by Pamela Yaye
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, posture stiff, arms crossed, his tone ice-cold.
“Lourdes showed up at Matteo’s school today—”
“I heard. Why didn’t Principal Caldwell call the cops? I gave her precise instructions to follow if Lourdes ever showed up, so why didn’t she follow protocol?”
“Protocol?” she repeated, stunned by his words. “What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Lourdes is a threat to herself, and more important, to my son.”
Jordana opened her mouth, but broke off speaking when she heard her cell ring from inside her jacket pocket. Answering it would only acerbate the situation, so she ignored the untimely interruption. She suspected it was Fallon calling, and made a mental note to drop the contract off at her agent’s Beverly Hills condo on the way to the theater. Jordana didn’t feel like going to the movies, but she didn’t want to disappoint Matteo. Speaking calmly, she said, “I know you and Lourdes have had an acrimonious relationship for years, but Matteo’s her son, too, and she loves him just as much as you do.”
“Jordana, stay out of it.”
“For Matteo’s sake, I have to speak. I can’t keep quiet. What you’re doing to Lourdes is mean and vindictive and—”
“Justified!” he shouted, his strident tone piercing her eardrum. “She’s an alcoholic, and I don’t want her anywhere near my son. Do you hear me?”
Her face must have showed her disappointment, her outrage, because he dismissed her with a flick of his hand, and paced the length of the room, mumbling under his breath.
“Forget it. I don’t even know why I’m wasting my breath. You’re not a parent. You wouldn’t understand the stress I’m under.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand,” she shot back. “I don’t understand how you can be so cruel to the woman who gave you a beautiful, healthy son.”
“You don’t know the hell she’s put me through.”
“Quit punishing Lourdes for the mistakes of the past, and help her to be a better mother, because every time you hurt her, you’re inevitably hurting Matteo. Don’t you see that?”
His eyes iced over, clouded with disgust.
“Dante, she’s ready to change, and I want to help her.”
“Leave it alone. There’s nothing you can do.”
At war, her head and heart clashed, but Jordana knew she had to tell Dante the truth, and let the chips fall where they may. “I already did,” she said, wishing she wasn’t shaking like a leaf. “I wrote Lourdes a check to cover her stay at Destination Wellness. She starts treatment on Monday.”
Dante stopped pacing, his gaze darker than his jet-black suit. “You did what?”
It wasn’t a rhetorical question—the scowl, twisting of his lips, confirmed he’d heard what she said—so she kept quiet.
“You had no right to give Lourdes my money.”
“Excuse me?” she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “Your money?”
“That’s right. My money. You work for me, not her.”
Pain stabbed her heart. There it was. The truth. Finally, after weeks of playing house with Dante, she now knew where she stood. They would never have a real marriage, never have the kind of relationship she’d always longed for. One founded on unconditional love, mutual respect and trust. In his eyes, she was just another member of his staff, another employee to do his bidding. If she stepped out of line, she’d surely be fired.
“You can’t dictate how I spend my weekly allowance—”
“I can, and I will. This is my house, and you’ll live by my rules.”
The knot in her chest threatened to kill her dead, but she spoke in a quiet tone that veiled the anger bubbling in her veins. “My apologies.” Her inner mean girl rose to the surface and a verbal bitch slap fell from her mouth. “I thought my money was for me to spend as I please. My bad. The next time I sign a prenuptial agreement I’ll make sure I read the fine print.”
“Lourdes conned you out of thirty grand, but you’re too blind to see it.”
“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how cold you sound?”
“I don’t care. She can fool you, but she damn sure isn’t fooling me.”
“Stop! Enough already!” she shouted, giving voice to her anger. Who did Dante think he was? How dare he speak to her with disdain and disrespect. “This isn’t about Lourdes. This is about you being a control freak! That’s why you have two high-powered jobs, why you work insane hours and why you’re mad Renegade wants me to be in his music video. You’re not happy unless you’re calling the shots and telling everyone else what to do. But I won’t let you or anyone else control me. I’m my own boss, my own woman, and you can’t run my life.”
The desk phone rang, drawing her gaze across the room. Jordana hoped Dante answered it, so she could leave him and his bad attitude in her dust, but he didn’t.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing, because if you can treat the mother of your child like crap there’s no telling what you’ll do to me. After all, I’m just the hired help.”
Surprise covered his face, and sadness flickered in his eyes. He looked at her for a long, terse moment. He didn’t speak. Just stared, as if they were strangers meeting for the first time.
“Get out, and don’t come back.”
“With pleasure,” she shot back.
Dante pointed at the office door. “I want you out of my estate now.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I promised Matteo I’d take him to the movies, and unlike you, I always keep my word.” Calmly, despite her trembling legs, she opened the door and fled the room. Jordana wanted to run, to get as far away from Dante as she could, but she didn’t have the strength it required. She felt drained, depleted, as if she’d gone twelve rounds with a champion boxer, and it took all her strength to climb the staircase. Her vision was blurry, but she strode down the hall into her bedroom and collapsed against the door. Only then, when Jordana was alone in the darkness, did she let the tears flow.
