I exhale the tightness in my chest and lean one shoulder against the wall. “Maybe. I just need you to be aware of my intentions, and explain why I wear my ring. Donnie and my father tried to kill my wife, so that’s a big part of why we’ve funded this whole thing. And my cousin, Bea, gathered lots of intel against her own father in order to help everyone here find justice. I hope you’re able to see past your terrible loss, and appreciate that the children of your enemies are trying to make things right.”
“Nothing can ever be made right as long as she is gone.” His eyes level with mine. “Leave my daughter alone.”
Heaviness settles on my shoulders, but I’ve said my piece. I won’t leave Aida alone. And Franco will carry out whatever he’s planned, which means I have to be ready for anything tonight.
“Well, then. Until tonight,” I say.
Turning, I head back toward the elevator. Once I reach the door, I pause, glancing back at Franco.
But he’s nowhere to be seen.
After the formal dinner is served, Bea finds me in the library, where I’ve pulled out a genealogical record book, laid out on the coffee table.
“Hey, nerd,” she says with a lazy drawl.
I glance at her with a distracted half smile. “Meant to say I like that purple in your hair.”
With a grin, she tugs at one of her long dark curls, letting the violet ombre end bounce back in place. As long as I’ve known her, she’s always chemically straightened her hair. It’s nice seeing her wear it more natural. She’s always had an eclectic style, and today, she’s chosen to pair a short, white lace summer dress with black fishnet stockings and combat boots. Her fashion choices are an admittedly refreshing dichotomy.
Plopping on the couch beside me, Bea props her unlaced boots on the table and laces her fingers over her stomach as she leans her head back. “Tell me all the boring stuff you found, Nando.”
I flip through the thick, black pages of a leather-bound tome outlining the Capulet history, dating back to the inception of this plantation. Someone went through great effort to preserve history.
“Look at this.” I point to an aging immigration record attached to the page.
Bea drags her boots off the table and leans forward, deciphering the script writing. “Ship Passenger List, 1679. Rocco Capulet. Holy cow.”
Don Capulet’s family had arrived shortly after the time of Pocahontas and John Rolfe. Rocco had arrived in Virginia as a single man, no family. Within the next few years, he gained 100 acres in a grant the government had given at the time to settle the land, ignoring the pre-existing rights of the Native Americans, of course. And from this single planted seed came mighty generations of tobacco farmers, leading us to this day.
Bea gets up and pulls the book for Navarre, and we find my family history, connecting timelines and locations. She glances at the shelf where two more family histories lie entrenched between dusty, time-worn pages, then shoots her stare at me, one eyebrow popped in a daring arch.
I breathe out a caustic chuckle. “I’m not touching those yet.”
With nonchalant grace, Bea clasps her hands behind her back and casually swaggers to the ancient stacks. She grips the edge of the book and tugs it from the shelf.
At that moment, Don and Clara meander into the library, their combined attention dropping to the history spread in front of me. With a short exhale of surprise, Clara lowers to her knees next to the table.
Uncle Don maintains a stony look as his gaze darts back to where Bea holds another book, her eyes reading the cover.
“Beatriss,” he says sharply.
“Who is Prospero?” She faces the cover of the wide volume to her dad.
Not a single flicker of recognition crosses his features. “No idea.”
The happy family reunion wouldn’t be complete without my father striding in, casually dressed in tan slacks and a white polo. He doesn’t seem to notice anyone else in the room.
“Donnie, walk with me,” my father says, an odd tone to his voice.
Glaring at Bea, Donnie moves in her direction before snatching the book from her hands. He places the book on the top of the shelf, then looks down at the other book for Montague. After a scathing glance at the cover, he makes a quick move to hide it on high beside its neighbor.
The two men move toward the hallway leading to the suites. I stand from the sofa and casually follow behind them, my ears stretching to hear words in their mutterings.
“Oh, yeah,” Don says. “It’s incredible how much detail they put into the design.”
“But did you ever walk to the end of the other hallway to see the other stained glass? Look closely.”
A soft sound of surprise exhales from Donnie. “What the hell?”
Their footsteps move toward the Montague side, where sunlight washes in colorful rays through the ruby and black family crest. I move quietly behind them.
“I thought it was just a random stained-glass,” Donnie says, confusion muddling his voice.
“Me too. There’s one on my side as well.”
Clearing my throat, I make my presence known. “Lots of mysteries about the past, it seems. They have history books in the library I just started looking through.” My voice remains steady and dispassionate. “Don, did you know your ancestors arrived here in the late 1600s? And our Navarre line arrived in 1718, a Nicolas Navarre. Sometimes I wish the past could talk and relay the stories and secrets left buried in time.”
“Nah,” Donnie says, shoving past me as he strides back to the library.
My father and I follow behind, Clara and Bea sit beside one another on the sofa, heads together as they flip through and compare Navarre and Capulet history.
“Clara,” Donnie snaps. “Get up. We’re leaving. This place is sketchy.”
Bea glances up, her eyes following her father. Clara remains seated on the sofa, absentmindedly flipping a page as if her husband never spoke.
