AMBER_His to Reclaim_Ruthlessly Obsessed Duet New York Pt. 2

by Theodora Taylor

  I have to work hard to keep my face neutral, because…holy crap. They know more about Peter’s investigation than I do and they even have someone in the D.A.’s office spying on him.

  “So he could pull those Deltano bodies we put in the river tomorrow, and he still wouldn’t have enough to connect me to their murders. Good stuff,” Luca says to Rock. Though his feet have been steadily pounding since I came into the room, he doesn’t seem to be at all out of breath.

  They talk about a few more things, business to pass off to his father.

  ”That was Ambs’ idea, you know,” Luca tells Rock proudly, and an arms meeting with “the Chinese.”

  Luca gives me a lot of unvarnished details, but not quite enough to take back to Peter. And for some reason that fills me with relief as Rock says a short goodbye to the both of us and leaves.

  As soon as the door closes behind him, the sound of feet pounding rubber cedes, and the treadmill whirs to a slow stop.

  “I know what you’re doing,” Luca says.

  I inwardly jolt. Oh God, how did he find out? Was it the phone? Did the housekeeper somehow find it in Naima’s tampon box and report me to Luca? Or maybe—

  “You’re thinking about my connection to those bodies in the river. Wondering if I sicced Stone on the Deltano cousins—those were the guys who beat you up.”

  “Yes, I remember,” I say softly as the “caught” feeling is replaced by the vicious memory of that assault. “But I—”

  I stop, the lawyer in me not wanting to say the rest of what I’m thinking.

  I hear Luca step off the treadmill, one rubber sole pressing into the floor and then the other. He walks across the room, his footsteps getting closer and closer until his voice is right in front of me. “Finish that sentence for me, Ambs.”

  I consider a lie, but then I say, “I don’t think Stone did it. I think he does most of your dirty work, most of your killing, but this was personal. And when it’s personal, you don’t send in Stone. You do it yourself.

  “Yeah, I do it myself,” he says.

  This is it. Really it. With a sickening thud, I understand that this is the moment I’ve been waiting for these last two weeks. However, there’s no joy in my heart as I reach out to grab it. “And did you?” I ask quietly. “Did you kill Greggi Deltano sons and his nephews yourself?”

  Sighted people often claim that blind people have better senses of taste, touch, smell, and sound. But that’s not true. Our other four senses are nearly the same as any sighted persons. We just pay more attention to the senses we can still access. They mean more to us than they do to people with all five.

  Which is why I’m incredibly aware of how still Luca has become in this moment. The fact that I can’t hear his breath or pick his scent out like I did Rock’s. For a long time, Luca gives off none of the clues that would let a blind person know he’s there.

  But then his voice comes at me out of the stillness vacuum. “Fuck, you make me wish I still had it in me to lie to you. But that’s not how we’re doing it this time. This time we start with a clean slate, no dishonesty between us ever again.”

  He inhales, audible and long. Then he says, “Yeah. I killed Deltano’s sons myself, and those dumb fuck cousins who beat you. You’re right. For business I send Stone. But for personal I do it myself. Deltano’s sons had to pay for their father’s crimes and those cousins of theirs…they hurt you. They killed our baby. And I couldn’t let them go on living after that.”

  I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until it explodes out of me at his confession. Don’t realize I’m speaking until the “Luca…” falls out of my mouth.

  “I know,” he says. “I know you don’t like that about me. That when something hits me or mine, I don’t just hit back, I kill. But that’s who I am. I don’t forgive. I can’t forgive. Can’t forget. Especially when it comes to you. Not even myself…”

  His voice breaks off rough, and I sense I’m not the only one stamping back tears in this charged moment.

  The bench depresses, and his next words come at me from my right side. “I’m not apologizing for any of the men I killed. But I am sorry. Sorry I didn’t take the necessary steps to protect you after I ended Deltano’s sons. Sorry that I wasn’t wise enough to keep the repercussions of what I did far from your door.”

