Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2)

by Laura Spinella

  Not long after, Zeke stood in a hospital room, where he presented a stunned Ian and Nora with the ultimate baby gift—a winning lottery ticket for $200,000. In his sister’s arms was his nephew, Kieran, born that morning.

  For the first time since rifling through Peter Ellis’s ghost gifts, Zeke felt no guilt. He even reasoned out his thievery: Nora’s troubles were the reason he’d discovered the ghost gifts in the first place. Maybe Peter Ellis had even seen to it from afar. Zeke also vowed that was it. He wouldn’t push his luck, swearing on a dead man’s soul that his dubious association with ghost gifts had come to an end.

  All was well for the next month; Ian righted the restaurant books, and Zeke considered his options. They ran the gamut, from slow-cooking revenge to how he might live a life not subsidized by ghost gifts. He was mid soul-searching, getting to know his new nephew, when one of Kieran’s other uncles called. Jude Serino insisted that Zeke pay a visit to his Rancho Mirage home in California. Zeke hung up the phone with a bellyful of foreboding. He wondered if it was similar to how Peter Ellis felt after noting an avalanche to come.

  Since being hired by Serino Enterprises, Zeke had never been to Jude’s private estate, tucked into an elite edge of California resort land. The idea of being invited to his target’s home had felt surreal. Now that he was there, Zeke’s reaction hadn’t changed. The grandeur of Jude’s everyday life was truly disturbing. So much so that upon arriving, Zeke had to say, “Uh, what? I didn’t hear you,” to Jude as a burly manservant ushered him into an office the size of Nora and Ian’s first floor.

  “I said, glad you could make the trip.” Jude sat behind a mahogany desk, his dark hair freshly coiffed. Behind him was a panoramic scene: pristine grounds, movie-star-grade pool, all bordered by a mountain view that looked as if it’d been placed there for Jude’s enjoyment.

  Zeke’s resentment ran as wide as the San Jacinto range, with memories as far-reaching. All this, and where are my parents? Instinct dominated. Diving over the desk and choking Jude to death suddenly seemed urgent and appropriate. Zeke glanced over his shoulder at the dual gorillas standing guard. He wouldn’t make it past knocking the smug look off Jude’s face. He twisted back toward Jude, who was telling him to take a seat. But on the turn, Zeke’s eye caught on several easels, each showing off a map.

  “Ah, our newest Serino project. I’d be glad to show it to you.”

  “Opening casinos in all those states?” Zeke squinted at the maps. “Gambling’s not legal in Pennsylvania, not unless you found a local Indian tribe to front you.”

  Jude laughed. “No. Nothing of the kind. Casinos are actually the smallest part of our holdings. But I understand your assumption. Working in Bruno’s part of the business, those are the assets with which you’re most familiar. Overall, we own a diverse portfolio that we like to keep fluid.” He smiled. “Also keeps the IRS guessing.” He walked toward the easels. “These are projected sites for upscale residential communities. We’ve entered a new century, Zeke, and the market is ripe for this kind of growth. Bruno and I have decided to take the plunge. Where to build,” he said, “is an ongoing discussion. My brother is partial to the East Coast, naturally. He’s already built himself a spec home in Massachusetts.” Jude pointed at maps that also displayed Maine and Pennsylvania.

  “And you?” Zeke asked.

  Jude stepped closer to the map. “I’m drawn to warmer climates. I have my eye on land in Florida.” He tapped his finger on Arizona. “Even more interesting, there’s some abandoned property here, a place called Santa Claus, Arizona. I could buy it for pennies on the dollar. Interesting how brothers can differ—at least when it comes to weather.” He guffawed. “We’ve actually discussed making it a competition, see which of us can build a more profitable neighborhood.”

  He pointed to a tufted leather chair. “Care for a drink, maybe a cigar?” Zeke sat, and Jude opened a box on his desk; inside were his trademark Arturo Fuente cigars. Zeke was familiar with them, having seen the remnants after board and dinner meetings. With their distinctive red-and-gold bands, the eighty-five-dollar-apiece beauties, imported from the Dominican Republic, were hard to miss.

  “Uh, no thanks. Neither.” Zeke patted his empty shirt pocket, the place a once-standard pack of Camels lived. “I quit a long time ago. Slipped back into the habit, quit again last year. Like to keep it that way.”

