by Cari Quinn
Certainly not because I relished getting to the bottom of this conundrum wrapped in glass and barbed wire.
When I stopped by the executive floor to collect Grace at just before eight p.m., everything was locked up tight. Grace’s computer was sleeping, her desk was tidy, and her chair was tucked in. She was nowhere in sight.
I tried to shove down the immediate panic and instead returned to the elevator to head toward the roof. The instant I stepped outside, a gust of wind nearly blew me back a step—or maybe that was seeing Grace seated in my helicopter, her long blond hair tied back with a scarf as if she were doing her best Grace Kelly impression.
She didn’t need to. There was no one who could impress me like she could.
Like she had since I was practically a child.
I climbed into the cockpit and wordlessly handed her my briefcase. She set it between her knees, and her lips moved, as if she were speaking.
It didn’t matter. I had to have her mouth under mine.
Hooking my hand around the back of her neck, I tugged her close. And spoke against her lips.
“You worried me.”
The flash in her eyes nearly took me under. They sparked with challenge, with denial. Finally softening as my words sank in. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.
“It’s okay. I’ll overlook it seeing as I don’t think a spanking sets the right tone for our first real date.”
This time her eyes went wide. “Says who?” she asked breathlessly.
Chuckling, I slipped back and went through my pre-flight routine. She was already revving in place beside me.
My girl loved to fly. And I wasn’t even questioning the my girl part anymore, because she was as mine as my own heart.
A short while later, we took off, and as always I delighted in the sounds of her squeals competing with the sounds of the rotors. I didn’t take her up often enough. I would need to rectify that. Soon.
Once all of this was behind us, I’d take her up every damn month. Rain, snow or shine.
The trip didn’t take long. Just a little over an hour, and the conditions for December were surprisingly hospitable. No snow, and the sky was crisp and clear. Pinpricks of stars dotted our way, a map right up to Grace’s promised heavens.
Jesus, it was December. Almost the holidays. The office would have our annual party in a few days, and close for Christmas shortly after that. Grace and I would have to put all of this aside for a little while even if we hadn’t resolved everything by then. Chances were it wouldn’t be. Obviously all of this—whatever exactly this was—had been going on for years, and our bungling attempts at investigation wouldn’t unknot a lifetime of secrets held close by an old woman in a few hours.
Maybe not even a few weeks.
I touched down on the helipad cleared with the flight agency and reduced all power in preparation to disembark. Then I turned to Grace, expecting her usual exuberance from the flight.
Instead I found her sitting with her head bowed and her shoulders shaking.
“Grace?”
She looked up, and even in the dim light I saw the smears of dampness under her eyes. “She doesn’t get to experience any of this anymore, you know? I was just thinking that it’s so beautiful for December, cold but not too cold, and then I realized she’s cold all the time. She’s all alone in that cemetery while I’m up amongst the stars.” She rubbed her thumbs over her cheeks and took a shuddering breath. “Most of the time, I’m good. Not tonight. I don’t know why it hit me so hard just now.”
But I knew. Unearthing the thumb drive had reminded Grace of everything she didn’t know about the grandmother she loved, likely way more than she ever had. That was the way of parents and grandparents and children, though some more than others, of course. Adding in all the markers that seemed to point to Annabelle’s possible illegal activities and Grace knew not only her grandmother would be dead at the end of this.
Her view of her as an angel, as her savior, would be dead too.
I cupped her head and brought her as close to my chest as the tight confines would allow. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
The words rumbled out of me, and I wasn’t sure she even heard them because they were based more on pure emotion than actual sound.
But she nodded and clung tighter.
“Whatever we find, I’ll be with you.”
Again, she nodded and pressed her wet face into the space created by the opening of my coat. Right near my throat, where my pulse was jackhammering way too fast.
She was like a shot of adrenaline straight to my veins. The need to protect, to shelter, to shield was as overwhelming as the desire that sprang up between us like lava at the slightest opportunity. Instant and overwhelming.
I stroked her hair and straightened her scarf. “Do you like lasagna?”
She was still crying softly, something I felt more than could see clearly in the dark. But she still laughed and nodded, bumping my chin with the top of her head. “Only if it has extra ricotta.”
I reared back and tipped up her head. “Did you just pronounce that ree-cot-a?” I sounded out her version of the word and shook my head in mock disapproval.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because that is laughably far from the correct Italian pronunciation.” I sounded out the proper Italian pronunciation and waited for her to repeat after me. But she just snorted out a laugh.
“You call it what you want, Mr. Authentic Italian, I just call it good eating.” She started to slip back but I gripped her wrist.
“Where we’re eating tonight, proper pronunciation is a religion.” I didn’t doubt Dante’s restaurant was as authentic as they came. His mother, God rest her soul, had been a cook to beat the ages. I’d only eaten with the Costas family a few times, but Anna had made every meal an event. She’d cooked at my father’s house when she was in town, taking over the kitchen as if it were her own. Robert had let her, because she’d had a way.
Now her son owned a restaurant. So many circles, begun and completed. So many goddamn links that overlapped, more than I feared I’d ever fully connect.