  “So you murdered four men.” I pull in a deep breath. Knowing what I have to do…and hating it. But nonetheless, I ask. “What else did you do? What are you doing now?”

  A dark beat. “You really want to know.”

  No, I don’t. But out loud I say, “No dishonesty between us ever again. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Yes, that was what he said, and, after a beat of hesitation, Luca tells me everything about the 21st-century update the Ferraro Family has undergone under his leadership. The internet gambling, drug trafficking, extortion, murder for hire, and tons and tons of money laundering—basically everything they used to do but expanded to international partnerships beyond Italy and, of course, the web. Well, everything except women.

  Luca kept the nightclubs but let the upscale brothels go as a pure business decision. They couldn’t be used to wash dirty money, and they didn’t turn that much of a profit compared to the family’s other businesses. And after several busts of high-profile madams, he decided their influence dividends just wasn’t worth the possible legal repercussions. So he merged the brothels into the nightclub arm of the family’s money laundering business.

  As he talks, it becomes more than apparent that his dual degree was worth the investment. Luca’s reorganization of his family’s business has cut the messy human factor exponentially, while also manipulating international laws to hide hundreds of millions in accounts around the world. Yet, Luca himself has technically done none of this. He never talks directly to anyone but Rock and Stone, who in turn, give all the orders.

  And yes, I’m digging when I ask him follow-up questions, but I have to admit I’m more than a little fascinated by his terrorist cell meets international finance law methods of doing business. I’m not sure my brother would’ve ever been able to build a case against him if he didn’t have an inside witness…namely, me to rat him out.

  “This is a lot,” I say, voice weak for more reasons than one when he’s done. “A…a lot to process.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “But Ambs…”

  The bench shifts under his weight, and I sense him turning fully toward me. “I’ve arranged it so that nothing I do will ever touch you or the baby. And this second chance you’ve given me…given us. I need you to know, I’m not going to waste it. I’ll spend the rest of my life protecting you. Loving you. I’m promising that to you.”

  Tenderness...disgust…affection…anger…understanding…regret…and the other supervillain emotion that’s been stalking me all along. All these feelings spark inside my chest, only to fizzle into my stomach. It’s all so confusing. But Luca is waiting, and I know he’s going to start asking me questions I can’t answer if I don’t respond.

  So I turn my head in the direction of his voice and choke out, “Okay,” hoping that will suffice.

  Apparently, it does, because Luca lets out a huge exhale of relief like he’s received a pardon.

  “Okay,” he repeats, one hand curling around my neck and pulling my face in until it’s resting against his. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, with our lips just grazing. “I love you, baby. Never stopped. Even when I wanted to.” His voice is rough against my mouth.

  “Okay,” I say again, the very same words burning inside of me, even though I wish to God they weren’t.

  Maybe he hears all that unsaid. “Okay,” he whispers again, repeating my puny two syllables as if they’re the very echo of his own emphatic declaration.

  Then he pulls me in for a kiss, swirling my lies and my truth until I don’t know which is which, and “Somethin’ Stupid” starts playing inside my head. Mid-song. Like something that was never entirely turned off. Just paused.

&nb
sp; 11

  Thanks For The Memory

  “Amber? Amber? Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.”

  Dr. Glendaver sounds genuinely concerned. Probably because I’ve spaced out in the middle of my 34-week ultrasound.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I was just…thinking…” about all the ways I’m about to betray the father of my unborn child. “Is everything okay with the baby?”

  “Oh, everything is just perfect,” Dr. Glendaver answers enthusiastically, her southern accent, pretty as the smell of jasmine in the spring. It’s still hard for me not to picture a genteel blonde when she speaks, even though Naima told me that she’s black— “like super dark blue-black” after our first appointment.

  Dr. Glendaver launches into a list of measurements and other numbers, pertaining to my health. All good, including my blood pressure. Plus, the baby seems to be in a good position.

  We talk some more about my birth plan, and she carefully asks if my friend, Naima, or “the father” will be attending the birth.

