by Wendy Rosnau
“So, tell me what you know. Santa Palazzo was swarming with guards tonight. Whose place is it, and why so many guards?”
“The estate is never without guards. I’ve learned they’re a permanent, round-the-clock fixture. No less then eight at all times.”
“The electronic gates were high-tech. Some of the guards had dogs.”
“Four dogs. Dobermans with an attitude.” Lucky rubbed his thigh, indicating he’d had a conversation with one of them. “Before I tell you more about Santa Palazzo, I’ll explain how I found the place. It all started with the packages.”
“The packages?”
“For several years I’ve been mailing a package to a post office box in Key West every month. A job assigned to me eleven years ago when I was twenty. Since the packages were from various dress shops, I assumed they were gifts for one of Frank’s lady friends. From time to time I would joke with him about his dedication to one woman, and when I did, Frank would smile and get this strange look on his face. Anyway, when Sunni Blais opened Silks here at Masado Towers, Frank started ordering the packages from her shop. Last month, when I went to Silks to pick up the monthly package, I took a minute to talk to Sunni. She and I had never exchanged more than a few words since she’d opened her shop. But this time was different.”
“Because Jacky was in town.”
Lucky nodded. “He was living in her apartment. Acting as her bodyguard. But like you, I knew there was more between them.”
“So you were checking her out to see if she was right for Jacky.”
“We both know that women who look as good as Sunni does are usually bitches. But as it turned out, she was the exception to the rule. She’s for real in every way.”
“We’re in agreement on that. Tell me more about the packages,” Joey pressed.
“During the conversation, Sunni said something I thought was odd. She said the two gifts inside the package were exactly what Frank had ordered this time. One in each size.”
“One in each size?”
“That’s right. Two gifts. One in each size. For eleven years I thought I was picking up one gift for Frank’s mistress. A mistress he obviously cared a lot about because he never missed a month. But suddenly I learned there were two gifts inside one package. And they were in different sizes.” Lucky took a swallow of scotch. “I thought that was worth checking out, so I decided to fly down to Florida and stake out the post office box.”
“And that led you to Santa Palazzo.”
Lucky nodded. “For two days the same man showed up at the post office to retrieve the mail from the box. On the second day, I followed him. When he entered Santa Palazzo, and it was guarded like a fortress, my curiosity doubled. I decided to buy a camera and hang around for a few days to take some pictures. I wanted to see who came and went. That’s when I discovered Rhea.”
Lucky reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a handful of pictures and tossed them on the coffee table. “I figure you know where this is going. Those are the people who went in and out, the four days I watched the house. There’s only one in there that you’ll recognize other than Rhea.”
Joey reached for the pictures and shuffled through them, looking for confirmation of what he already knew. When he spied the picture, he said, “Frank was there. He’s known where Rhea’s been hiding the entire time.”
“It looks that way. But there’s something else you need to know, fratello. Santa Palazzo belongs to our father. In Key West he goes by the name Frank Palazzo.”
The news was such a shock that for a full minute Joey didn’t speak. Finally, he asked, “You’re absolutely sure? There’s no mistake?”
“None. He’s owned the estate for twenty-four years.”
“And Rhea’s been there since she left town?”
“I’d like to say I’ve confirmed that, but I haven’t. But my gut tells me she’s been there the entire three years. She looked relaxed. Talked to the guards. Smiled. Laughed. What I’m saying is, she’s no prisoner.”
“If that’s true, then Frank helped her run.”
“We both know he was upset when you broke off your engagement to Sophia D’Lano.”
“You’re saying he paid Rhea off?”
“Maybe. When Frank wants something bad enough, money’s no object. Then, neither is using a power play. He could have cut Rhea a deal. He could have told her she could keep the baby if she cooperated with him.”
“You think he knew she was pregnant.”
“Frank’s a cunning son of a bitch. Sure he knew. How, I can’t say, but that’s what motivated him. That’s what my gut tells me.”
