by Lee Savino
“Looks good,” Armand said. “And it’s almost three. Just enough time to go home, take a nap, and get ready for tonight.”
Easing backwards, Cora took in the product of a month’s planning. The large tent took up half the new dog park. Three hundred chairs faced the long T shaped stage—a real cat walk. Or should she say, dog walk.
Behind the stage, Cora knew, the models were getting ready, both human and canine. Maeve was back there somewhere, along with Brutus and about fifty volunteers.
“Okay,” Cora said. “Just a sec.”
Two weeks had flown by. After the incident in her apartment, Olivia had inexplicably volunteered to pick her up and take her to and from the office. That meant Cora worked eighteen-hour days, but Maeve was only too willing to check in on Brutus, sometimes even taking him to visit the shelter and all his old doggie friends.
Armand had also been exceptionally sweet, flitting in and out of her life, showing up at her apartment with Chinese takeout, leaning against the fireplace and cracking jokes about the Shades, watching her closely to make sure she ate.
She didn’t tell anyone about Spike Hair, or his threats. The truce between Waters and the rest of the city leaders was too important for her or a wild card bodyguard to muddle it. She kept her head down, worked outrageous hours to draw every detail of the fundraiser together, and didn’t go anywhere without at least one friend by her side.
Now the work and the wait would pay off. At least she hoped so. Everything hung on the success of tonight.
“What are you still doing here?” Maeve came out from behind the stage curtain, holding an adorable, tiny mutt. “You need to go change. You can’t be the belle of the ball smelling like dog.”
“Everything is going to smell like dog tonight. That’s the whole point,” Armand joked. “Besides, she’s not the belle of the ball. That would be Queenie.”
The little dog barked when she heard her name, part Chihuahua, part terrier: all attitude.
Maeve laughed, and Cora tried to smile, but it crumpled quickly under the weight of everything she had on her mind.
“Go on home, Cora,” Armand spoke up. “We have it under control, at least until things get underway at seven.”
“All right.” She gave the bunting a final frown and straightened. “Are you my ride?”
“I’ve got my stuff here to change into. I was going to check out the old theater.”
Cora nodded absently. The theater was a brick building at the end of the park. Too small for the fashion show, it played an important role in the second half of the night’s events—the events that would make or break the alliance between three powerful players and decide the fate of New Olympus.
“Cora,” Maeve called, and Cora realized her friend had called her name twice. “There’s someone here to pick you up.” Armand motioned her out of the tent.
“Fine.” Cora headed out of the tent, ignoring the worried looks her friends exchanged over her head. She knew she wasn’t acting like herself, and everyone who knew her had picked up on it, but she couldn’t help it.
A month and she hadn’t seen or heard from the man whose last name she still bore. Divorce papers hadn’t arrived, but then, he’d been busy fighting a mock war with Waters.
At least there were no more pictures of Marcus in the paper with his arm around other women.
Other than reports of escalating violence between New Olympus and Metropolis gangs—street confrontations, drive by shootings, and vandalized buildings owned by Marcus’s holding companies—she’d had no sight or sound from her husband, not even from Sharo.
Which is why, when she saw the large black man hulking behind the wheel of a car, she stopped short. Sharo got out of the car and opened the door. Habit propelled her forward into the back seat, until she sat secure behind bulletproof glass. Her heart ached, being this close to her past life.
“How have you been?” Sharo’s dark sunglasses wrapped around his head and she couldn’t see his face.
“Fine.”
Sharo turned the car into traffic, pulling out of it a minute later to cut down a back alley. “You eating?”
“Yes. Did you get my last message?” She’d left a voicemail last night. “Are we on?”
“All systems go.” He stayed silent for the few miles the car crawled through thick traffic. “He’s doing well.”
She let out a breath. Now tears came, pooling in the corners of her eyes and stinging. Crap. She couldn’t afford puffy eyes today. But Sharo sitting there made the loss too fresh, too raw. She took several deep breaths, though, and managed to get herself under control.
After parking, Sharo followed her into her apartment. Brutus was already at the pavilion, a lead in the doggie fashion show.
Her thoughts on Marcus, Cora left Sharo in the living room while she showered. Her dress, an ethereal blue, lay on the bed.
She dried her hair quickly, then pulled it back in an antique silver clip, curling the ends. She put on just enough make up to give her a dewy glow. She looked like a teen ready for prom, except for the distant look in her eyes.
The dress came on like a second skin, the neckline plunging to the point where she couldn’t wear a bra. Try as she might, leaning over and shifting, the final few inches of the dress’s zipper escaped her. The last time she’d worn it, she’d been on Marcus’s arm. He’d helped her with it. She felt a twinge of pain at the memory.
Trotting out of the bedroom, heels in hand, she waited until Sharo turned away from the balcony doors.
“Will you zip me? I can’t reach it.” She went to him and turned, head bowed. A pause, then the dress bodice tightened as he obliged. For such a big man, his hands were nimble, zipping her up and hooking the little hook without so much as touching her.
Once she felt the hook catch, she stepped away and bowed to slip on her shoes, heels like skyscrapers. She’d be among powerful men tonight, and she needed the height, the authority.
The dress’s baby blue color gave her an innocent air, complemented by the pink of her cheeks. An approachable sweetness, until someone got close and realized the fit was so tight they could pick out the goosebumps on her legs if they wanted to, and just one twitch to the side and her nipples would be exposed. All the more sexy, because it was unexpected.