  I want my answer to come out like an “of course,” but instead my voice hits a wistful note as I say, “Naima.”

  Because, thanks to what Luca told me this morning, he’ll be awaiting trial by the time our baby is born. As he should be, considering that he’s a killer and a kidnapper who would have kept me here against my will, even if I hadn’t tricked him into believing I had a change of heart.

  I know calling Peter with all the intel I’ve been given is the right thing to do. So…why do I feel so guilty?

  “Any problems sleeping at night?” Dr. Glendaver asks.

  I inwardly jolt, before realizing her question is sincere.

  “No, no problems sleeping,” I assure her shakily. Which is actually true. Luca’s hand immediately finds my pussy if I get too restless in the night. Basically, orgasming me back to dreamland. So, sure, I’m getting less z’s than I would if I still had access to sleeping on my back. But I’ve also been getting deeper and more restful sleep than, like, ninety percent of the moms on the blind pregnancy forum I became slightly addicted to before my current imprisonment cut me off from the internet.

  “Great,” Dr. Glendaver says. “And, ah…I’m not saying this applies, but around this point, I usually tell my patients that having sex is completely fine. You can have intercourse all the way up to your due date. Just make sure not to lie on your back for too long.”

  “Okay,” I say, discovering that despite my hard-wired cynicism, I’m still capable of blushing when my cheeks heat.

  She must be repacking her medical bag to leave because there’s an unzipping sound followed by a bunch of metal clinks. “I should also tell you I’m leaving tomorrow for a small trip. Only for a few days, so I’ll be back well before you deliver, and even if I’m not, Dr. Acharya, Manhattan Mercy’s Head of Obstetrics, is on-call just for your birth, so you’ll be in excellent hands, no matter what.”

  My heart beats a little faster at the thought of this baby being delivered by another doctor. Especially one I’ve never met. Sure, I only met her a couple of months ago, but I like Dr. Glendaver. She’s friendly and has a sweet accent. And, unlike my original OB, she hasn’t quizzed me about my plans for taking care of this baby. Like she has Child Protective Services on speed dial just in case she doesn’t like my blind mom answer.

  I’m still not sure how any of this will turn out after this afternoon’s phone call to Peter. But no matter what, I want Dr. Glendaver to be the one who delivers this baby. That’s the one thing—pretty much the only thing—I know for sure right now.

  Perhaps sensing my worry, Dr. Glendaver says, “And if you have any questions or concerns, don’t you be afraid to get in contact with me while I’m away.”

  “I wouldn’t want to bother you while you’re on vacation,” I answer, feeling silly and selfish for my anxiety about her leaving.

  “Oh, trust me, it most certainly is not a vacation,” she mutters. “Besides my patients are never a bother. Please believe that and don’t hesitate to call.”

  I wonder about, but don’t ask, what the trip is for then. Just like I’ve been wondering about, but not necessarily asking about her whiskey last name.

  But we both have secrets, and mine could get her in all sorts of trouble. So, I keep my questions firmly lodged inside my mind and force myself to smile as I say, “Have a good trip, Dr. Glendaver.”

  “So, do you have something for me or what?” Peter answers my call, sounding even more clipped than usual. As if he already knows this entire conversation is a waste of his dwindling time to break his case.

  Neither my sweater nor the tiny fro I’ve grown since coming here does much to protect me against the roof’s whipping wind. It’s even colder now that it’s February. And I can feel the crunch of snow underneath my feet as I shift back and forth to work up some heat. I shiver, almost wishing my answer to Peter’s curt question could be the one he’s obviously expecting.

  When I made the cynical decision to get closer to Luca, to re-engage his trust, I hadn’t thought about this possible outcome. The one where I didn’t just enjoy returning to Luca’s bed, but also found myself falling for him all over again. Or that our rebooted relationship would feel like a beloved pet long lost, and suddenly returned.

  These feelings of happiness and contentment are false—I know that. But nonetheless, they warm my heart, and for a moment I consider what if…?