“She could have gone to Frank. Maybe she blackmailed him.”
Lucky raised his heavy brows. “That’s an interesting twist. You think she’s capable of that?”
Three years ago Joey would have said no. Today all he could think about was that she had denied him his child.
“I’m not saying it didn’t happen that way,” Lucky stated. “But the Rhea I remember didn’t seem capable of blackmail. She never even bad-mouthed her psychotic ex-husband.”
“That’s because she was too busy surviving Stud’s hell, to spend time thinking of much else,” Joey reasoned, showing more emotion than he would have liked.
“Rhea doesn’t strike me as the manipulative-bitch type. Soft-spoken and kindhearted comes to mind. I can’t pinpoint what made her sexy as hell three years ago. I mean, it wasn’t exactly due to the condition she was in—the bruises and all—but she had something that made a man look twice. We both can’t deny that.”
More than a dozen qualities had made Joey look twice at Rhea Williams. And any one of them could be blamed for why he had ignored his own rules and mixed business with pleasure.
Up to that point he hadn’t wasted his time on married women, or divorced women packing baggage. And Rhea had had one helluva lot of baggage. Her ex-husband had been a cop. And if that hadn’t been enough to make Joey steer clear of her, the fact that Stud Williams was a dirty cop working for Frank should have.
“Remember when Frank offered to spearhead your investigation to find Rhea? Smart move on his part if he was the one hiding her out. My guess is, he put himself in that position to intercept information and to keep you in the dark.”
Joey said, “We never got any good leads. I always thought that was strange.”
Lucky nodded, rested his glass of scotch on his long jeans-clad leg. “I traced his flight itineraries for the past year. It wasn’t easy. Frank covers his tracks better than a snake on stilts.”
“And?”
“I’ve confirmed eight visits to Key West this past year.”
Joey swore, then leapt to his feet. “Why didn’t I suspect he was involved in Rhea’s disappearance?”
“Because he’s good at what he does,” Lucky reasoned. “Hell, for twenty-four years he’s been living a double life without either one of us knowing it. That kind of determination makes me a little nervous. I wonder what else he’s been hiding.”
“If he’s as good as you say, then, by now he’s on his way here to confront me.” Joey pointed to the silver chain tucked inside his brother’s shirt. “I left my cross on Rhea’s pillow.”
The cross that nested in the thatch of black hair on Lucky’s chest was identical to the ones Joey and Jackson wore. Lavina had given her boys the crosses one night when hell had descended on them, and all three boys had survived because they had stuck together. The decision they had made that night had bound them for life.
Lucky arched a brow. “You leave the cross for revenge’s sake, or out of concern for her state of mind once she found Niccolo gone?”
Not willing to analyze his actions, Joey said, “I want her to come to me. Face me. If she cares about the boy, she’ll come.”
“My men tell me Frank arrived at Santa Palazzo a few hours ago. My guess is, he got a call that Niccolo was taken and he flew out there soon after. You’re right. If he knows it was you who took Niccolo, we can expect him ba
ck here within twenty-four hours.”
Joey paced to the window, rubbing his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in three days—or slept, for that matter.
“So what do you want to do about Frank?”
“I have my son. That’s what I went there for.”
“The only reason?”
Joey turned slowly. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Frank’s been lying to us for years. Maybe it’s time we looked into why that is. Maybe we need to find out what he’s hiding at Santa Palazzo besides Rhea Williams.”
“I’ll go along with that.”
“And Rhea? What do you plan to do with her once she shows up?”
Joey wanted it to be all about revenge where Rhea was concerned. It would be easier that way. But when he’d walked into Rhea’s bedroom at Santa Palazzo he had been stopped cold, struck by her familiar scent filling his nostrils. Struck by the sight of her hairbrush on the vanity with blond strands of hair caught in the bristles. To his disgust he’d opened her closet just to look at her clothes.
“Do you think she knows that her ex-husband is in jail for murder?”