“Maybe you could learn to cook lasagna,” I mused, pleased beyond measure when Grace thwapped her hand against my midsection.
“You wish, pal. In the meantime, show me to this supposed real Italian food joint. You told me to work up an appetite.” She licked her lips and a growl thundered through my chest, one that had nothing to do with a longing for food. “I always do as you ask, Sir.”
Then she hopped out of the helicopter and left me sitting alone, straining dick, turbulent thoughts, grin and all.
Eight
Blake
“Tesora mia, I have to say, meeting you tonight has been a real pleasure.” Dante Costas bent at the waist to kiss Grace’s hand, and she blinked up at him as if judging his authenticity as an actual human.
Though I was not a member of the fairer sex, I could acknowledge the man cut an imposing figure in his all black suit, save a spring green tie. Gone was the awkward, narrowed-eyed, skinny boy I’d once known. In his place was a tall, muscular man with a keen gaze that could rake a person to the bone in ten seconds flat. I knew, because he’d done that to me before even saying hello.
I appreciated his sharp wits and his inability to trust. Right now, I also trusted no one. Luckily he remembered our fathers close relationship and had enough appreciation for the past and family ties to show me the courtesy of a meeting.
Of course it had been a challenge actually having it with Grace present. I was already fairly certain it wouldn’t happen tonight, but the endeavor wasn’t wasted. Grace had seemed to enjoy every moment of the meal, from the crisp, dry white wine to the leafy green salad to the lasagna we’d both had to try. Then there was the strong black espresso and thick slice of tiramisu she was currently avidly scooping up, now that Dante had finally released her from his thrall. I’d almost reminded her of the cupcakes, but had decided we could take them to go.
I was spoili
ng her and myself. I figured I was probably overdue, as I’d never had anyone to spoil before. Not even a pet.
Speaking of…
“Jinx, come here, baby.” Dante turned his attention the slinky black cat who wound around his ankles and waited for him to pick her up. He did without compunction, apparently unconcerned with the cat hair he would soon be wearing all over his fine designer suit.
The cat eyed me balefully, her green eyes matching Dante’s tie and the tiny bell that hung from a collar around her neck. When I extended a hand, she hissed and jumped down. She streaked away before I could so much as draw back my hand.
Okay then.
“She’s persnickety.” But Dante smiled, as if he liked that his cat hated most people. “Now then, your meal has been to your satisfaction? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it down here before now. The bar level takes most of my attention at this busy time of year.”
“It’s delicious.” Grace licked her fork. “I wish you were in Boston. This is a bit far to go for takeout.”
“Anytime you wish it, we will make it happen. Anything for you, Grace.”
Her lashes fluttered and I simultaneously resisted a growl and rolling my eyes.
Couldn’t she see through his act? Or did swarthy good looks trump all?
Who was I kidding? Of course they did.
“As to our mutual acquaintances,” Dante said smoothly, “I’m afraid I probably don’t have the information you’re looking for. In the months before my father’s…unfortunate passing, we weren’t as close as we once were.”
I didn’t look at Grace, but I was quite aware of her setting down her fork. Information meant one thing to her, and that was something to do with her grandmother’s case.
So much for our fun, lighthearted date.
Even so, I couldn’t say I was that disappointed Dante had revealed my hand. I didn’t want to lie to her more than I had to. Yes, I wanted to shield her, but I also didn’t want to cause her irreparable damage with my unnecessary coddling. As well as cause us damage. What I was hiding couldn’t harm us any more than the fact I was hiding it at all.
“Unfortunate passing?” I repeated, picking up my napkin from my lap and setting it beside my empty plate. “You murdered him in cold blood.”
Grace didn’t make a peep. Nor did she glance at Dante. Her attention was riveted on me.
“Come now, Blake, that’s hardly nice dinner conversation.” Dante gave us a wide smile and sat in the seat beside Grace and opposite me. “Your man, he plays hardball, I see.”
Grace fumbled for her napkin. “All his balls are in danger the more you both keep talking.”
Dante chuckled. “You have a feisty one on your hands, Blake.”
Didn’t I know it.
“Our fathers were best friends,” I said evenly to Grace. “Unfortunately, they also ended up dying the same way, via gunshot.”
Grace reached for her wine and took a fortifying sip, the largest I’d seen her take all evening. “But you didn’t kill your father,” she said, darting a glance at me as if she wasn’t certain she could make that assertion.
“Hardly. He was dead before I had the chance.”
Dante chuckled again. “You see, tesoro mia, things operate differently in our world. We value loyalty above all else.”
“Loyalty? Who is more loyal than family?”
“Well, now, that depends on the family in question, does it not?” Dante leaned forward and spoke conspiratorially. At this time of night, the restaurant had mostly cleared out, and we were tucked away at a “table of honor” in the back for privacy’s sake. “In my case, my father had kidnapped the woman who is now my sister-in-law and the mother to my niece. He intended to murder her in cold blood. I saved her life.” He smiled thinly. “One might even call me a hero.”
“One might, if the story told wasn’t slanted in your favor.”
Dante’s thick dark brows knitted. “Oh, and I suppose you know the circumstances?”
