by Eve Langlais
A police file on Galvan had been included in the stack that Gianni had sent to her, but it was one of the slimmer ones and mostly contained incident reports from his younger days when he’d had a penchant for getting into fights after drinking too much. His only interaction with the police since assuming command of the family empire had been in the way of donations to the city specifically earmarked for emergency response units.
Alex’s cynical side wondered if they were more bribe than donation and that was enough for her to move Paolo Galvan from the person of interest column to the primary target column in her mind. The police file contained a photograph of Galvan, dated within the last six months, and she pulled it out now to take a look at it.
She could see that he was a handsome man, strikingly so in fact. He was nearing forty but could easily pass for at least a decade younger, with a lean face that was framed with dark hair and a carefully groomed beard. He exuded such a sense of vitality that he appeared to be in motion even in the still setting of the photograph. He was well–muscled with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, much like a gymnast or a dancer, but that vitality came with a sense of aggressiveness that said he would never have the time or patience for such endeavors.
She found herself wondering what it would be like to go to bed with him. Would it be all take and no give or would he be the kind of guy that prided himself on satisfying his partner before getting off himself? Perhaps a little of both?
Enough of that, she told herself. Remember what you’re here for.
Pushing the photograph and the reports to the side, she fired up her laptop and started digging.
Three hours later she hit the jackpot. A gossip column from the evening before mentioned that Paolo Galvan would be one of the guests of honor at a party tomorrow night commemorating the opening of a new art gallery in the swanky sestiere of Dorsoduro. It was a black tie, invitation–only kind of affair but certain select members of the press were invited and Alex thought she might be able to bluff her way inside using her press credentials.
If I can get close to Galvan, I might be able to get him to talk, she thought.
Chapter Six
It had taken her several hours – and several thousand dollars from her expense account – to get ready for the evening’s event. She bought a black custom–tailored form–fitting dress with an open back and a thigh slit in front, designed to show off flashes of her leg whenever she moved. Her strategy was a simple one; keep the attention off her face by giving them something else to look at. The dress fit her better than anything she’d ever worn before – for that price it damn well better! – and she knew she looked good in it. Damn good, in fact.
After buying the dress she’d hit the salon and the stylist had done a marvelous job of taming her usually recalcitrant hair, adding ringlet curls and a vibrant shine but leaving the length pretty much alone. When he was finished, Alex looked in the mirror and was startled to realize that with her new look, she could have easily passed for any of the three missing women who were last seen with Paolo Galvan.
Certainly one way to get his attention.
When she returned to the hotel she tried to call Gianni again but the call went directly to voice mail, as it had the night before. Telling herself that he must still be involved in some essential police work somewhere, she had a late lunch and then began to get ready for the evening ahead.
By the time she was done, Paolo Galvan wouldn’t know what had hit him.
***
The gallery where the event was being held was on the north bank of the Rio Malpalga, one of the smaller canals that cut into the heart of the Dorsoduro district from the Grand Canal. The water taxis were piled up three deep when she arrived, giving her a few seconds to scope out the territory.
To her dismay it wasn’t anything like she expected. A set of stone steps led up from the water’s edge to a wide landing. A red carpet stretched from the top of the steps, across the landing to the entrance to the gallery, where two large doormen in black suits greeted each guest. Members of the press were lined up on either side of the velvet ropes lining the edge of the carpet, camera flashes and shouted questions filling the air whenever a new arrival crossed the gauntlet.
Despite all her preparations, she hadn’t expected to find herself in the spotlight – she thought she’d be able to slip in the back door with the rest of the press – and now her thoughts spun feverishly as she tried to figure out how she was going to manage. Before she knew it the other boats had moved off and her driver was pulling up to the steps where two staff members waited to help her out of the boat.
Now what? her mind screamed at her as she stepped out of the boat.
She had no idea. Was, in fact, at a complete loss. Every time she looked at all those lights and cameras her mind simply stuttered and went blank.
Before she knew it she found herself walking toward the waiting security staff, cameras going off around her. She could hear questions being shouted at her, no doubt because she was a new, unfamiliar face on the scene, but she just let it wash over her like the tide. She couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to.
This is never going to work, she thought, her heart pounding so hard that she was afraid the security staff could hear it as she stepped up in front of them, but by then it was too late to do anything but brave it out.
The security guard on the right smiled at her, the epitome of politeness, but she noted that the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Your invitation, signorina?” he said.
“Of course,” she replied, smiling back at him and then making a show of looking through her clutch purse for it. “I know I have it here somewhere… ”
He gave her another moment or two, which, really, was more than she deserved; the purse was only so big after all. When she didn’t produce the invitation at that point he said, “I’m sorry, miss, you’ll have to step aside if you don’t have an… ”
Whatever the guard said next was lost as Alex felt a hand on her bare back and a presence at her side.
