The only thing that stopped his abuse was a knife to the heart one night when he was sleeping. Years later, when Ethel was released from prison, she couldn’t find work and turned to drinking. Soon, she ended up on the streets begging.
We’d become pals when I moved into the Tenderloin neighborhood and she camped outside my building.
And then, a few months ago, she’d ended up dead. Strangled with a playing card, the one-eyed jack, stuffed down her throat.
The Tenderloin newspaper ran a brief obituary.
ETHEL SWANSON had dreamed of being an actress ever since she was a little girl. She certainly had the personality and name for it. However, when she fell in love with the wrong man, her dreams were shattered, said friend Gia Santella. She never quite recovered from her abusive marriage and ended up on the streets of the Tenderloin where she was beloved by all. She died violently, but she will never be forgotten. She is buried underneath a flowering tree in the Oakland hills and has red roses delivered to her grave every week. “Because she mattered,” Santella said. Ethel Swanson was 70.
As the sun set and the stars rose above, I traced my fingers over Ethel’s gravestone.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ethel. I’m so goddamn sorry you’re there and I’m here. It’s all my fault. I wish I could make it up to you.”
CHAPTER ONE
THE NEXT MORNING, DANTE side-eyed me as I stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse lobby of my father’s company. Instead of his usual brilliant white smile, Dante frowned.
“What?” I asked, scowling. I was in a bad mood. Getting up at the freaking crack of dawn—okay before noon—did not suit me. The fog hadn’t even lifted from my San Francisco neighborhood yet.
And meeting with stuffy board members was high on my list of things I never wanted to do in my lifetime.
But now that my father, brother, and godfather were dead, I’d been left in charge. For whatever reason, I was now the CEO. Something I had never wanted and still didn’t.
The penthouse lobby looked nothing like it had when my dad was alive. It now had plush red carpet and was scattered with black onyx pedestals holding oddly familiar-shaped obelisks nearly as big as me. Two walls were covered in mirrors. I drew my gaze back to my agitated friend. While his silky black hair swept back from his face like the Italian Stallion he was, his olive skin was slightly ashen.
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.” I reached over and felt his forehead. “Yeah, you’re a little clammy.”
Dante let out an exasperated sigh and as always, perfectly enunciated his words. “That is what you are wearing?”
Spoken like a ridiculously stylish gay man. I gaped at him. Then realized he was serious.
“Sure.” I knew I sounded defensive. “Why not?”
I tried not to notice the contrast between my outfit and his exquisite, custom-fit Italian suit.
Dante waited to speak until a woman in an old-fashioned black-and-white maid uniform finished dusting the obnoxious white marble sculpture near us.
“You’re going to introduce yourself to the board wearing black leather pants?”
“At least I wore my nicest pair.” I was starting to get angry.
He closed his eyes, clearly frustrated beyond words.
I took another look at Dante, a little worried. He had felt clammy. And now his face was contorted. His mouth opened and closed and his nostrils flared. Was he doing deep breathing? Counting to ten?
“And that ... that shirt,” he finally said, opening his eyes. “You know they can fire you.”
Good, I thought, but bit my tongue.
“Fine. I’ll put on my jacket.” I shrugged on my black blazer. It partially concealed my white T-shirt that said “Fuck Authority” below a picture of a skull and crossbones.
The woman was now dusting an enormous white phallic symbol right beside me.
Dante looked pained. “What about the three Armani suits I bought for you last week?”
Is that what all this was about? I’d pay him back. But I knew it wasn’t that. His feelings were hurt. His unerring sense of style was offended.
I shrugged. “They’re cute.” If you want to look like you have a stick up your ass.
He made a jerking motion to pop his wrist out of his sleeve. He looked at his TAG Heuer and then glanced over at the door leading to the boardroom.
“What now? Are we late, too?” I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the mirrored wall.
He met my eyes. “We might have time for you to change. I can run you back to your place. We can be a few minutes late.”
I smiled, pushed away from the wall and headed toward the boardroom door.
He winced. He knew he’d lost.
“What you don’t seem to get,” I said over my shoulder, “is that I don’t care what they think. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want anything to do with running this company or the stuffy old men on the board.” I knew I sounded like a pouty five-year-old and I didn’t care. It seemed like the woman in the maid outfit was looking for something to do closer to us. Eavesdropping. Fine by me. I didn’t care who knew what I thought.
Dante caught up to me. “Gia! You’ve never met any of them.”
“They all stood by and let my godfather drive my father’s business into the ground. They never said a word. They never reached out to me even once. And now that I’m in charge, I’m only sticking around long enough to replace every goddamn one of them.”
The woman audibly gasped. We both swiveled our heads toward her and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
“Excuse me,” I said, gesturing with one finger. “Come over here for a second.”
Her cheeks grew red.
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Gia. What’s your name?”
“Carmen.”
“Nice to meet you, Carmen. I got to ask you something,” I said. “Do you like wearing that outfit? Tell me the truth? I promise your job won’t be affected.”
“No.” Her voice was quiet.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you.”
