the page. His son’s hair falls the same way. Fernando resembles his father to an uncanny degree. Their features are so alike that I’m torn between revulsion and endearment.
Twenty years ago, this handsome man sent two thugs to break into my home and steal family valuables, before raping and murdering my mother. Last night, a man who’s almost the mirror image of this one sank himself deep into my soul, threading my heart to his.
The likeness between Fernando and his father both terrifies and confuses me.
I cross my arms and pull my braid over my shoulder. “It’s just your typical consent form, stating you won’t sue me if I’m too rough. But at the start, I’ll gauge how deep you like the pressure.”
Alfonso Navarre’s gaze slides up to mine, a smile ticking at the corner of his mouth. His eyes drift briefly to the bottom of the form where he scribbles his signature before extending the clipboard in my direction.
To his credit, he doesn’t remark on the words “rough” or “deep”. He’s more controlled than I originally estimated him. In any case, the words had the desired disorienting effect and his name is now etched in pen at the bottom of a simple consent form he didn’t read in full.
“Perfect.” I grab the clipboard and hold it to my chest. “Follow me.”
Once I leave Alfonso inside the room to undress in privacy, I remove the consent form from the spring-latched metal and rush out of the spa. Taking the stairs two at a time, I climb to the third floor.
Remnants of history linger up here as dust motes of the past float invisible through the stale air. Occasionally, they happen to drift in front of a single oculus window where sunbeams illuminate the mist like dust.
Fumbling in the darkness, my hand moves along the wall and finds the switch. Light floods the space. Overhead, a string of corded Edison bulbs wrap around the exposed beams.
A massive mirror hangs on the wall, its height reaching near eight feet while its width extends to around five feet. At first glance, the silver-framed mirror seems to simply be an ostentatiously sized piece of finery from bygone days.
I place my hand against the smooth surface. A nearly imperceptible shimmer moves across the face as the mercurial surface dissolves away. I step through the frame.
My father sits at a desk with a pen between his teeth, words and blueprints scattered in front of him as he ruminates over his carefully laid plans.
“Here.” I thrust the paper forward.
Without looking at me, his dark brows peak in interest as he tugs the form from my grasp. He gives a satisfied nod when he sees Alfonso’s name scrawled at the bottom.
“Babbo,” I begin softly. “What’s your endgame here? Justice or revenge?”
His eyes drift up to me with a look of surprise, as if he only just realized I’m standing in front of him. A scowl crosses his forehead and then he pulls his gaze from me.
“Don’t,” he mutters.
He feels oceans away, unable to be reached by mere reasoning. I’ll have to fall back on threats. My heart twists as words wring from my throat. “If you kill anyone here, I won’t speak to you ever again.”
A darkness falls over my father’s face. He tosses the paper on his desk and stands. I take a step back. During the years when my brother was rebelling and my father was losing his mind, I saw enough to put fear in me.
“You’d disown your father over a Navarre?”
Bingo.
In a way, he’s revealed his target. The question remains, which one?
“I’m asking you not to kill anyone. Don and Alfonso need to go to prison for their crimes, not be slaughtered.”
His eyes meet mine. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking. Don’t—”
He points his finger at the entrance behind me. “Leave.”
My eyes fill with tears. “Please don’t hurt anyone.”
His jaw tightens, then his words explode in an angry rush. “Goddamnit, I said leave, Mira!”
The moment my mother’s name drops from his lips, anguish washes over his features. He lowers himself into his chair, burying his face into his hands.
“She wouldn’t want this, Babbo,” I say softly, then turn and leave his hideaway.
Nerves tingle in my belly as I knock on the door where Alfonso Navarre waits for his massage. Once I hear his murmured response, I let myself in.
As is my custom, I remain silent as I begin working on him. This father’s likeness to his son unnerves me. I imagine time reversing, and the man on my table looking exactly like the man I took into my body last night. Those same lips that so thoroughly adored me, delivering the command to murder my mother.
Alfonso Navarre said he’ll see you in hell.
My throat tightens as my mother’s screams echo through my mind. She suffered because of this man. I can never forget that. Alfonso tenses as my thumbs dig too deep.
“Breathe,” I say, lessening the intensity. “Is that too much pressure for you?”
He makes a negative sound in his throat.
Soon, my head quiets as my hands take over, and before long, I slip into a rhythm. I allow my mind to drift back to Fernando and the hours we spent tangled together. My eyes close, daring to imagine the impossible future he spoke of.
I wish none of this existed. I wish these men didn’t destroy our lives and set their children on a path of enmity. But then, would Fernando and I have ever found one another? If one iota of the past had changed, would Jewel Capulet have needed my services? Would I have even been in the sex industry?
My brain sifts through different versions of the past. Maybe the footprint of these tragedies created a path through the muck and darkness, paving a way to destiny.
“How long have you been doing massage?” Alfonso’s gruff voice pulls me from my gloom.
“A year and a half.”
“Have you lived in the area long? You look familiar.”
Damn it. I’m well aware I resemble my mother. I see it reflected in my father’s eyes when he glances at me then looks away in pain.