  “Better for your health, I’m sure.” Jude snapped closed the cigar case. “Interesting path we’ve traveled here.”

  “How so?” Zeke asked, though Jude’s observation did mirror the thought in his head.

  “Before your sister married Ian, you did what for Bruno exactly?”

  “Well, there’s about a dozen bosses between me and your brother, but I was a floater between your Aspen resort and Vegas casino. I worked my way up to assistant management for two properties, go where I’m needed.”

  “And now?”

  “Same thing. I wasn’t expecting a promotion because my sister married your half-brother, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting anything of the kind.” Jude held up a hand. “To be honest—”

  “Honest?” Zeke’s tone strained.

  “Yes. Honest.” Jude tipped his head diffidently. “What I’d like to know is the details of how you managed to fish young Ian out of his latest financial debacle.”

  Jude turned a silver pen over and over on his desktop, a tiny motion that struck Zeke as precision filled. The sight drifted into a hypnotic fantasy: Zeke ramming the pen through Jude’s neck, seeing what sort of blood and darkness oozed out. He blinked and reverted to the conversation.

  “Ian,” Jude was saying. “He has a few brag-worthy traits—if you’re his mother. Among them is the inability to maintain a lie. Bruno and I, we knew about the restaurant books. It didn’t take more than a brusque conversation for Ian to admit that you bailed him out. Moreover, he said you did it with a lucky lottery win.” He stared at Zeke for a moment. “Ian was fascinated. So am I.”

  “Just fortunate timing.”

  “And an explanation I wouldn’t believe if I read it in a blockbuster novel.”

  Zeke stared back and grappled for the grifter persona he’d relied on since he was fourteen. “Too bad you can’t disprove it.”

  “And perhaps I wouldn’t try, except for one thing. When Ian gets nervous, he babbles.” Jude rolled his dark eyes. “When he sank the cruise line, your sister’s husband couldn’t supply us with enough details. Not that it changed anything. But this time, it’s you Ian went on about.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Apparently, it’s Dublin family lore. When it comes to money and gambling, the luck of the Irish follows you like a leprechaun’s shadow.”

  Zeke fidgeted, recrossing his legs.

  “So we’re clear, I don’t believe in luck. Not the kind that made your nominal, if not numerous, bets on Miami’s Flagler Dog Track a sure thing. I also don’t believe luck had you placing wagers on next year’s Super Bowl champs, preseason through the playoffs. Never a miss. Not once. We have them all on camera, documented.” He pointed the pen at Zeke, who suddenly wished he hadn’t been so lazy. Lazy enough to place bets at the Serino casino instead of venturing to the competition across the street. “I also understand, according to Ian, this lottery win wasn’t your first.”

  “So I’ve had more than my share of money luck. I could tell you a story or two about things—times and places—where I wasn’t so lucky.”

  Jude motioned to the bar, and one of the men near the door supplied a drink to Zeke. “Please go on,” Jude said. “I’d like to learn more about you. Perhaps my brother hasn’t taken full advantage of your . . . skills.”

  Jude’s thoughts on luck were needles to Zeke’s skin. Revealing his greatest hardship—his murdered parents—rode the tip of his tongue. The cool grifter in him rattled, and he dove without forethought into a subject that was a close second to that stinging memory. “Luck didn’t win me the girl. A
ll the money in the world won’t change that fact.”

  Jude bobbed his head, sleek jet-black waves of hair riding along. “Was she one of our Vegas girls? Maybe I can talk to her.”

  “No. Nothing that simple. Nothing you could touch—ever. Years ago.” Zeke wasn’t sure why he expounded on Aubrey; maybe he only wanted Jude to see that he was a flesh-and-blood man. “Nora and I spent a chunk of our unique youth traveling with a carnival. Heinz-Bodette troupe, maybe you heard of them?”

  “Carnivals. Wouldn’t be an interest of mine or Bruno’s.”

  “I guess not. Anyway, the owner’s granddaughter and I . . . well, it worked out until it didn’t. Aubrey’s better off. She married some computer genius. She, um . . . she wasn’t the type that was going to end up with a carnie hand.”

  “What does background matter when you have such an ability to provide? Or, if we use your explanation, lead a life jam-packed with such implausible luck.”