“No, I don’t like it.”
“I didn’t think you did. It’s like Gone with the Wind or something.”
She smiled, but still looked nervous.
“Do you like your job here?”
“Si. I mean yes.” She nodded fervently.
“I mean, would you rather work here or say at some apartment building in Russian Hill?” Like my building. “I could find you a job where you have less work and more money and don’t have to wear a stupid get up like that.”
“I like it here, really. The uniform, no? But I like working here.” She shrugged. “I do what I want. Nobody bothers me. Make my own hours.”
I bit my lip thinking about. “You’re being honest, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. But the uniform has to go.” I squinted at her. “What are the stuffed shirts paying you?”
She named some absurdly pithy amount. “I’ll double that right now. And you can wear whatever the hell you want to work every day. If anyone says anything, tell them Gia Santella told you herself.”
“Okay.” She gave a small smile and slipped out a nearby door.
Dante touched my elbow. “Back to what we were talking about. You can’t fire them. They are elected by the stockholders. What if there are some good men on the board?”
“If I have to be the CEO—which apparently is what my father wanted—then I’ll damn well do whatever it takes to root out the rotten ones and make sure they get kicked off the board. Plus, your job is to help me do that.”
“What?” his eyes grew wide. I’d asked him to be my advisor, but had never elaborated on his job duties.
“You’re nice. You’re nonjudgmental. If anyone can determine who is worth keeping around and who isn’t, it’s you. Together, we can weed out the toxic ones.”
“Gia! I don’t want that responsibility. Good grief.”
He was so cute when he swore.
/> “I need your help.” This time my voice was quiet. It was true. I needed Dante. I didn’t want to face these men on my own.
Dante ran a hand through his hair and sighed, nodding. He was in.
But then he touched my elbow again and made a face. “Leather pants?”
“Yup.” I gave him another smile. “With these pants and a senator’s husband at my side, they wouldn’t dare fuck with me.”
“We are not married yet.”
“Speaking of that, are you sure you want to get married this young? I mean, I adore Matt, but, dude, you’re just a baby.”
“I’m nearly twenty-five.”
I put my finger on my chin. “Which means you’re twenty-four.”
But his twenty-four was probably like my forty. I didn’t want to admit it, but Dante had acted like a mature, responsible, adult since we were twelve-years-old. The opposite of me.
“Back to your outfit,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’d rather talk about you.” I gave him my sweetest smile. Which he ignored.
“What about the Armani? You realize they cost me a small fortune, Gia.”
Now, he was just griping. He thought nothing of dropping several grand on an outfit. In that way, we were alike.
“Like I said, they’re cute. I’ll wear the black one to the next board meeting.”
“You will?”
He sounded so damn happy.
“Sure.”
I sighed. After all these years, he still believed my lies.
CHAPTER TWO
INHALING SHARPLY, I tugged on the heavy oak door to the board room. Before I stepped inside, I breathed out slowly. My stomach was a bundle of live wires. I’d put on a good show of bravado for Dante, but the truth was I was scared as hell. Words I’d learned studying karate came back to me.
The ability to quiet one’s mind is essential to center a warrior’s greatest power and strength. Dominance is not overpowering or showy, but lies in those who carry it inside. The true warrior will send ripples of influence into every space they enter.
I needed some of those ripples right now. I stepped inside the room. At first, the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows was blinding. As my eyes adjusted, the sweeping views of the Golden Gate Bridge and Pacific Ocean far below made me dizzy.
The board room was more austere than its pimped-out lobby. The space was as sterile and sanitized as an operating room and made me want to whisper.
When we walked in we were greeted by ten frowns from ten uptight assholes in—what else? —Armani suits. They all blended into one. Gray hair, red ties, pinched expressions. Snobbery and disdain dripped from their signet rings.
Dante tensed beside me. These old-school dudes were not friendly to gay men, I could tell. I felt like telling them, “Be nice to my best friend because your future is in his hands. One word from him and it’s sayonara, baby.”
The big cushy leather chair at the head of the table was vacant, waiting for me. I thought that was a good sign. I’d fully expected some Thurston Howell the Third type to be manspreading in the seat. Unfortunately, the empty spot was at the far side of the room, in front of the massive bank of windows. A long walk from where I stood.
Pulling my shoulders back, I struck out for the chair, which suddenly seemed miles away. It was as if the air was sucked out of the room as I walked. I swallowed and the noise of my gulp seemed to echo. When I neared the chair, I grabbed one of the chairs lining the wall and pulled it up beside my big plush leather one.
I gestured for Dante to sit by me. He was literally my right-hand man, now.
The goddamn leather chair was on its lowest level. I could practically rest my forehead on the gleaming wood table before me. It made me feel small and insignificant. I caught one blue-haired old dude smirking. I reached down and fiddled with the chair adjustment for a few seconds but nothing happened. I still had table up to my armpits. Everyone stared. I cast a frantic glance at Dante, but he was busying shuffling papers. Finally, when one guy cleared his throat and the meeting began, I gave up. I sat as erect as I could so I didn’t feel like a little kid at the adult table.