“There you are, darling! I wondered where you’d gotten off to!”
The voice was male and decidedly American. Alex looked to her left and found herself staring into the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. When she was able to tear her gaze away she discovered that the eyes belonged to a good–looking, blond man about her own age. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo that fit his obviously well–muscled physique like a glove. He smiled at her, winked, and then turned to face the guard.
“She’s with me,” he told the man and then handed over an invitation.
While Alex could only stand there, stunned mute, the guard said, “A pleasure as always, Mr. Goodfellow,” and then turned and nodded at her. “My apologies, signorina. Enjoy your evening.”
She was very conscious of the touch of his warm hand on her bare back as he guided her past the guards and into the building proper. She let him lead her through the main gallery room and over to a quiet corner out of the hubbub of the show where she finally found her voice.
“I guess I should say thank you.”
He laughed; it was a good laugh, deep and carefree, as if he didn’t have a concern in the world. It helped to ease the tension that had nearly overwhelmed her back on the landing.
“If you think a thank you is enough you are sorely mistaken. I should at least get your name in return for such gallant assistance, shouldn’t I?”
She smiled. Good looking and charming, it seemed. A potent combination. Too bad she was here for a much bigger catch.
“You do indeed,” she replied, with a laugh of her own. “Alex Donati.”
He sketched a little bow. “Cody Goodfellow.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
“No, the pleasure is all mine.” He studied her a moment, then asked, “Do I detect a bit of New York beneath that lovely Italian accent of yours?”
“If you do, you have an excellent ear. I did my graduate work at Columbia.”
“Let me guess… international relations?”
Oh, a clever one, too.
“Nothing so interesting,” she replied. “Journalism, I’m afraid.”
“Ah. Now things begin to make a little more sense. Crashing the party for a scoop, are we?”
His bantering tone hadn’t changed but Alex flushed nonetheless, for that was exactly what she was doing. Even more embarrassing was the fact that her attempt to do so would have died an early death if it hadn’t been for his assistance. She felt an obligation to explain.
“Yeah, about that… ” she began, but he cut her off.
“Say no more,” he said, snagging two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing server and handing one to her. “Your secret is safe with me, though I must admit to being fascinated that you’d go through all the trouble to see a bunch of bad paintings.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not here for the art,” she replied. Now that they were no longer the focus of attention she was starting to feel more comfortable and she began to look around, paying attention to those around her and to her surprise she spotted Paolo Galvan almost immediately. He stood within a small clutch of people on the other side of the room, a tall willowy blonde at his side, and even from where she stood he looked larger than life, more “there” than anyone else around him. When he laughed, his laughter seemed to fill the room, and when he smiled he could make you feel like you were the center of attention even when he wasn’t looking at you. Alex suddenly found herself wanting to know what it would feel like to be alone in a room with him, to have those eyes focused on her and her alone, to be the target for all that energetic vitality that he gave off in waves.
And just like that she decided to seduce him.
It was the quickest and easiest – never mind the most pleasurable! – way to get close to him, to slip through the defenses erected around him from his position and wealth and get inside his inner circle where she could find the information she was looking for.
She’d completely forgotten all about poor Cody Goodfellow standing at her side until he coughed, politely, and said, “I guess I don’t need to ask who you are here for.”
The sound of his voice, so close to her ear, pulled her from the strange attraction that Galvan, just by his very presence, seemed to have wrapped her up in.
“What? Oh, sorry… um… Cody.”
For a second she couldn’t remember his name, which was weird because that was one of the skills she’d cultivated as a reporter; remembering names.
Was Galvan really that intoxicating?
She shook her head as if to clear it and then glanced over at Goodfellow. “Was I that obvious?”
“Not at all,” he said, smirking.
“It’s not like that.”
“Like what?” he asked, the picture of innocence with a smirk a mile wide.
“Like that,” she said, even though that was precisely what she’d just decided less than thirty seconds ago. She tried to cover her own confusion with, “I need the story or my editor is going to kill me.”
Goodfellow shrugged. “Far be it for me to judge, Alex. One word of caution, if I may.”
“I’m listening,” Alex said, but her gaze had already strayed back to Galvan. What made him so attractive?
Goodfellow casually shifted position, cutting off her view of Galvan and forcing her, by dint of the fact he was now standing in front of her, to pay attention.
“Mr. Galvan has a habit of chewing up and spitting out those that hang around him too long. Especially lovely young women like yourself.”
She smiled and nodded her head. “Duly noted, Mr. Goodfellow.”
“Uh oh, I’ve been demoted to Mr. Goodfellow,” he said with a laugh. “I will take that as my cue to leave. Good luck – and good hunting – Signorina Donati.”
He waved to someone he knew and headed off, leaving Alex standing by herself off to one side. That was fine with her; she needed to figure out a plan of attack.
