I took Anna home later that night though I wanted her at mine. She had responsibilities, as did I. I had called in a favor during the afternoon while Anna was with Caleb. After saying goodnight a dozen times to my beautiful girl and making sure the alarm was set, I made my way to the meeting. Demetri was due to meet me at the county jail. It was time to talk with Miranda.
I was no stranger to Rikers Island, only this visit I wasn’t in handcuffs with my attorney on my heels. Instead, I was walking with pride and determination right through the front doors. My repeated calls to the police commissioner had kept us from making this visit sooner. It would seem they have a rule for denying a visitation if a prisoner doesn’t want to visit with you. My father taught me long ago that an honest man stands on his principles; no amount of money can sway him. Mr. Matthews was an honest man to the citizens of New York, with the exception of one man, his bookie. Once I found out his little secret, a secret that could ruin him and his career, I put in one last call to him. After our brief conversation and, of course, the exchange of a few dead presidents, the door to Miranda’s cell opened wide.
Each time I’ve had an interaction with her, whether social or in private, she’d been well-groomed. That wasn’t the case on this visit. As I sat at the table, I saw the shell of a woman who used to bring me release or act as a person to confide in, across from me. The orange jumpsuit swallowed her tiny frame. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, much shorter than what I was used to. They’d either made her cut it or it hadn’t been real to begin with. Devoid of any makeup, her face looked old for the first time, so tired and haggard. One thing, which hadn’t changed, was the sadistic smirk she wore on her face. Once the door closed and the officer had left, I turned my attention toward her. I’d come here for answers I knew in my gut she would have.
“Did you get tired of vanilla sex, Nicky?” I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of me today. She knew how disrespectful she was being by referring to me by any portion of my first name. With a smile, I eased back into the metal chair, my left arm dropping behind me while I kept my right relaxed on the table. My eyes never left hers as I raised my index finger in Demetri’s direction, indicating for him to place the photos he’d printed on the table in front of her.
Miranda refused to look at the color images, which told the entire story. Frame by frame the truth stared at her in the face, only she refused to look down. I pointed to the first photo, the one that featured her sitting in the same room with Corey. “Tell me about this. Why were you there?”
Her face was blank, her eyes empty, and her mouth silent, but the smirk she’d worn was long gone. Silence would bring her pain. If she thought for even a moment that by avoiding the answers, I would get angry and walk away, she was mistaken. I hadn’t paid seventy grand to toss my photos down and then walk away.
“Demetri,” I called and relaxed further into my chair. The monster inside me was going to enjoy this.
Demetri rose from his seat in the corner while pulling out a large hunting knife. Miranda kept her poker face, but that would be cashed in soon. In a split second, Demetri had grasped one of her hands, which was handcuffed and chained to the table. He placed the tip of the blade against her pinky finger but his face contorted and he shook his head. “Nah, too easy.” Without a care, Demetri grabbed Miranda’s chin from behind, pulled it up in his direction, and then placed the edge of the blade at her hairline. With his hand covering her mouth, he moved the blade toward him just enough to cause a large line of bright red blood to start running down her face.
Her eyes grew wide as her muffled screams rose around Demetri’s hand. I tapped the table twice, warning Demetri I wanted to give her time to answer my questions. He brought the knife away from her scalp, directly in her line of vision, making certain she saw the blood coating the side of the cold metal.
“Now, you’re going to answer my fucking questions or I’m going to let Demetri remove every inch of that fucking scalp of yours. Scream all the fuck you want to, because no one is going to come through that door for any reason.”
Demetri withdrew his hand and wiped the blood, which had soiled his fingers onto her jumpsuit.
“I won’t ask again. Tell me about this photo.”
Her expression told me everything. Defeated. She’d never thought I could ever be this cold with her, this cruel. But she hadn’t seen how cruel I wanted to be, how much of a cold-hearted bastard I planned to be by the end of the night.