“That’s an interesting question.” Joey returned to the sofa. “It’s rather recent news. I suppose it would depend whether Frank thought it was news he could use to his advantage or not. Either way, at the moment, Rhea should be more afraid of me than her ex.”
“Rhea’s been through a lot in her life, fratello.”
“So I’m supposed to go easy on her because years ago she married the wrong man, and his favorite pastime was beating her up?”
“No. I’m saying Frank has more experience in deceiving people than Rhea.”
“The bottom line is, she’s been hiding my son from me like some dirty secret. And if it was Frank’s idea, and she was forced into it, she’s had plenty of time to find a way to get a message to me. But from what you’ve said, it sounds like she’s been living content at Santa Palazzo.”
Joey wasn’t going to accept any excuses. Whatever Rhea’s reason was, it wouldn’t be good enough. And the minute he laid eyes on her, this crazy feeling constricting his chest and tightening his jeans would burn itself out. He couldn’t possibly still care about her, after what she’d done.
“She looks different.”
Joey blinked out of his musing and saw Lucky studying one of the pictures. “She looks different because she’s not wearing a gauze bandage over her eye or a split lip.” He couldn’t disguise the anger and disgust that tainted his deep voice. He still hated the fact that he hadn’t been able to keep Stud from terrorizing her.
His gaze returned to the picture of Rhea walking on the beach. Besides being bruise free, he’d noticed that she’d cut her hair into a straight, carefree style, and it had been bleached almost white from the Florida sun. Her skin no longer made her look as pale as a ghost, and she wasn’t painfully thin. There was a gentle curve to her hips and more definition to her breasts. The only thing he could guarantee looked the same were her beautiful long legs.
Angry that he’d taken the time to dissect the picture, he said, “Not having bruises or gauze bandages doesn’t change the facts.”
“Which are?”
“That she’s a liar and a thief!” Joey swore softly, wishing he hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t want his son to wake up to the sound of his father shouting like an angry fool. He didn’t want Niccolo ever to be afraid of him. Not in the way he’d been afraid of his own father when he was a boy.
He and Lucky had tiptoed around their father, beginning at an early age, to avoid his lectures on loyalty to the famiglia, but they hadn’t been able to escape the hourly drills Frank had forced on them to make his sons weaponry experts. By age thirteen Joey could nail a target dead center with a six-inch knife from twenty yards away. Lucky, at age ten, could empty a round of ammo into a dummy’s head with a 25-caliber Beretta and a .38 Special.
More softly, but just as angrily, he said, “She kept me from my son, Lucky.”
“Yesterday you had a right to be angry, mio fratello. But today you have the boy. Focus on what you want tomorrow. What you want next month. Next year. What you want for Niccolo’s future.”
“What I want for my son is for him to grow up happy, doing whatever the hell it is he wants to do with his life. I don’t want him to be like us. I don’t want him to feel trapped, or forced into chasing another man’s dream.”
Lucky raised his glass of scotch. “Then, we’ll drink to happiness, and to changing the future for him.”
Joey lifted his glass. “And we’ll drink to you, Lucky. For making a trip to Florida and buying that camera.”
Lucky nodded, his grin softening his dark eyes and the scar on his chin. “To Niccolo. May he grow up to be as wise as his father, and—” he grinned “—as handsome as his uncle.”
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
The sight of the milky blue horizon over Lake Michigan was glorious, but it had been as fleeting a feeling as the absurd emotional tug that Rhea had somehow come home … home to stay.
Now, as she stood in the lobby of Masado Towers with a lump in her throat, clutching Nicci’s teddy bear, she knew the depth of what she was facing.
The night she’d left Chicago, escorted to the airport by two of Frank’s bodyguards, Joey’s dream had been nothing more than a blueprint, steel girders and concrete columns. Today, Masado Towers was a work of art, an architectural phenomenon. A city within a city.
Not only was the Towers a grand hotel, but there were condominiums, offices, department stores, boutiques, an art museum, a health club, a grocery store, restaurants, lounges, movie theaters and a bank.