The visible family crest windows serve an important purpose. To shake Donnie and my father up, stirring up buried memories like an upturned snow globe. But under no circumstances can they be allowed to leave here.
“Aren’t you supposed to meet the owners sometime today or tomorrow?” I say. “What’s the rush?”
My father nods from where he stares out the front windows. “Yeah, we are. Donnie, come over here.”
I move far enough away from my father so he can feel the freedom to murmur whatever he has to say to Don, but stay close enough so I can actually hear it. Pulling a random novel from a shelf, I flip it open and pretend to read.
My father’s poor attempt at a whisper drifts in my waiting ears. “Look, man. I know it’s weird they know about the other families. But it only makes sense since they actually found the history books, and they did say they were trying to honor the founding families. I mean, who the hell knew those moldy things even existed?”
“Right, but what if they found Eli and Frank, invited them too? They’re both free and out there somewhere. What if they’re behind all this?”
“They’d have no means to do something this elaborate. Remember?” My dad scoffs. “Both of them married for love.”
“Evelyn didn’t love Eli,” Donnie says through his teeth. “She reverted back to her maiden name after she divorced him while he was in prison.”
“That’s not the subject here. The point is, it would take decades to gather enough resources for him to do this. I mean, I understand why Eli would go after you.” He chuckles darkly.
Donnie remains silent for a moment then nods his head. “We need to find both of them. Eliminate the threat of their existence. I’ve indulged you long enough and ignored it.”
“No. We’re not doing that. While I understand why Eli would come after you, maybe Franco has no hard feelings.”
“You fired him the day his wife got murdered.”
“What else could I do? You had evidence he’d been stealing money. I was kind. I understood he was a lot poorer than me, and I didn’t g
o after him for his crime. What he did with his life once we parted ways has nothing to do with me.”
“I heard he thought you had something to do with his wife’s death. That he wanted to kill you for it.”
“What?” The genuine surprise in my father’s voice sends an icy feeling down my spine.
The cogwheel in my head turns as a fresh perspective washes through my mind. What if my dad didn’t send people to kill Mira Prospero? What if it was Don, looking to plant a seed of revenge in Frank’s mind, and eliminate my father in the process?
Bea’s voice startles me. “Didn’t think you were one for pirates,” she says wryly, flicking the cover of the book in my hands.
I close the book and grimace at the sight of a muscular, dark-haired man wearing a billowing shirt revealing a swath of chest hair.
“Ah, just curious what you women are reading nowadays.”
Bea snorts. “Definitely not that.”
With distracted impatience, I set the book in its original space on the shelf. I’d correct her assumption of my desired reading material, but at the moment, my main goal is to find Frank and Eli, to discuss the possibility of this new development.
I lean my elbows on the concierge counter, keeping my voice to a low whisper. “I think they may try to leave. Stall them somehow.”
Abram grins. “I’ve got their car keys. Anyway, I’ll tell them the owners will be at a breakfast buffet in the morning, planned in their honor. Hopefully the promise of a meeting slows them down.”
“Have you seen Ai—” I clear my throat. “Um, Ana?”
A small smirk tilts up the corner of his mouth. “She’s probably still at the spa. You meeting up with us later? I’m supposed to teach her and Bea some judo.”
I can think of a vast number of things I’d rather do than watch Abram roll around on mats with Aida and my cousin. Pierce my eyeballs. Get circumcised without anesthesia. Read a book starring a pirate prince.
As much as I’d like to avoid watching him “teach” them anything, there’s no way I’d let that happen without me being there to openly glare my disapproval. I also equally relish the chance of a good spar with Abram. In the annals of the grappling world, the endless battle rages between which sport is superior, wrestling or judo. I’d love the chance to get a judo black belt on the mat.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there. Six?”
He nods. “A little after. I just gotta change.”
With a half wave, I jog up the stairs to the spa. The doors slide open, revealing Aida sitting at the reception desk reading a book, still in that ridiculously sexy dress. Her eyes move from the book up to me, and I reach over the desk and snatch the book from her hands.
“Fernando,” she says, grasping for it.
Closing it shut, I check out the cover. “The Lady Hellion,” I read aloud. I flip the book over and read the description, snorting in amusement. “ … ‘the beautiful, exasperating woman he’s never stopped wanting.’ Sounds like someone I know.”
A beautiful, familiar shade of rose climbs her cheeks. “I need something to read while I man the front desk. This was just sitting here.”
“Mm, right,” I say with a teasing grin as I return the book to her hands. “Hey, I’m just messing. Reading is good. Doesn’t matter what it is. Anyway, do you know where I can find your father? There’s been a recent development.”
She gnaws on her lower lip, eyes darting to the side. “I’ll let him know. He’ll find you.”
“It’s pretty important.”
“Okay.” She shrugs. “All I can do is let him know.”
Chapter 13
“Damn,” Bea whispers, as our eyes follow the two men. “I know this sounds super weird because one of them is my cousin, but I’m not really looking at him. There’s something really hot about watching two men trying to murder each other.”
I clear my throat and tear my eyes away from the scene that Bea’s transfixed on. Abram and Fernando have been grappling for the last ten minutes, each of them demonstrating considerable skill, and neither of them backing down. Grunts and heavy male breathing come from the mat.