  But no, that’s the Somethin’ Stupid magnet talking.

  With a shake of my head, I place a hand on my now huge belly. Only six weeks to go until this child is born, and that’s why I’ve got to remember all the reasons I need to not just break out of here, but also get reinstated in WITSEC until Luca is sentenced and behind bars.

  Because the thing is, it wasn’t just love Luca confessed to me this morning, but the deaths of four men along with his oversight of countless crimes. He’s a remorseless killer and a magnetic lover. Unbelievably tender and unapologetically violent at the same time. Not just a man in love, but a criminal mastermind, who would do unspeakable things to keep me by his side. Whether I wanted to be there or not.

  No, I have to go through with the original plan, I think, stroking my belly, even if it feels like I’m breaking my own heart.

  “Yes, I have something,” I tell Peter, pushing at the words to get them out.

  “What? Tell me.” Peter’s voice doesn’t sound nearly so clipped now.

  “He, ah…gave me a full confession to all his criminal activities and at least four counts of first-degree murder. The murders and kidnapping charges alone will be enough to put him away for the rest of his life. And I also learned they have someone in the D.A.’s office on the Ferraro Family payroll. I can give you everything you need to make this case, but you’ve got to extract me. Sooner. Not later. Before this baby is born.”

  I wait for his response with my heart in my throat. Wondering if he believes me. Or if I want him to believe me. God, I’m just a guilty and confused mess, and I’ve never felt further from the no-nonsense lawyer Luca forced to leave her old life behind.

  But then Peter says, “Fine. Extraction’s happening next Monday, as soon as Ferraro leaves for work.”

  12

  These Foolish Things

  One week. I’ve got one week left with Luca. One week to pretend like we’re all glued up and back together again. Like I haven’t used Luca’s act of faith and affection as the key to getting out of his luxury prison. One week to listen to “Somethin’ Stupid” on repeat inside my guilty and confused head.

  “Amber…. Earth to Amber.”

  I snap out of my daze later that night to hear Naima say, “I think your stew’s burning, girl.”

  I do a smell and an aural check. Strong odor, too angry sizzle. Crap, she’s right.

  Cooking blind on a stove top is an all remaining sensory hands on deck sort of activity. But I’d completely spaced out for the second time today.

  I curse under my breath as I turn down the burner
, and hate that I have to ask Naima, “How is it?” because I hadn’t tracked the dish as closely as I should have.

  Soft footsteps come around to my side of the island and stop beside me. “It’s fine,” she answers, after a few moments. “Maybe just add like a half cup of water, then turn it all the way down to simmer, and you’ll be good to go.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “You’re a dinner saver for sure.”

  “You seem really distracted. Are you all right?” she asks, her hand coming up to my shoulder. “If you want, I can stay here instead of going out with Rock tonight.”

  “Uh, no you can’t,” Rock tells her from the other side of the island, where he’s sitting at his usual counter stool. “Not unless you clear it with Luca first.”

  Naima’s hand tightens on my shoulder, obviously irritated. It can’t be easy for her, having her every decision monitored by my ruthless ex-husband. But Rock’s right, it’s entirely up to Luca whether she can stay behind tonight. Reason 2 million and 9 why I shouldn’t feel guilty about the deal I’ve made with Peter.

  “Seriously, I’m fine.” I pat Naima’s hand before moving to the drawer to the left of the stove to grab a measuring cup. “It’s just pregnancy brain.”

  “Maybe you should start letting me make dinner,” Naima says. “Not because you’re disabled, just because it feels crazy to watch somebody as pregnant as you doing all the cooking when I’m right here.”

  “Yeah,” Rock says, getting right back on Naima’s helpful page now that she’s not trying to violate one of his boss’s rules. “And I know Luca wouldn’t care if you wanted to start ordering out. Just tell me what you want.”

  “No, I like cooking, and unlike tying my own shoes, it’s something I can still do,” I answer, easily locating the stainless-steel cup with “1 cup 250mL” etched into its handle. “Let me have this, okay?”