“No. I don’t. I’ve been quite unconcerned with the families and what they’re doing since my father died and I cut all ties with the lot of them.” I absorbed Grace’s shock without acknowledging it.
Since I’d just basically admitted I’d been with the mob—albeit in a very distant way—I couldn’t say I blamed her.
“You cut ties. Completely,” Grace said shakily.
“Yes.”
“When, exactly?”
“I was twenty.”
“And your father’s death prompted you to?”
“More like gave me the option.” My father hadn’t died at that time. Close enough. I could move the timeline around a bit to suit my narrative, but it wouldn’t change facts.
The main reason I’d been able to walk away was that I’d found a new way of bankrolling my fledgling company, one I’d started to construct even before I finished college. Without that source of funding, I never would have been able to make the break. Not if I wanted to keep my dream too.
But, of course, I’d lost another dream by agreeing. Since at that time it had seemed as nebulous and impossible as the chance I could take my glass and build it into an empire, I hadn’t considered it a fair trade.
I’d grieved, though. The years had softened the loss, erased the edges until they were indistinct.
All it had taken to bring every jagged corner back to life was for Grace Copeland to walk into the office of the company I’d built with money that wasn’t mine.
“And you,” Grace said, shifting her attention to Dante. “You never left. Not before your father…passed. Not now.”
Dante’s smile was lethally charming. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, tesoro mia. I’ve referenced loyalty and family. Bonds that can’t be severed by simply strolling away.” He glanced at me. “You realize that all debts come due. You might not pay today. Maybe not tomorrow. But as they say, there is no escaping the sins of the father.” His smile dimmed. “To our detriment, no?”
His words didn’t send a chill through me. I knew they were likely a way to put me off from asking probing questions about my father’s associates. Questions he probably didn’t have the answers to anyway, unless he wanted to dig at no benefit to himself along with risking possible harm.
The people who made up the family we were supposed to be “loyal” to didn’t appreciate snoops. Or friendly inquiries.
Friends were just enemies who hadn’t yet woken up on the wrong side of the bed.
“I’m not concerned. I’m my father’s son in a lot of ways. When the end comes, it’ll likely be fitting for me as it was for him.” I offered Dante a smile of my own, pretending I hadn’t heard Grace gasp.
I didn’t know if she’d be coming home with me tonight. If she’d want to sleep in my bed.
If everything we’d been building in fits and starts would have been crushed in the reality I’d lived with since I was a boy.
I was tainted goods, born to someone on the wrong side of the law. And when it had suited me, I’d escaped one death sentence to trade on my chance at a life in the light.
“And you came here to talk to Dante now,” she said, curling pale fingers around the stem of her wineglass. “Out of the blue, you called him up for a meeting that was to take place during our supposed date.”
I smothered my grimace and slid a hand along my tie. The knot from this morning that she’d given me was wilting a bit, but she’d seen to it outside the door of La Cucina.
I had a feeling it was the last seeing to she’d be doing to any part of me for a while.
“No.” I was tempted to take a drink of my own wine, but it would’ve been the coward’s way out.
Maybe I could take that route when it was only my life on the line. Not when Grace’s was at stake as well.
“I came here to talk to Dante because I told you my father was acquainted with…Annabelle Stuart.” It would be Grace’s choice if she decided to out Annabelle as her grandmother. Without the last name in common, their connecti
on wouldn’t be instantly recognizable to Dante, even if he did happen to know the Stuart name. “I have reason to think he was acquainted with Philomena Stanwick too.”
Dante leaned back in his chair and looped an arm around the back of the chair beside him. “So you think I kept track of my father’s social calendar, as well as your father’s. Sorry to disappoint you, but I have other things to attend to.”
“I’m well aware of that. I also know that you know everyone in this town. Being based in Las Vegas hasn’t mitigated your family’s reach at all.” I lowered my voice, though the chances of us being overheard were almost nil. Only a few scattered diners remained, and none of them were close to our table. “If Robert and Annabelle and Philomena were involved in something based in Brooklyn, something involving the Empire Design Company on Trawley Street in Flatbush, you’re saying you wouldn’t know about it.”
Something flickered through Dante’s dark eyes. “You really want to get into this in front of the missus?”
“I’m not a missus. I’m a grown woman who is entitled to be part of conversations. And I’d say he does want to get into it, since he started this line of inquiry.” Grace crossed her arms. “So?”
“I don’t know the name Annabelle. But as you know, there’s a lot of women in the world.” His shrug and charming smile fooled me not even a little. “Philomena, however, now that may ring a few bells. She’s older. Older than Pop, older than your father.”
I nodded, not chancing a glance at Grace.
He tapped his fingers on the table then smiled again, tighter now. “Since we’re old friends, let me do some digging for you. See if I come up with any buried treasure.”
The brief hope I’d had that maybe we’d start to get some real answers deflated faster than it had come. I started to reply, but before I could, Dante’s gaze flicked behind me and I shifted in my chair.
Violet’s brother Danny and his wife Marina were on their way toward us. Where had they come from? I’d thought the place was nearly deserted. I had my back to part of the room but I was sure I’d kept an eye on our surroundings.