Rhea had never thought she’d underestimated Joey’s ability. But all of this confirmed that the man she thought she knew was as complex as the dynasty he had built and now commanded.
If she had known before he had touched her what a mega-power he was, or what the future would hold, would she have done things differently? It was a question she couldn’t answer. That night three years ago, beaten down and desperate, alone and scared, she hadn’t expected to be rescued—least of all, rescued by Joey Masado.
Countless times she’d gotten herself home from the hospital after one of Stud’s outbursts. She could have done it one more time. Then Joey had appeared and completely disarmed her with his take-charge tenderness.
But that was then, and this was now. Last night he had breached a secure compound and stolen his son from under the noses of eight armed guards. And he had done it without a single confrontation. The tender man beneath the tough-guy veneer had a ruthless side. Maybe she had always known that. The rumors had surely warned her that the Masado men never turned the other cheek. Never… And she had seen evidence of that with Frank. He was a hard man, determined to protect his family, whatever the cost.
Rhea checked her watch. It was early, barely eight. She hadn’t slept, nor could she until she saw her son and knew he was safe. She eyed the glass elevator—the woman at the front desk had said, “You’ll find Mr. Masado’s personal elevator in the passageway. Go down hall B, you won’t be able to miss it.”
As if in a trance, Rhea stepped into the glass box, not thinking it peculiar that the door was standing open as if waiting for her. She pushed the only button visible, and when the door closed, she wet her lips, then nervously brushed her long bangs closer to the scar next to her eye.
When the elevator stopped, she buried her free hand—the one that was shaking—in the pocket of her brown suede jacket and waited for the door to open. When it did, she was confronted by a man who reminded her of the guards at Santa Palazzo—big and tough, and capable of snapping a woman’s neck in a split second.
“Ms. Williams?”
“How did you know who I… Never mind.”
The blond powerhouse surprised Rhea with a smile. “I’m Gates. Mr. Masado’s—”
“Bodyguard,” she finished.
“At the Towers we use the word assist
ant. This way, Ms. Williams.”
Rhea followed the six-foot-five assistant. As they walked along, she saw him lower his head and speak softly into a small gold lapel pin on his suit jacket. She decided he was outfitted with a miniature microphone of some kind that allowed him to speak to his boss.
Moments later, Gates stopped in front of a massive pair of doors. He didn’t bother to knock, just swung the door open and moved aside to allow her entry.
Rhea stepped inside, her son’s teddy bear gripped tightly in her hand. She didn’t know what she had expected to find, but a room shrouded in darkness wasn’t it. In the next few seconds, as the door clicked behind her, she saw that a vast wall of closed vertical blinds behind a sweeping half-circle desk were responsible for the shadows. They hadn’t stolen all the light from the room, but it certainly had set the tone for what undoubtedly was Joey’s morning mood.
The expensive leather chair behind the desk was empty. She was in the lion’s den, but where was the lion?
She scanned the room and located a silhouette seated at a mile-long bar that looked like it should have been in a nightclub instead of in an office. There was a liquor bottle on the marble surface, and beside it, a half-empty crystal glass.
It was too early to be drinking, but then, her ex-husband had drunk all hours of the day and night. The comparison, as well as the result of those painful times, didn’t calm her nerves.
He knew she was here. Rhea saw him stiffen on the bar stool. It was ever so slight, but she’d learned the hard way to be alert. Even the smallest body changes, a shifting eye or a tightening in the jaw, could be a warning.
The key to handling fear was to keep the brain well supplied with oxygen so your thought processes remained clear and your reaction time was lightning quick. Knowing this, Rhea concentrated on slow, deep breathing.
A minute ticked by, then two.
She stood there motionless while he raised and lowered his drink. When the glass was empty, he set it down and gave it a little shove. The heavy glass slid smoothly to the end of the bar with less than an inch to spare. It was a practiced maneuver, she decided, perfected over time.