  “Beyond some money, I’m not so fortunate.”

  The two men eyeballed one another, and for a hair-trigger second, Zeke was tempted. He wanted to blurt out how misfortune didn’t begin to describe his parents’ deaths; how he held Jude responsible. Instead, Zeke drew the glass to his lips, and Scotch older than the memory slid down his throat. He calmed and kept his focus on the endgame.

  Jude was quiet, sipping his drink. “You must be a hell of a card player.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Unlucky in love, lucky at cards . . .” He brushed a hand over the leg of his slacks. “I can relate to that.”

  “To my life? I highly doubt it.”

  “I spent a decade abroad—University of Zurich. I met a woman there . . . Tilda. She was my . . . what did you call her, Aubrey?”

  The glass squealed in Zeke’s hand; he wanted to rip Jude’s tongue from his throat for saying her name.

  Oblivious, Jude continued on. “It was my intention to never leave her or Europe.”

  “Interesting,” Zeke said, relishing the fleeting chance to dig into Jude’s wound. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d admit to, a woman throwing you over. Is that your sad story? Did Tilda leave you?”

  “In a way.” Jude took a larger sip of his drink. “She died. Cancer.” Jude’s dark eyes stared past Zeke, aiming emotion at the far wall of his office. He tilted his head, his brow furrowing as if absorbing a sharp pain. Then he looked back to Zeke. “Tilda had an Ingrid Bergman accent and she was twice as beautiful. Kenzo Flower. It was the perfume she wore. Tilda smelled like a powder compact, filled with the mysteries of the Far East.” Then, like the snap of a compact, nostalgia vanished. “When the treatments ran out, when she died, I couldn’t find a reason to remain abroad. Eventually, I returned to the States. Of course, it’s all many years ago.”

  Zeke didn’t offer sympathies. Tilda might earn the tally mark of unhappy history. None of it was an excuse for a blood-soaked day in Chicago that changed his and Nora’s lives forever.

  “Seems we’ve both lived through unfortunate circumstances,” Jude said. “I suspect, given Aubrey and Tilda’s presence, we might have turned out to be other men.”

  Zeke snorted under his breath. He did not imagine Jude Serino making a statement with which he would agree. “Was there a point to your invitation? I take it you didn’t summon me here to discuss old girlfriends—dead or alive.”

  “You’re right. Let me get to my point. The reason I asked you here is because I want you to come work directly for me. Your system. I want in on it.”

  “System?”

  “Yes. I believe I’ve made clear my disbelief in the ‘luck of the Irish.’ Ian, your sister, they’re a shot glass short on common sense. Yet between them is a well of naïveté.”

  Zeke couldn’t argue.

  “You and I . . . we’re different. Wiser souls.”

  “If a grifter’s soul makes me wiser . . .”

  “However you explain it.” Jude sniffed, as if “grifter” might come with an odor that had so far escaped him. “According to Ian, from what I’ve ascertained, your wagers are never wrong. Wisely, you’ve managed to fly your system under the radar, keep the IRS at bay. Impressive.”

  Zeke didn’t respond.

  “That said, I’d like to change your position with Serino Enterprises. Move you from the humdrum, clock-punching world my brother runs to mine. Between my more intriguing ventures and what seems to be your unique abilities . . .” He waved a hand across the desktop separating the two of them.

  Zeke snickered. “You mean supply whatever information you think I have for your own use.”

  “I’m a businessman. I look for opportunities. I like the one you represent.”

  And for as much as he wanted access to Jude’s inner circle—the kind even related by marriage couldn’t get him—Zeke wouldn’t use Aubrey’s father. He rose from the chair. “Go to hell. Even if I did have a system, I don’t owe you a single fucking thing.”

  “No. But Ian does.”

  Zeke, who’d turned to leave, pivoted. “He owed you 200K; he repaid it.”

  “Yes. For the restaurants.” He recrossed his legs, adjusting his tie. “Did you really think Bruno and I would simply absorb the cruise line mess? We were generous in our positioning of Ian. We’re not a charity. Ian’s known for nearly two years now that the debt is his.”

  “What sort of debt?”

  “The kind that runs seven digits deep. Your brother-in-law assured us he’d repay it on a schedule.” Jude opened a folder. “Care to take a look at how much he’s repaid so far?”

