“What? Speak English,” she said, closing her eyes.
“We kill three people on the gala fundraising committee,” he said. “That way they think it’s connected to the protests.”
She raced over, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. You are a genius, Charles.”
He laughed and clutched her tight.
He spun her around. There was a drug deal going down on the street below. He drew back a little. He couldn’t wait until he could get Nicoletta out of this shithole neighborhood. She reached for the joint he had set down in the ashtray, but he plucked it out of her hand before she could bring it to her mouth.
“Hey,” she squealed. “Bring that back. I’m not done with it yet.”
He set her down gently and pushed her a little bit away from him.
“You are now. Now get naked.”
She groaned. “You’re so bossy.”
But she gave him a sexy smile. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she slowly slid the straps of her slip so they fell down her shoulders, revealing pure white flesh.
He held his breath, watching. He could feel the electricity between them.
She sure knew how to put on a show. He suddenly ached with desire. Her breasts were large, and her ass was even larger. Her vanilla skin was creamy and soft. There was no place he’d rather be than between her silky, slick thighs.
“Jesus.”
“What?” she said and shrugged. But he caught sight of a smile as she turned away. She climbed up onto his bed on all fours. She was facing away from him, and he was already unbuttoning his pants when she tossed her long red hair and looked back at him.
“Come and give me some special attention.”
He didn’t wait for another invite.
When he woke later in the dark, her leg and an arm was tossed over him. He reached for his phone without waking her. There was a text message. He couldn’t believe it. It was the answer to his prayers. He had to get on his computer immediately. He tried to gently move her arm and legs to sit up, but her eyes fluttered open.
“Where you going?” she said in a voice husky with sleep.
“I’ve got to call Marshall.”
She sat up “What’s up?”
“Just a second,” he said, distracted.
A few seconds later, she joined him at the small desk. Their faces glowed in the blue light.
“What is that?” she said. “I don’t get it. It shows you fucking Marshall? I thought you said you said you guys never experimented like that in college…. Wait. That’s not college. That’s him now with his shaved head!” She whirled. He caught her arm.
“Look at the date and time,” he said.
“Fuck you,” she said. But she turned around. He started the video over. As Marshall got fucked from behind by her boyfriend, he suddenly turned and grinned at the camera and held up a newspaper. It was a Geneva newspaper with today’s date. Marshall lived in Geneva.
Her eyes widened. “That’s today’s newspaper. But that’s impossible.”
“That’s right,” he said. He couldn’t hide his grin. “That’s how we are going to get away with murder.”
Six
The morning passed quickly.
I spent it preparing for the board meeting at my father’s…well, now my company with Dante. We were pitching them on backing our purchase of the hotel.
I spent the first few hours going over reports for my father’s company so I wouldn’t seem like a rookie when I walked into the board meeting.
My morning was spent fueled by espresso as I skimmed documents trying to play catch up after years of ignoring and neglecting the company. I’d put good, solid people in place to run it while I was out of the country, and I didn’t regret the job they had done.
I was basically a figurehead there, now, but it still helped to have my finger on the pulse when I walked in. I didn’t have the heart to sell the company, since it was my father’s pride and joy. His legacy lived on through the company and the foundations it supported, including the nonprofit—Ethel’s Place–that I’d formed to help homeless people get on their feet again.
Now, Dante and I were going to propose that the board loan us some of the hotel purchase money. We had some of the money, but not all of it. A lot of my capital was tied up.
Dante had prepared our presentation, so I also had to go over that again, even though I’d studied it on the flights from overseas.
By eleven, I was ready to shower and get ready for the board meeting.
Dante texted me that he was on his way down from his home in wine country and would swing by the hotel to pick me up.
I couldn’t wait to see him!
He’d made several trips to Europe to visit me over the years, but now we lived in the same state. I intended to spend way more time with him and his husband, Wayne. They split time between Wayne’s home in San Diego and Dante’s spread up north.
After I slicked on black eyeliner and a nude lipstick, I buttoned up a white silk blouse and then pulled on my Armani trousers and matching black wool blazer. Even with a few buttons undone on the blouse, it still felt a little stiff, so along with my Louboutin red-soled pumps, I looped a few thick gold chains of different lengths around my neck.
For good luck, I slipped on the massive red ruby ring Nico had bought me for our ten-year anniversary. It brought a lump to my throat to see it on my finger but also made me feel a surge of gratefulness that I had experienced such a great love in my life.
I stuffed some papers in my dad’s worn and beaten leather attaché case and headed for the lobby.
Dante pulled up in a G Wagon, which made me grin. He never changed.
Jumping out, he ran over and grabbed me in such an exuberant hug, I let out an involuntary squeal and then burst into laughter. Drawing back, I held him at arm’s length.
Still a looker. He seemed to be more handsome with age.
“I love you, Dante!” I said spontaneously.
He laughed and kissed my cheek.
“You look amazing, bella.”