“No, I just moved here from Chicago.” The lie flows out effortlessly
“Hmm,” Alfonso says, “You must have one of those faces.”
Silence flows around us as I continue to work on his shoulders, saying nothing in reply. Warm fingers settle on my calf, and then slide upward. I freeze.
His thumb moves over my skin. “It’s a beautiful dress you chose to wear today.”
“Mr. Navarre, please don’t touch me while I work.” I try hard to keep an authoritative tone, but my voice trembles.
Inside, my courage teeters and then crumbles as bitter memories of the past rise fast and hard in my mind.
You know what he wants. Be a good girl, act excited about it, and it’ll be over quickly.
No.
I’m not that person anymore.
“Listen, Ana, between you and me, I understand how difficult it is to make a living on a working wage. There is no shame in wanting more.”
My hands pull away from him, and I try to take a step back. He doesn’t release his hold.
“Please let go of me,” I say in a quiet voice.
Alfonso tightens his grip.
“I can smell a woman like you from a mile away,” he snarls, his head lifting from the table, dark eyes locking on me.
Fernando’s eyes seem to look at me through his father’s, the same light brown tinged with spots of emerald. I can’t disconnect the two men; their likeness is startlingly similar.
Disdain cloaks his expression. “Don’t act like you’ve never had sex with a complete stranger for money.”
I yank my leg free from his hold, and his nail rake across my skin. “The massage is ov
er,” I say, keeping my head down as I move toward the door.
“Tell me. Why did you wear a dress like that if it wasn’t to attract attention?”
My head tilts when I hear the glaring misogyny in his question. Staring at the door, I blink twice while telling myself to just walk out.
Instead, I turn around, squaring my shoulders. “Mr. Navarre, the truth is I could choose to walk around naked, and I still wouldn’t be asking for you to touch me. Just as much as you lying face down and naked on my table isn’t an invitation for me to shove a 10-inch dildo up your ass.”
The sheets rustle as Alfonso moves to sit up. A sharp knock sounds on the door behind me, and then it’s shoved open. Fernando stands there, looking like a disheveled leaf blown in with a fall breeze.
“Hey,” he says slightly breathless. “I think I left my phone in here.”
I smile softly, seeing the lie clearly written across his face.
His gaze drops to his father. “Oh, hey. Sorry to interrupt.”
I arch a brow at Fernando as I move through the door. “It’s fine, the massage is over anyway.”
He pulls the door shut and grabs my hand, tugging me across the hall to the door marked Employee Lounge. My heartbeat quickens feeling the strength and warmth of his hand around mine.
“What, Fernando?” I dig my heels in an attempt to twist my hand from his grasp. I don’t want to be alone with him. I’m too weak for that. But he pulls me along anyway, pushing open the door and then shutting it behind us. As luck would have it, we have the space to ourselves.
He faces me, running his hands over my arms as his eyes scan me all over. “You okay? Did he try anything?”
I shake my head, lowering my lashes to look at the floor. “He tried, but I’m fine.”
Fernando pulls me against his chest, resting his chin on my head and wrapping his arms snugly around me. My body tenses at his nearness, but soon his warmth and scent thaw my rigidity. Inhaling, I relax and straighten my coiled arms before fitting them around his waist.
“How did you know?” I ask, tucking my chin against my chest to hide the evidence of tears prickling in my eyes.
“I went to the control room and listened in.” He breathes out a short laugh. “Like the psychotic, insecure schmuck that loves you.”
I tilt my face up to his. “I like psychotic.”
“What about insecure?”
“Damn sexy.”
He gently presses his lips to mine, eyes closed and inhaling half a breath. I exhale as tension leaves my body. He swallows my relief and returns a dizzying wave of raw pent-up passion, clutching me closer and deepening the kiss as his tongue sweeps between my lips.
Pulling a millimeter away, he holds my face between his hands as if I were the most perfect, precious piece of art. I’m torn and tattered, stained with years of self-inflicted abuse and loathing, and yet with him I’m not merely mended.
I am whole.
“And what about love, Aida?” he whispers.
My lips tremble. “That terrifies me.”
“But will you accept it?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, but I can’t shut him out. He’s everywhere, invading my senses, my pores, running through my veins like epinephrine, pumping life into my fading heart.
It would be selfish of me to accept anything from him, especially something as priceless as his love, when this matter at hand hasn’t yet unfolded. My father’s plan is still in motion, suspended in the air and cast like runes. No one knows where the stones will land.
Opening my eyes, I run my gaze over him tracing the masterful design of his features. Last night, I’d pressed my lips to every inch of his face. Never before have I experienced the uncontrollable urge to feel a person through my lips, to breathe in their essence and scent, but with him, I’d been overwhelmed with it. I wanted to be branded on every part his body touched mine, so it could be an outward sign of the magic we created in those hours when the world around us slept. We’d become immortal, the code written in our cells merging with whatever power had formed our love.
And yet, it’s become plainly evident that I will likely have to live without him. The knowledge hurts more than anything I could have imagined.