“You think this is about you?” Miranda’s head snapped up, the look on her face cold and just as unforgiving as mine. “You’re such a fucking dick, you think everything is about you.” Like the classy lady she was, she balled up and spit in my direction.
I made no move to avoid the tainted saliva now coating one of the photos. If she wanted to go down like this, who was I to stop her?
“You think just because you’re the son of Antonio Santos that everything is about getting to you, being with you. Well, it isn’t.” She shouted the last three words. “This was never about you or that stupid flower girl you so desperately want to protect.”
Miranda turned her eyes to Antonio, her next words shocking the entire room. “It was about you!” she spit out her confession in his direction. Blood dripped from her scalp to mix with the saliva she’d tried to spit, and dribbled down her chin.
My father held his stance, not allowing Miranda—or any other person in the room—see if her admission had rocked his foundation.
If I wanted to lead this Family, it was time to step up and protect the members of it. I kicked the chair she sat in, startling her so severely she gasped and looked back in my direction. “You look at me,” I shouted. “You keep those cunt eyes of yours on me.”
The tears started to fall as she tried to lower her head.
I kicked her chair again, barking at her with more force, “I said look at me!” Her tears had joined the mix of saliva and blood, which continued to flow. Head wounds did tend to bleed like a motherfucker. Oh, well.
“My Aunt Gia,” she whispered.
“What the fuck does your Aunt have to do with you being in that fucking room?” I shouted pointing to her image on the photo.
“When my dad caught wind of my mom stepping out on him, he decided to have me go stay with my grandmother, only my grandmother couldn’t handle me. So, she sent me to stay with my Aunt Gia.”
Antonio’s gaze was still fixed on her; if he knew what she was talking about, he wasn’t giving any indication.
“Aunt Gia didn’t see me as a problem, and made me feel welcome in her home. She even told me a story about the only man she’d ever loved.” Miranda shifted in her chair and tried to lower her head to wipe her now running nose. I didn’t give a shit if she had snot running into her fucking mouth, the bitch was going to give me some fucking answers.
“Aunt Gia would tell me about how happy this guy made her, how he would give her gifts, and send her love letters. Then, one day she took me into her bedroom closet and showed me his picture. A picture of your father.”
Tapping the picture again. “Does this story have a point, or are you trying to play on my good side, because, bitch, that doesn’t exist.”
“He swore to her he was going to leave his wife and marry her. She told me all about how he helped her get a new place to live while they waited for the divorce to finalize. Her voice was so happy when she talked about how much she loved him.” Miranda’s voice wavered slightly toward the end. It was clear to me she was feeling something real, something deep.
“Miranda, was your Aunt’s last name Marone?” Antonio inquired. There was no emotion in his voice, so there was no way of knowing how he viewed this. Miranda nodded her head. “She showed me a newspaper clipping of the wedding between Antonio and Sophia, said it was a lie because Antonio had proposed to her. She said he called her all the time and assured her Sophia meant nothing.”
My patience was wearing thin. I knew this was a sack of
shit. My dad would never have treated a woman like that.
“When Karla was born my aunt said she gave up hope and became angry. She told me how men used us, and then got rid of us when they were done. She wanted to show me how to turn the tables on them. I vowed to help her get revenge on the man who had broken her heart.”
Antonio took out his phone and began pressing several keys as Miranda continued her story.
“About a week later, I met Anthony. I knew he was stupid enough to help me make what happened to Aunt Gia, right. So I made him think he was going to be a powerful man one day. My plan was perfect, and I would get revenge for both of us. I knew Corey from another guy I had dated, so I called him up. I laid on the charm and met him a few times. We would hook up, and I liked him a lot. It was about a year later that Corey came to my Aunt’s house and agreed to help me with my plan. I knew he was working for the Santos’s, and since we both hated the fuck out of your family, it worked. Corey warned me Anthony had too big of a mouth, and was careless when he had an open pussy before him. So, Corey and I became a closer team. We would keep Anthony around until he wasn’t useful anymore. Corey kept Ari around because she was the token girlfriend. She was perfect in every way, like some real life Mary fucking Poppins. She always kept her mouth shut.” Miranda’s body started to shake as she sniffled.