I stifle a smile. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Their match ends if someone taps out or if Abram can manage a judo throw. So far, Fernando matches Abram’s inhuman speed with the ability to move his body like water through Abram’s grasp. An amazing feat for a man of his build.
While Fernando got the first takedown, Abram quickly got top and had him mounted, which had both men struggling for a good fifteen seconds pinned chest to chest. Somehow, Fernando flipped them both, which began a battle of their legs. Abram kept his wide to prevent Fernando from fully mounting him. At one point, Abram had gotten his legs locked around Fernando’s neck, which promised to end the fight with Fernando tapping or stubbornly passing out. But somehow, he got free, which continued their rolling around on the mat.
I lean in toward Bea. “I could use a cigarette after this, and I don’t even smoke.”
She breathes out a husky laugh then lets out a small gasp, clutching my arm as Abram locks in a rear chokehold. Fernando throws himself backward, landing on top of Abram, but his hold doesn’t loosen. He braces his feet on either side of Abram, attempting to get enough momentum and leverage to twist, but Abram methodically manages to hold his ground. The second Fernando taps, Abram releases his hold.
Fernando gasps in a lungful of air, and for a few seconds, the men just lay there, gulping in air as they recover. With a grin, Fernando rolls off Abram and moves to standing. He extends one hand to Abram and pulls him off the mat.
“Good fight, man,” Fernando says.
Abram gives a rare, genuine smile. “I got lucky at the end there. You’re like a wet fish, jeez.”
Bea clears her throat and stands, walking toward them. “If you two are done stroking each other, let’s go get those drinks you guys promised.”
A heated look from Abram causes Bea to squirm. The entire hour and half he spent teaching us things, Bea had mercilessly flirted with him, complimenting his black joggers, his tattoos, and she even called him beautiful once, which caused a mad blush to heat his cheeks.
Abram swaggers over to Bea. “I think we need to practice that takedown I showed you one more time.”
Bea giggles then shrieks as Abram flips her, taking her neatly down to the mat and covering her body with his. Fernando shoots them an annoyed look as he moves in my direction. Abram stays in place between her thighs, their noses nearly touching. A soft murmur of exchanged words passes between them.
Fernando collapses on the mat beside me. “They’re gross.”
“Just wait,” I say, arching an eyebrow in their direction. “In three, two, one.”
And then they’re making out, complete with moans and heavy breathing. Fernando squeezes his eyes shut and turns away, a grimace wrinkled on his forehead.
“How did you know that was coming?” he asks.
I shrug. “It was in the air.”
He grins. “Was it? Maybe”—in one move, he flattens himself on top of me, pushing me onto my back—“you were just sensing it from me.”
Anxiously, I glance toward Abram and Bea, who are too occupied with each other to notice me and Fernando. Unconsciously, my thighs part to let him between them. He fits against me like a perfect juxtaposition of the masculine and feminine, seeping into the dark cracks of my soul, the sunshine to my moonshine.
“Don’t kiss me in front of Abram, please,” I whisper, my breath catching as he brushes his nose against mine. “If my dad finds out …”
“I told your dad I’m in love with you.”
“You what?”
My eyes widen as I shove against his chest to push him off me. I’ve just watched Fernando take down a huge guy, and I know my arms aren’t strong enough to make him budge, but he moves back, crouching near my feet.
“Are you insane?” I hiss.
He tilts his head. “Love is the surest kind of madness. Did you talk to your
dad? It’s incredibly important that I speak with him tonight.”
I purse my lips in thought. “Come with me.”
Fernando straightens to standing, discreetly adjusting himself.
“Make sure you guys bleach the mat when you’re done,” Fernando says loudly, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sight of Bea and Abram dry humping one another into submission.
“Have fun, you two.” I flip off the light switch and close the door behind me. “You’re right. They’re gross.”
Fernando stares with widened eyes as I use my palm on the mirror to get inside my father’s secret place.
“What the hell is that?” he says in a hushed voice as the mirror dissolves.
I laugh at his crazed expression. “I have no idea. My father is into all of the latest tech.”
We step through the frame, and the mirror reappears behind us, showing a view of the dusty storage area. My eyes sweep the empty room landing on his desk against the wall.
“He’s not here,” I say, my nose wrinkled in disappointment. “We should leave. If he finds us here, he’ll be pissed.”
He glances at his watch. “I really gotta talk to him though.”
“About what?”
Fernando runs one hand over his hair, bracing his other hand on his hip. “I overheard my dad and uncle talking. I think Donnie may have framed my dad with your mom’s murder in hopes he’d retaliate and kill my dad. I mean, think about it. The only thing that connects him to it is what the guy said to her, right?”
My forehead scrunches. “They didn’t know I was there to hear it though.”
“Or did they?”
I stare at him in confusion.
He continues. “What if Donnie had planned this whole thing long in advance? Waited for a day you didn’t show up at school. It’s not hard to plant someone near the bus stop, or at the school to watch kids walk in or not. Then sent the guys. Then made sure your dad got fired from his job.”
Bad Sons Page 11