  Zeke stared at a stream of red numbers that appeared endless.

  “Amazingly, that’s not the worst of it. Turns out, poor liar is a brag-worthy trait when it comes to Ian. Bad gambler is the one I called you here to discuss. Ian’s been to every casino in Vegas, attempting to put his own gaming systems to work, all with good intention, I’m sure.”

  “He tried to win back what he owes you.”

  “You know what they say about desperate men. Unfortunately, what he owes us has turned into what he owes them.” Jude slid a paper from beneath the pile. “Casino debt, bookie debt. It’s quite staggering, and it’s due—now.”

  Caught between the exit and Jude, Zeke felt the room close in around him.

  “And while I’m sure your compassion for Ian is finite, I suspect you’d go a great distance to protect your sister from any unpleasantness.”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  “Would you like to keep it that way? From what Ian’s confided, her mettle, ability to cope, is somewhat questionable.”

  “And where does the blame—” He stopped.

  “I imagine you’d very much like to protect her future, and her son’s. You can keep Ian’s burden from becoming hers, keep the roof Nora loves over her head, and her husband in one piece.”

  “And if I had a system, why wouldn’t I use it to get Nora and Ian out of a bind myself? What do I need you for?”

  “Quite simply? Time and money. You don’t have the capital to draw from. Do you think I’d call you in here without knowing your exact net worth?” He rose from his chair and strode toward Zeke. “Nowhere near the value that will help out Ian. Even if you started placing larger bets tomorrow, you couldn’t make up the deficit—not that fast. Not without drawing suspicion from every casino in town. Of course, maybe you could put your lottery skills to work—I’d be curious to see what that might yield.”

  So would Zeke. The largest win in a dozen years had been the one he’d just handed Nora and Ian. Ten thousand, or even twenty-five, it wouldn’t put a dent in what Ian owed. “I get it. In exchange for making good on Ian’s debt, you’d want in on my system—assuming I have one.”

  “See that. I knew one of you Dublins was a clever thinker.”

  Zeke teetered on a precipice. He was trapped between the man whose father murdered his parents and the monstrous debt it looked like he’d soon owe in Ian’s name.

  “Other than repayment, what’s in
it for you? Like you don’t have enough Monopoly money, courtesy of Serino Enterprises.”

  Jude turned away and paused at the wet bar, pouring himself a drink. Standing at the window, glass in hand, he pointed at the expansive view. “I’m not a mountain climber, Zeke. That’s not my adrenaline rush.” He turned back. “I don’t skydive or do drugs beyond an occasional social drink. I’ve no desire to invent a better light bulb. I don’t consider women conquests.” He sipped his drink. “The only one I ever wanted is dead.”

  Zeke nodded, aware of Jude’s marriage résumé—two, both short and disposable.

  “But I do have a penchant for inexplicable chance.” He shrugged. “I enjoy the rush of winning. I love the idea of controlling fortune beyond common means, for me . . . perhaps my many acquaintances. What you’ve done with your ability . . . your system, it’s rather . . . one-note. I want to expand upon it.”

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  Jude furrowed his wide brow. “Then I suspect Nora’s future isn’t looking quite so bright, her fragile happiness in jeopardy. Better still, understand that her fate lies solely in your hands. What are you going to do about it?”

  Zeke stepped forward; he could feel Jude’s assistants behind him. He picked his drink up from the desk. Striding to the same view Jude enjoyed, Zeke swallowed a burning gulp. “I’d want conditions.”

  Jude offered a sideways glance and refocused on the scenery. “Name them.”

  “If I come over to your side of the business, I want a substantial position, an opportunity above the fray and of value. One with more than a nominal income. Got it?”

  Jude’s brow remained wrinkled. He too sipped his drink. “Agreed. If that’s what you want, I have no issue gainfully employing you. Choose your own lane within our various businesses.” Zeke glanced over his shoulder, looking at maps that showed the way to the next big Serino project. Upscale residential living; at least it would keep him out of Vegas.

  “And you’ll put Nora’s house in their name—no note.”

  Jude hesitated. “I will as soon as you earn its value in profit. Not before.” He finished his drink. “You can tack it on to Ian’s debt.” He smiled directly. “We’ll even make it first on the payoff list, just as some added incentive.”