Chapter 18
Dante heard the doorbell chime, suspected it was Markos banging on his door like a deranged lunatic, but he didn’t get up from his chair. Kept his feet propped up on the coffee table, Corona in hand, Italian rap music blaring on the stereo. His brother was doing his daily rounds, checking up on him, but Dante wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. Not today. Not after everything he’d been through since Jordana left.
Dante dragged a hand down the length of his face and massaged the back of his neck. He was beat, dog tired, and would do anything for a good night’s sleep. It had been the longest week of his life, and the more Markos badgered him about reuniting with Jordana, the guiltier he felt about kicking her out. She was the woman he’d been waiting his whole life for, without a doubt the smartest, most beautiful female he’d ever seen, and he’d tossed her out of his house. Jordana wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth, even though others were, and he respected her for that. What he didn’t respect was her joining forces with Lourdes. They were supposed to be a team. Best friends. Husband and wife. But a week after their breakup he still couldn’t understand why she’d betrayed him.
The banging grew louder.
“Leave me alone,” he grumbled. “Worry about your own damn life for once.”
Glancing at his watch, he wondered why Markos was on his doorstep instead of annihilating opposing counsel in court. But he thanked his lucky stars his brother had lost his spare key months earlier, or he’d have no choice but to listen to his god-awful advice. Markos showed up at his estate every night, claiming he was worried about him, but Dante was tired of his impromptu visits, his know-it-all attitude and his incessant questions about Jordana.
For that reason, he ignored the chiming doorbell. Jordana was gone, she wasn’t coming back, and
that was that. Yesterday, within seconds of arriving, Markos implored him to call her, begged him to make things right, but Dante refused. Hell no. Jordana should be calling him. He wasn’t the one who’d betrayed her, who’d plotted and schemed with her ex behind her back, and it would be a cold day in hell before he apologized. Forget that. They were over, and the sooner his annoying, meddlesome brother realized it, the better. Thinking about his conversation with Markos last night while they played Xbox in the media room caused his blood to boil.
“Bro, I’m worried about you,” he’d said, his expression and his tone filled with concern. “You’re exhibiting all the classic signs of depression. You’re not sleeping—”
“I’m amped up about our guys trip to Tampa this weekend.”
“You’re not eating—”
“I’m doing a cleanse,” he’d answered with a dismissive shrug. “No biggie.”
“And you quit your job—”
“So I can spend more time with Matteo. Sue me for wanting to be a better dad!”
Dante brought the bottle to his lips, and took a swig of his Corona, thinking about the lies he’d told his brother last night. He didn’t tell Markos the truth—that his argument with Jordana had been the driving force behind his decision to leave The Brokerage Group—and he didn’t plan to. He’d submitted his resignation letter three days ago, and every time he remembered Mr. Smirnov’s reaction, how he’d cursed and raged in Russian, Dante knew he’d made the right decision. Now he could devote all of his time and energy to taking Morretti Realty to the next level, and building friendships with influential businessmen such as Mr. Quan. In September he planned to visit the Chinese billionaire in Hong Kong, and this time he was taking Matteo.
I wish Jordana could come, but fat chance of that ever happening, he thought sourly, downing the rest of his drink. She hates me, and I don’t blame her. I messed up, and I’ll never forgive myself for losing the only woman I’ve ever truly loved.
“Dad, get up. Jordana’s at the door, and you have to let her in.”
Snapping to attention, Dante shook off his thoughts, and sprung to his feet. Matteo was standing in the hallway, chocolate stains covering his mouth and hands, and he wore an innocent smile. He was supposed to be packing for his weekend visit to his aunt Chanelle’s house, but it was obvious he was helping himself to the sweets in the pantry. “Matteo, are you sure?
His head bobbed. “Yes. I peeked out the window, and she waved at me.”
Dante sighed in relief. Couldn’t believe his good luck. Deep down, he wanted Jordana back, home where she belonged, and this time when they talked he wasn’t going to lose his temper. He was going to listen, and he promised himself he’d be calm and respectful, no matter what.
“I’m glad Jordana’s home,” Matteo said, licking his fingertips. “I missed her cooking, her bedtime stories and playing soccer with her. It’s so much fun. I always win!”
I miss her, too, li’l man, and I’ll never hurt her again.
Dante raked a hand through his hair and straightened his clothes. He wished he was wearing something nicer than an old Lakers T-shirt, basketball shorts and Nike sandals, but he didn’t have time to change. Marching down the hallway with Matteo at his side, he hoped Jordana was still waiting on the doorstep, and broke into a light jog.
Reaching the foyer, Dante blew out a deep breath. He unlocked the front door, and slowly opened it, taking his time. No sense looking eager. The last thing he wanted was for Jordana to think he’d been sitting in the house for the past week waiting anxiously for her return—even though he had. Dante talked a good game, convinced himself, and Markos, that their breakup was for the best. But the truth was he loved Jordana, always had and always would. He was broken without her.