Twenty minutes later, we flung open the doors to the boardroom and strode in like we owned the place. Well, we did, but still, it felt great to walk into the room and see so many familiar faces.
Two hours later, we had the backing we needed.
Dante held it in until we were in the elevator and then he threw up his arm in a victory salute.
“I’m going to make this hotel and restaurant the most happening, sought-after place in the San Francisco Bay Area. People are going to fly in from around the world just to have a meal there,” he said with a grin, his white teeth flashing attractively against his olive skin.
“You’ll do it too,” I said.
“You ready to revamp the management there?” he said. “Get rid of the dead weight and bring in some movers and shakers?”
“I’ve been thinking about it nonstop,” I said. “We will offer the most luxurious experience of any hotel out there. Anyone can furnish their hotels in expensive accoutrements, but we’re going to be the only ones who offer a completely luxurious, pampering experience and the best service on the planet.”
As Dante drove us home, he kept smiling. “What are you thinking?”
“Every room is a hotel suite.”
“What?” Dante laughed. “That’s impossible.”
“Yes, but we can give every guest a taste of the hotel suite experience,” I said. “The hotel has fifty floors, right? And the building has four sides, right?”
“Keep going.” He leaned forward and looked up at the skyscrapers surrounding us in the downtown area. Cars were stopped in a line in front of us. It was rush hour.
“What if instead of 1,000 rooms and two hotel suites like it has now, we make 200 rooms. That would mean four rooms per floor. Each room would have sweeping views on two full walls.”
“I’m getting it,” Dante said, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers.
“Depending on which room you have, you wou
ld get one of four views: The Golden Gate, The Pacific Ocean, The Bay Bridge, or Radio Tower. Obviously, the most expensive rooms would be with Golden Gate views, the least expensive the Radio Tower. People would book their rooms by views: Golden Gate, Sunset, Bay Bridge, Radio Tower.”
Dante was quiet for a few seconds and then he punched the steering wheel.
“Brilliant,” he said. “The hotel is already known as having the best views in the city, so now we capitalize on it to the max.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And then we make each room ultra-luxurious—like my hotel suite but even more over-the-top. Each room will have a small fireplace, and the beds will have eiderdown comforters and guests can choose their pillows from a menu. The furniture will be velvet and leather and covered in fur throws. There will be monogrammed bathrobes and each suite will have a Nespresso machine and a small cocktail bar. Guests can request their own personal makeup artist, hair stylist, barber, and manicurist to come to their suite. Guests can have a bubble bath, or they can request a champagne, rose petal, or even chocolate bath.”
“Oh Gia, you’re so naughty.”
I smiled, but didn’t pause.
Dante pulled up in front of the hotel.
“Question?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What does the guest in the real hotel suite get that makes her feel special?”
“Well, just so you know, I’m not designing this to attract the old, stuffy rich people. I want the edgy, adventurous rich. Whether they are twenty or eighty. So, if you are staying in one of the top three hotel suites, you get your own Ferrari to drive during your stay; you also get your own personal butler at your beck and call—the butler will draw your bath, pack your suitcase, iron your clothes, or whatever, and a free helicopter ride that takes off from the roof’s helipad and flies over the Golden Gate bridge at sunset.”
“You’re a fucking genius, Santella.”
“I know, right?” I said.
I was reaching for the door handle when he said. “I’m glad you want to buy the hotel with me.”
“Me too.”
I started to open the door.
“There’s just one more thing.”
Oh shit. I could tell by his tone that I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
“There’s this gala, a fundraiser for the San Francisco Opera, that’s being held in the restaurant next week.”
He paused.
I lifted my eyebrow. “Okay? Is that a problem?”
“Because we are planning to buy the hotel, I volunteered us both to be on the fundraising committee.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope. I’ve been on it for six months. You’re going to join me now. There’s only one more meeting anyway. It will be a good chance for you to meet some of the city’s movers and shakers.”
“You know I hate shit like that. I hate the board of the company I own. I hate everything to do with it. It’s usually a bunch of people putting on airs and acting like their shit don’t stink and arguing over which fucking caviar to serve!” I said in a single stream of words.
Dante nodded seriously. “I know. But I need you there. Besides, it’s another way for us to get to know more people at the hotel and figure out who is embezzling. I need your street smarts.”
“My street smarts?” I said in a mocking voice.
“Whatever. You know what I mean,” he said, exasperated. “Please, Gia. We need to figure out who’s stealing from the hotel. All the big players in the hotel’s management are on the committee, along with some politicians and opera people. It’s a great opportunity to get to know the players in the city, as well. We’re going to need them on our side to do the remodeling. I need your help.”
“Fine. Only for you.”
“There’s more.”
Oh shit again. “What?” The fundraising committee’s meeting is tonight,” he looked down at his TAG Heuer watch.
“In four hours, actually. I’ll be at your door ten minutes early.”
I glared at him.