“Corey knew Ari would give the ring to his dad, and his dad would give it to the first guy who threatened him. He told Anthony if anything ever happened to him, to go to his father’s house and get the ring and money, which was in the back of the house. Anthony was so gullible. The moment Ari left town, he marched right on over there and got the ring.”
The day I’d seen Anthony outside my father’s office came to my mind. I could remember looking at that fucking ring and thinking what a piece of shit it was. I never gave it a second thought as I tossed it back at him, though. Miranda was unaware of our recent trip to New Orleans, and the truth behind the significance of this ring.
“Anthony was so stupid when he tried to give you my fucking ring. When he came home that night, he tossed it on the nightstand and I snatched that fucking thing up.”
I remembered seeing Miranda that night. During my visit, I watched her have sex with four other girls, and then she and two of those girls sucked me off while the other two continued on.
“It’s all a nice story, Miranda, a bestseller if you could find a good publisher, but we all know Corey died in a tragic car crash on the side of an overpass.” I motioned for Demetri to continue cutting her fucking scalp off.
Miranda’s eyes grew wide with Demetri’s approach. Pure panic threading her tone, she yelled, “Corey isn’t dead.”
No sooner had the words hit my ears, than my cell phone went off. Pulling it from my pocket, I received a warning message that an alarm had been tripped. Opening the app revealed an image, which stilled my breath. A man, one who’s death sentence would be carried out in the next half hour, had his hands on my Anna. Her eyes were full of fear as he jerked her away from the back door.
“Go, I’m right behind you,” my father spoke as I was shooting out of the chair and out the door with Demetri and Marco on my heels.
“Demetri, I wanna know this fucker’s name!” I tossed my phone into his lap and hit the accelerator of my car. Time had become my enemy, dragging when I needed it to pass, and speeding like a bat out of hell when I wasn’t paying attention. Demetri’s fingers were flying across my screen while Marco held on for dear life in the backseat. Uncle Carmine warned me long ago to avoid calling attention to myself, never give the police a reason to pull me over. That advice was placed on hold while I pushed my car to its limits.
“Boss,” Demetri drew out my title, disbelief in his tone. “The motherfucker touching Anna,” he turned his head to look at me, “Is Corey fucking White.”
COREY WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR pushing past me, his foot crushing the already broken glass scattered beneath our feet. He walked into my home like he owned the place. Picking up a small trinket Sophia had decorated the bookshelf with; he turned it around in his hand before shoving it in his jacket pocket. It would seem death hadn’t corrected all wrongs after all.
Not bothering to close the door, I turned around to watch a ghost. He couldn’t be real, and I questioned what was in the wine I’d consumed. Corey Winters was dead and buried. I had attended his funeral; I’d seen his casket placed in the mausoleum while the entire town watched. Mr. Conway had commented on how—
An epiphany slammed into me: Corey’s funeral had been closed casket. The authorities had “identified” him with a portion of his car, claiming the fire had burned so fierce even his teeth were destroyed. I stayed firmly planted inside my door, ready to bolt at the slightest hint he was real, and not a result of too much wine.
Corey, with his now-dyed hair and colored contacts, made his way back to me, shut the open door, and took my hand in his. I was defenseless; this was what shock had to feel like, but no, it’s not. This was the same feeling I’d had when we were in Townsend Parish. That feeling of hopelessness and dread, of having no real way out.
“Come, sit with me.”
His voice hadn’t changed, it was still like nails on a chalkboard, and I cringed when he sat beside me.