He expected to see Jordana standing on the doorstep, carrying the Louis Vuitton suitcases she’d left with days earlier, but was shocked to find a stocky Spanish man with a moustache and a slender woman with oversize sunglasses and high cheekbones. She was an older, darker-skinned version of Jordana with the same wild unruly hair, and Dante instantly knew who she was. Shit! What were her parents doing in LA? Did they know he’d kicked her out? Was her dad there to beat him up for hurting his only daughter?
“We’re Jordana’s parents, Fernán Batista and Helene Sharpe. You must be Dante.”
He coughed, to clear the lump in his throat, and nodded. “Yes. Welcome.”
“Hi,” Matteo said brightly, extending a chocolate-stained hand. “I’m Matteo.”
The couple shared a knowing smile, and shook his son’s small gooey hand.
“You’re Jordana’s mom? That means you can cook.”
Helene wore an amused expression. “Who told you?”
“Jordana said you used to make her chocolate-chip waffles when she was a little girl, and they’re my favorite. Can you make me some, too?”
“Matteo, you’re not hungry. You had cereal less than an hour ago.”
“Cereal, Dad, not waffles,” he said, stressing his words. “They’re different.”
“I’d love to cook for you. It would be my pleasure.” Helene turned to Fernán, and shoved her purse into his arms. “Be a dear and take my things to my room. I’m going to make breakfast with my adorable new grandson.”
“Jordana isn’t home,” Dante blurted out.
Fernán gave a curt nod. “That’s fine. We’ll wait.”
You could end up waiting the rest of your lives, he thought sourly.
“Waffle time!”
Off Matteo went, skipping into the kitchen with Helene, leaving Dante alone in the foyer with Jordana’s menacing-looking father.
“We need to talk,” Fernán barked, slamming the front door. “Follow me.”
Follow you? But this is my house!
“Sir, let me show you to the guest cottage first.”
“No, you’re going to tell me where my daughter is, and you’re going to do it now.”
His mind made up, Fernán strode into the living room, sat down in Dante’s favorite chair and gestured for him to have a seat.
Feeling like a delinquent student in trouble with the principal, he sat down on the couch. Dante tried to appear cool, unfazed, but the murderous expression on Fernán’s face made him uneasy. According to Jordana, her dad was an athletic recruiter, but the man looked like a hired assassin. Dante wondered if the recruiter job was just a cover to hide his true profession.
“I’m waiting,” he prompted, cracking his knuckles.
“Sir, like I said earlier, Jordana’s not here.”
“Why not?”
“We had a fight, and she left. I haven’t seen or talked to her since.”
“What happened? Helene says you’re a good guy who’s always looked out for our daughter, so none of this makes sense.” He furrowed his thick eyebrows, as if perplexed, and leaned forward in his chair. “You didn’t do anything stupid like cheat on her, did you?”
“No, never.”
Lines wrinkled his forehead. “You’re sure? I did an online search on you and your family, and it seems you Morretti boys like chasing tail. Any truth to that?”
“I haven’t looked at another woman since we got married, and I won’t. Jordana is the only one for me, and if I can’t have her, I don’t want anyone.”
“Then what are you doing to get her back?”
Dante hung his head. The question made him feel low, made him realize how stupid he’d been. He hadn’t called her because he was too proud to make the first move, but Jordana was worth fighting for. He wanted to make things right while he still had the chance. It wasn’t too late. Not all was lost. He swiped his cell phone off the couch, and punched in Jordana’s number. The call went to voice mail. No surprise. She was angry at him for losing his temper, and Dante didn’t blame her. Remembering the things he’d sa
id made him cringe.
“Helene raised Jordana to be a strong, independent woman, and sometimes I think she did too good a job,” Fernán confessed. “Jordana’s never confided in me about her problems, and it’s been a bone of contention between us for years. I’m her father, but if my professor friend at Drake University didn’t call and tell me about her accident, I never would have known she had been hospitalized or expelled from school.”
Bowled over by the news, Dante sank back in his chair. Questions shot out of his mouth, fast and furious. “What accident? What happened? Why was Jordana kicked out of school?”
“She never told you?”
“Never told me what?”
Fernán coughed into his fist. “It’s not my place to say.”
“Sir, please? I’m lost, and I could use your insight right now.”
His expression was grim, but after several seconds of quiet deliberation he slowly nodded. “Helene loves Jordana and her brothers, Carlito and Raymon, more than anything, but she’s struggled with substance abuse their entire lives. After years of fighting with her to get help, I checked out of the relationship. I wasn’t there for Jordana when she needed me most, and by the time she got to college she had no use for me.”
All of the pieces of the puzzle fit, and suddenly everything made sense. Her burning desire to help Lourdes, why she’d paid for his ex-wife to go to rehab, why she preached forgiveness and acceptance. As a child she’d been caught in the middle of her parents’ tumultuous relationship, and wanted to prevent the same thing from happening to Matteo.
“I’ve held a grudge against Helene for years. I felt her poor choices influenced Jordana, but when she called me last night and told me our baby girl had eloped, it broke my heart.”