“One other thing,” he said.
“You’re fucking kidding, right?”
“One of the committee members turned up dead this morning. They’re investigating his death as suspicious. It’s pretty suspect given the animosity toward the opera house right now.”
“Hold up. No clue what you’re talking about. Remember, I’ve been overseas.”
Dante filled me in, telling me about the controversial musical, The Death of Engleberg, the New York protests, and the death threats.
Dante kept speaking, but all I could think was: San Francisco Police Department. Wheelchair. Death threats.
James.
One of the great loves in my life. And now I was in the same city as him.
He’d received death threats trying to expose corrupt cops in the San Francisco police department. Then, one of his own brothers in blue had shot and paralyzed him, condemning him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
We were ill-fated lovers: He was a man of the law. I was a killer.
We’d tried to make it work and ended up friends. But he would always own a small piece of my heart. I needed to call him and tell him I was in town. Maybe I’d invite him and his wife, Genevieve out to dinner. I wondered how old their baby was now and if they had had other children. It would be good to see them. It would no longer sting to see James happy as a family man—which was all he ever wanted. It was all I ever wanted for him. But it was something I couldn’t give him.
I tuned back in. “Where was dude’s security detail when he was whacked?”
“Dude? His name is Sam Glass. Or was. The security detail is based at the opera house—mainly to make sure performers leave rehearsals and get safely to their cars. Up until now, the worst of it had been protesters trying to block the entrances and exits of the opera house and a few rotten eggs thrown.”
“Classy.”
“Right?” Dante said and tapped the steering wheel again with his manicured fingernails. It was his nervous habit. “But obviously, it might have escalated if Glass was murdered.”
“Good times,” I said. “And for some reason you thought I should serve on the committee for the opera’s fundraising gala, so now suddenly this is my concern?”
Dante sighed loudly, clearly exasperated.
This wasn’t my crisis.
“Gia. Serving on the committee for the gala is going to be the very best way to get to know the movers and shakers in San Francisco. If you’re going to own a hotel, you are going to want to be friends with them.”
“Be friends? Do you even know me?”
“At least pretend to like them,” he said. “It will go a long way in getting everything approved for our remodel. Plus, the gala is in two weeks. We’ve been working on this for a year. In other words, all the hard work is done. All you have to do is show up and act nice. Which I know is going to be tough for you.”
“Fine,” I bit the word out, half joking, half serious. “For you, Dante. I’ll do it for you.”
“Thank you.”
Seven
Back in my room, I ordered a bottle of Pellegrino and a charcuterie board and started doing some deep dives into the backgrounds the hotel management team. If someone was crooked, it would probably be one of them. They were the only ones with the power and access to embezzle the hundred grand that had gone missing.
After looking at start dates and backgrounds, I narrowed it down to three people who could possibly be embezzling. They had means and motive. And sure enough, all three were on the gala board. Dante was right. It was a good spot for me to be.
I examined the three names:
Maxwell Carlton, the general manager of the hotel.
Stuart McBride, the food and beverage director.
Cynthia Turner, the hotel maintenance engineer.
I’d have Danny find out more—pull all their financial information. That way we’d know if one of them was suddenly flush enough to
buy a new home or if any of them was deep in debt
I shot him a quick text. I didn’t tell him I was in town. He was used to getting my requests for help from around the world. I’d surprise him in person.
After getting a cramped neck sitting on my bed hunched over my laptop, I decided all suites in the new hotel would have small tucked-away desks with business centers built in.
I decided to go for a nice long walk to wake up.
On my walk, I found a neighborhood market and grabbed some fresh fruit and a bottle of tequila. I’d have a shot and toast Nico before I had to attend the stupid committee meeting for the gala. I made a point to spend at least twenty minutes each day remembering my soulmate and partner in crime. I missed him so much. It seemed as if the pain would never lessen. For so long after his death, every time something interesting happened to me, I’d think, “I can’t wait to tell Nico.” And then realization that he was gone would set in again. At least that no longer happened. Baby steps.
Now I spend twenty minutes each day talking to him as if he was sitting there with me. Call me crazy. I don’t care. It was actually what kept me sane after he died.
Back in my hotel room, I took a long shower and then dressed in a white, fluffy robe, and poured a shot of the tequila.
I pulled a chair up to the window and faced the Golden Gate Bridge.
The first time I’d ever heard of Nico had been in San Francisco. He’d scared the shit out of me. We were enemies then. He wanted to take Rose away from me. How strange that he had later become the greatest love of my life.
I always believed the saying in A Bronx Tale: We only have three great loves in life. I’d had mine: Bobby. James. Nico.
I was done.
And it was okay.
I didn’t need a man in my life. Not anymore.
I had a slight buzz on and part of the bottle was drained when Danny called me.
“I did some digging on your people,” he said. “I’ll email the reports, but it looks like none of them have had any odd financial fluctuations.”
Dark Justice Page 4