“Fernando,” I whisper, my chest tightening in anxiety. “Let’s leave. Now. Before any of this starts. You and me. Leave everything behind and be together.”
My brows draw inward as my throat burns with emotion. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life, and I’ve never been so scared to have it.
“Everything?” His lips press together as his thumb traces my eyebrow.
I nod, then drop my forehead against his chin, and he tilts his head to press his cheek to my hair. Again, his arms wrap around me, and this simple feeling alone binds me to him in a way I never imagined. The vein at the base of his throat pulses and I ache to touch my lips to his heartbeat. A slight tinge of salt hits the tip of my tongue as my mouth meets his neck.
Fernando’s hold tightens as my lips move across his neck, tasting and sucking on his skin.
“God, Aida,” he groans, pulling my hips against his.
I slip my hand between us and grip his hardness, and my body comes alive, lighting up like a pinball machine. He slides his fingers down the curve of my butt, gripping one cheek roughly in his palm as his other hand finds my breast.
A voice comes down the hallway, causing Fernando and I to pull apart. He immediately sits on the sofa, pulling one ankle up to rest on his knee as he leans back, adjusting himself through his pants. I walk to the fridge and pull out a bottle of water then toss it to him. He catches it and twists open the cap.
The door opens and Deirdre peeks her head in. “You have a one o’clock appointment heading”—her attention shifts to Fernando then moves back to me with an obvious question in her eyes. To her credit, she only gives me a look of confusion before continuing— “Mr. Capulet will be here for a massage.”
She looks at Fernando again, then back at me before closing the door.
A long exhale of relief escapes me as my eyes lock with his. “We can’t be doing that.”
He squares his jaw and averts his gaze. The words that slipped out of my mouth moments before come to mind. I cringe at the proof of the weakness I feel when I’m near him. I should have never suggested such a thing.
I force a smile. “Well, I gotta meet your uncle at the front.”
His eyes fill with bitter amusement. “Regretting it already, huh?”
Crossing my arms, I settle my hip against the counter. “It was … a moment of weakness. It’s not … I shouldn’t have—”
He stands and moves toward me, and just his presence closing in causes the fault lines in my will to buckle.
“Aida,” he says in a low voice. “I want to be with you. I want to run away with you. I want to wake up beside you every day for as long as I live. And we will do all of that, I swear it. But not right now. Whatever your dad has planned”—he inhales sharply, his eyebrows drawing together—“I need to stay and make sure no one gets hurt. What if he tries to hurt my dad in the same way he himself was hurt? I can’t let him kill my mom.”
My eyes widen. I never considered that as a means of retaliation. But knowing my father, it’s a possibility.
I nod in understanding. “So we choose family for now.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”
Shrugging, I avert my gaze. “Honestly, me either.”
“Hey.” He brushes his finger along my chin to return my attention to him. “I want you to be my family, Aida. But we gotta see this out first. I need you to meet my daughter, because she will always have first place in my heart. Are you able to handle that?”
I shrug again. “And what about Jewel?”
“She and I will always be friends. We’re committed to doing what’s best for Hero. I got baggage, so I really need you to think about whether you’re able to help me carry it.”
Chapter 12
I RESUME MY LISTENING post in the basement to eavesdrop on Aida’s massage with Donnie, reclining against the office chair with my chin braced on my opened hand. Perhaps my father gave Donnie some warning, because surprisingly, my uncle makes no untoward advances.
Once the massage finishes sans assault, I leave the control room, careful to lock it behind me, before heading to the elevator. Further down the hall, a door opens then shuts. Franco Prospero stands there, his long, dark hair falling in tangles over a tortured looking face. He comes to a halt as his eyes meet mine, an air of uncertainty falling about him like a heavy cloak.
Without thinking or giving myself the opportunity to do otherwise, I stride forward then stop in front of him. “Frank, I know it doesn’t change anything, but I need to say how sorry I am for what my father did. Your family didn’t deserve that.”
“You’re right.” He lifts his chin, looking down his long nose at me. “It changes nothing.”
I clench my jaw in rapid succession, not missing the implication of his words. He’s not going to divert in the slightest.
“I also want to say thank you.”
The air weighs heavy with his bewildered silence. His eyebrows lower, and behind those enigmatic intelligent eyes, I can almost see gears turning in an attempt to figure me out.
I continue. “Death is too good for men like them. Thank you for helping us take them down and put them behind bars.”
His eyes glitter as he gives a brief nod of agreement, but he still says nothing in return.
My next words feel stuck in my throat, but with effort, I push them into my mouth. “And I also want to tell you, man to man, that I’m in love with your daughter. Yes, I’m married, but we’re getting a divorce soon. And I don’t know if your daughter can ever love me, but I hope she’ll give me the opportunity to prove how much I love her.”
A muscle between his lip and nose twitches, and he turns his head away to study the concrete floor with grave interest. “Listen, Navarre, I know my daughter is a beautiful woman, but don’t mistake attraction and desire for love. They coexist, but you know they’re not the same. In any case, she deserves better than you.”
Bad Sons Page 10