“What do you have to eat, Ari?” Corey slapped my thigh and then hopped up to go to my kitchen. Taking the breathing bottle of wine in his hand, he tipped it to his mouth. “What is this shit?” He sputtered, spitting the liquid into the sink. “Tastes like elephant piss.” The question was on the tip of my tongue, How would you know what elephant piss tastes like?
“Got any Jack?” he questioned as he looked through my cabinets. In his rummaging he pulled down different boxes and shoved cookies into his mouth. I didn’t dare tell him those cookies were here when I’d moved in, so there was no telling how old they were. Do cookies have an expiration date?
Not finding any booze in my cabinets, he opened my fridge and took out the leftovers I’d placed in there from dinner. He didn’t bother with a plate, or even utensils, as he devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days. After taking his last bite, he let out an enormous belch, which rocked the apartment. It also pulled me out of the fog I had been in.
“Why are you here?” My voice sounded stronger than it should’ve, considering the circumstances. Once my brain had a minute to put the pieces together, it became clear his death had been faked. I wonder if the insurance company will come after me for fraud?
“I’m here because I missed you, and want you with me.” His smile was the same, dishonest and fake. He walked closer to me as he wiped his mouth on a kitchen towel I had left on the counter. “I’ve come to take you home with me.” Standing directly in front of me, he held out his hand in a silent request for me to take it. Fucker was bat shit crazy if he thought I was going to do it.
“Listen, I know this is a shock, but I’m here now so you’re safe. I’m going to marry you just like I said I would. First chance we get, this nasty black hair will go and you’ll go back to my blonde. And what’s this shit on your lip?” he asked smearing my lipstick with his thumb. His eyes bored into mine, but they were all wrong. The brown of his natural eyes bled through the hazel of the contacts. I wanted the richness of Dominick’s.
Corey took my face in his hands, kissed my forehead, and then sat on the sofa beside me. “Do you still have the ring I gave you?” He had to have seen, and felt, that my ring finger was empty. The ring in question was at the bottom of my purse, currently on the top of my dresser in my bedroom. Right next to my cell phone.
“Yes,” I said. My voice was scratchy from all that had happened.
“Good, because we’re going to need it. You see, that ring is special, Ari. It’s not just a sign of my love for you.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across my cheek.
“No, that ring is the key to our future.” Not any more, it isn’t. “W-what do you mean?” We were so close—not by my choice—I felt his breath float across my nose wh
en he inhaled before speaking.
“Well, that ring was made by a friend of mine who’s holding something for me. Something I need to finish a job I started.” His fingers ran up and down my neck. The bile was rising in my throat; his fingers felt all wrong.
“That motherfucker who has been sniffing around you, owes me. I have information, which will cause his little family to fall apart. For a price, a hefty one, he can have all the evidence I possess, though. He pays me, I take you away, and everything will be great.” Again he slapped my thigh.
“What information?” I croaked out.
“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about that. You just get me the ring, I’ll make the arrangements. I know just where that Santos punk is right now. I also know, you know how to get him here in a hurry, so I’ll need your phone as well.”
I wouldn’t let him hurt Dominick or his family. Sophia had given me everything I had now, and I wasn’t going to let someone like Corey take it all away.
“How did you get in here?”
He laughed as he stood up to head back to the kitchen. “Well, that was the tricky part. See, Miranda, and I know you know her…” he turned back around to drop her name, “…she was supposed to get closer to Dominick. But since she’s such a stupid bitch to begin with, she fucked that up. Although, you already know about that… since you were there.” He continued to the kitchen where the clanking of bottles sounded while he dug through my fridge. “So, I studied the shop for a while, took notes, and learned that every day, at eleven in the morning, you get a delivery. I also know that hot little piece of ass you’ve got working for you doesn’t come in until afternoon, and even then she doesn’t put anything away until after closing. I came up with a plan to get into the store where no one would be the wiser.” He grinned, and I swallowed. “I mailed myself here.”
Stolen Secrets Page 29