After I was introduced and gave a closed mouth smile, I sat back and listened to one old codger drone on about profit and loss yada yada blah blah. I was starting to fade. Dante nudged me. They’d asked me something.
“Oh, yeah, right.”
I had no idea what I had agreed to. I was concentrating too hard on stifling my yawns and sitting up straight.
Dante frowned.
I opened my eyes wide, blinking, and did a few jaw exercises. Focus, Santella.
As I tuned in to the droning voices I recognized some words and shot a look at Dante. Bloody hell. They were talking about the proposal I’d emailed this morning. Then one grumpy guy stood and cleared his throat. “Mr. Chairman. In my opinion, this proposal is not in the purview of the board. We don’t approve or reject individual projects, such as the one Miss Santella has proposed. That is not our role. With that said, I move to reject as it is not something that seems to be in line with the objectives and goals of this company.”
Dante gave me a sharp elbow to my ribs.
I jumped. I was on.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” I pushed back my chair and stood. It made me feel like an adult again.
“You are out of order!” I didn’t hear who said it and I didn’t care.
I had thought hard about what to say. After my parents’ deaths, when my godfather ran the company, he developed a mixed-use facility in the Sunset called Bay View. The whole project was paid for with blood money. Before my godfather died, he drove a dying woman out of her home and probably took part in some other nefarious deeds to clear the way for the development. I later learned that when my father was alive, he’d tried to stop the project.
Now that they were both dead, I was in charge. My initial instinct had been to raze the whole damn thing, but the building was now almost finished. When my attorney, Sal, told me I was now CEO and had to make a decision on the development, I’d stayed awake nights for weeks trying to figure out what to do with it.
Then, after a bit too much tequila, the boy I was dating, Bobby, showed up at my door with a dozen roses. At three in the morning. He’d driven all the way from his home in Santa Cruz because he missed me, he said.
I saw the roses and burst into tears, which, of course, utterly confused him, as it should have.
It reminded me of Ethel, I said. Bobby listened as I explained. When I was done, he did things to me that made me forget all about Ethel for quite a few hours.
But that’s when I decided, in honor of Ethel, I was turning Bay View into housing for the homeless. A special innovative development that would not only house the residents but also employ them. The Tenderloin had no shortage of programs to help house the homeless, such as housing them in SROs—single resident occupancies, but I wanted to take it one step further.
In my development, the upper floors would be adorable studio apartments with galley kitchens and the street level businesses would remain the same as my godfather had planned: a restaurant, hair salon, flower shop, and a market with fresh fruit and vegetables. The rooftop would contain a full garden with fruit and vegetables that were used in the restaurant and sold in the market. However, in my plan, the residents had first dibs on jobs in the building.
Of course, I thought it was the greatest idea ever.
Apparently, the board thought differently.
Luckily, I didn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought.
Still standing, I placed my palms on the desk. “I’m sorry that you disagree with my proposal gentlemen, but as the CEO, I’m going to have to say ...” I looked at Dante. “Well, too bad.”
Hey, it was a step up from what I wanted to say, which was “Sorry, Charlie.”
One man couldn’t contain himself. He’d been spluttering with rage since I spoke.
“But ... but ... the views. The views alone are million-dollar views.”
/>
“I know!” I said excitedly. “Isn’t that great?”
“But they are homeless,” one man spit the word out as if it were the most distasteful word he’d ever said.
“And?” I raised an eyebrow. Nobody spoke a word. “I guess what I’m hearing is that you don’t think that homeless people appreciate a good view same as the rest of us?”
Silence.
“Would you go so far as to say that only rich, white old dudes like you can appreciate a great view?”
Not a peep.
“What about, let’s say ... gay people? Do they appreciate a great view? How about black people? Native Americans? Mexicans?” I snapped my fingers. “I know ... how about Italian-Americans? Do you think they appreciate a view the same as you?”
Looking at all their faces, I could tell that each and every one of them wanted to punch me in the face. That was okay because I wanted to kick them in the family jewels.
“This meeting is adjourned.” I pushed back my chair, stood and stalked toward the door.
At the door, I turned and said, “By the way, the name of the development is Swanson Place.”
CHAPTER THREE
SWEAT DRIPPED OFF MY temple, splashing onto the smooth wooden floor of the dojo.
“Had enough?” Kato laughed, tightening the belt of his karategi.
“Hell, yes.” I panted and wiped more sweat off my neck with a small white towel. “You mad at me or something?”
“Trying to prove my point.” He watched me over the large water bottle he was guzzling.
I took a big sip of my water, eyeing him back. He looked like he’d just woken up from the most refreshing nap ever and was ready to tackle his day. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Kato was in his forties and kept his sleek hair longer in the back. His eyes always sparkled with life, as if he were on the verge of telling you some marvelous secret about the world and its wonders.
But today those eyes saw right through me. And his words cut to the chase.
“Fine,” I said with a huff. “I’ll go on the wagon. Tomorrow.”
Gia Santella Crime Thriller Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers) Page 18