How do you get the attention of a man who was himself the center of attention in the room? she wondered.
The answer, when it came to her, was almost too obvious.
Easy. You ignore him.
Alex had a hunch that Galvan’s vanity wouldn’t let him walk away without discovering why he hadn’t captivated her like he’d captivated everyone else in the room. He’d have to come over and find out for himself. And by the time that happened, he’d have done ninety percent of the work for her. The hook would be set; all she’d have to do at that point was reel him in with a deft but firm hand.
It was a fairly decent plan and one she thought would have a high possibility of success. All she needed to do was sit back and be patient.
She traded her empty champagne glass for a full one and then settled in to see what happened.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Seven
Ten minutes later he spotted her from across the room for the first time. A look of surprise momentarily crossed his face – perhaps due to how closely she resembled the three missing women he’d once been involved with? – but he quickly got his features under control and returned to his conversation.
Over the next several minutes he looked her way twice more, but each time she did nothing more than meet his gaze with a steady one of her own, neither acknowledging his interest not encouraging it.
Just as she’d expected, her lack of response was too unusual for him to resist.
A few moments later he excused himself from the group he was with and wandered over in her direction.
Coming up beside her, he said, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
She turned and looked at him, catching and holding his gaze for a moment with her own before saying, “No, you haven’t.”
That was it; nothing more.
It had the desired effect.
He laughed, just this side of amused. “You are right; I have not. But I would very much like to do so,” he said. He looked her up and down, slowly, and he did it with just the right amount of self–assuredness and genuine admiration that it came across as if he were enjoying a beautiful work of art rather than ogling someone passing on the street.
Two could play that game.
“Would you now?” she asked, giving him the same look in return.
He laughed again, louder this time, drawing attention, but Alex did not look away, keeping her focus entirely on him. It was, apparently, the right move.
“Oh yes,” he said and the sudden huskiness in his voice as he replied to her challenge sent a thrill though her frame and ignited a heat in her.
In for a penny, in for a pound. No sense backing off now.
She put her glass down on a nearby table and slipped an arm through his.
“If that’s the case, what are we waiting for?”
He was momentarily taken aback, no doubt having expected the long, drawn out chase before the final reward, but his hesitation was quickly replaced with a smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. “What indeed?” he said and led her through the throng toward a staircase at the rear of the building.
It took her a moment to figure out what he had in mind but when she did, she dug in her heels and came to a sudden stop. “Do I look like the type of woman who wants to fuck in the back room of a party?” she asked over the noise of their fellow party–goers.
“Of course not, signorina. You are far too beautiful for such a crass undertaking and I would never suggest such a thing,” he said with such a solemn expression that she knew he was trying not to crack a smile. “My helicopter is on the roof.”
Helicopter?
For a moment the word made no sense, so outside her range of expectations of how one moved from place to place, but then it clicked and she smiled at him for the first time.
“Right. Helicopter. I knew that.”
He grinned back and they resumed their clandestine escape, his two pairs of bodyguards following just steps behind.
***<
br />
Alex didn’t know a Bell Ranger from a Huey Cobra but she could tell you what the city of Venice looked like from the air.
Glorious.
The lights of the city sparkled off the waters of the lagoon like a dazzlingly jewel, highlighting the mystique of the Grand Canal and all of its minor cousins. Galvan had the pilot linger over the city for several moments, allowing her to drink it all in, and then they turned and headed west toward the mainland.
Once they were settled he took her hand in his and said, “Forgive my rudeness. I am Paolo, Paolo Galvan.”
Wary of giving too much away, she said, “Alessandra.”
A flash of that by–now familiar grin. “No surname? Just Alessandra?”
“Can’t a woman have a little mystery?” she said and then directed the conversation around to other matters. Galvan was a good conversationalist and she enjoyed talking with him as they flew toward their destination but her mind was on other things. She was hyper–conscious of his nearness, that strange attraction she’d felt back in the gallery vastly more powerful with him this close. She could feel herself getting aroused just sitting next to him, as if her body were reacting to him on some primal level completely separate from her intellectual reasoning. All she wanted to do was push him back in his seat, rip off his clothes and mount him right then and there.
Ten minutes later they were landing on the lawn of an estate several miles up the coast. A gorgeous house – a mansion, really – of pink Italian marble sat a few dozen yards away gleaming in the artfully arranged lights the landscaper had carefully placed to show it off to full effect. Galvan waited until his bodyguards had disembarked and given the all–clear, then he opened the door, got out, and reached back to offer a hand to help Alex out as well.
Once inside, Galvan led her into a very masculine study, with dark wood and leather furniture. He walked over to a liquor cart standing in the corner and asked if she would like a drink, but she declined. There was only one thing she wanted at that point.