Sharo must have felt the effect, because as she straightened, she felt large hands brushing her back, lifting her curls and fixing them so they flowed down her back. It felt nice.
“You were right,” Sharo said out of the blue. “I loved Chiara. We were engaged.”
Sharo’s voice was so deep, and he was usually so quiet, she almost thought she’d imagined it.
She kept her head bowed, hoping he’d take the hint and keep talking and fussing with her hair.
“We kept it a secret. People didn’t need to know. We knew. From the first time we saw each other, we knew we would be together.”
His hands on her shoulders turned her gently to face him. Even in her skyscraper heels, he dwarfed her. “She was in danger, just because she was born. Her father had so many enemies. And she was just this little, shy thing, until you got to know her. Then she was feisty.”
He looked like he was about to laugh, and he tugged one of Cora’s curls. Then his face darkened. “I was young. Cocky. I thought I was strong enough to keep her safe.”
He paused so long, Cora wrapped her hands around his wrists, as if her touch would bring him back to her.
“You hate it when we keep you in the dark, or on a pedestal. But I’m telling you, if I could bring Chiara back, I’d take her far, far away and lock her in a tower if that’s what it took to keep her safe.”
Oh Sharo. Cora wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she didn’t want to break the spell. He was opening up to her and she saw the truth, that inside the large, brutal man before her, there was a gentle giant. Or at least, there once had been. Was there anything left of the boy who had once loved a girl, before he’d lost her so brutally?
Her ey
es searched his black ones. She found nothing but darkness.
And suddenly, she was crying. She felt like she’d cried an ocean of tears lately. But how could she not? First Marcus, then Sharo. How was it possible for two men to lose so much?
Sharo shushed her, pulling her to him and holding her in a giant hug. His heat wrapped around her as she pressed her face to his suit as if that would stop her tears. She’d need to redo her makeup but she didn’t care.
A big hand cupped her head. “I had a childhood growing up with her. Watching over her. And when we were older, we had a year together. A good year. Then her parents died, and she got shut up at the Estate. One good year, and one bad. Then she died.”
He put his head close to Cora’s, making sure she heard him. “She was sneaking out of the Estate, trying to meet me.”
“Oh, gods.” The image played in Cora’s head, immediate and full of color: sweet Chiara, young Chiara, running over the green lawn to meet her love. Then— Then—
Cora’s stomach spun and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. She couldn’t lose it now. Sharo deserved for her to hear him out.
“Marcus and I found her a week later.” Sharo reached out and took her hand. “We’d told her it wasn’t safe. She knew that and went anyway, no guard on her, no protection, she just got a just a mad idea and ran off to find me.”
Cora wiped her eyes, pressing her fingers to her skin as if they could hold back tears. “So when I snuck out—”
“It was Chiara all over again. And her death is something he’s never dealt with. It was too much. It could’ve been Chiara all over again, and it was too much.”
She dropped heavily on the couch. “Then why aren’t you mad at me? You of all people have every reason. My parents—”
“Aren’t you,” he said firmly, sitting beside her. “And I’ve dealt with her death, Cora. I buried her. I loved her, and she died, but she’s not gone. Not while I have my memory. She was the love of my life and I’ll never lose her.”
He sighed. “But Marcus fights it. He thinks if he works hard enough, long enough, wraps up every inch of this city so tight that nothing happens without his say so, that he’ll somehow save Chiara, and bring her and his parents back. He’s spent all these years running.”
Cora sat up beside him, searching his face. “What does that mean?”
Sharo tilted his head towards her. “Means he needs a woman by his side who understands, and who can be there for him. In his world, men destroy, women heal. He needs you.”
“He sent me away.”
He squeezed her hand. “He needs you.”
“Will I ever see him again?” she whispered.
Sharo let his features soften into a smile. A happy ache went through her at the tender sight. The gentle giant was still there. That boy who’d once loved a girl remained inside the man today. “That can be arranged.”
Cora’s lower lip trembled, but she nodded. “Okay.”
His wrapped a big arm around her, and she relaxed into the hug, letting his steady heartbeat calm her.
He said Marcus needed her. Wrapped in Sharo’s warmth, she felt like anything was possible.
A thought struck her.
“What about you, Sharo? Are you going to fall in love again?”
He turned and lightly—very lightly—kissed the top of her head.
Her cheek pressed to his huge chest, she blinked. She let him hold her for a beat, then, she shifted away, avoiding his eyes.
“I should fix my makeup.” When she let her eyes drift up to his face, she could barely look at his tender expression. He looked ten years younger, closer to her age.
With a nod, he let her up and she stood up.
Back in the car, they shared a taut silence. Sharo’s large hand rested on his leg; she reached forward and touched the gold band he wore on his right ring finger.
He looked down at her, eyes still gentle.
“Thank you,” she said, touching the ring she now knew he wore for Chiara. Her throat closed before she could elaborate—thank you for sharing, for watching over me.
His eyes crinkled into a smile and she knew he heard her unspoken words.
Then his gaze slid down to her cleavage and back up. “I’ve got your back tonight,” he said, and he didn’t sound happy. “Don’t let anyone get too close.”
She read his displeasure and couldn’t help smiling. “Marcus bought me this dress,” she reminded him, and his nostrils flared.
“You were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of the house in that thing.”
“Good thing I’m my own woman then,” she said. “Because you boys couldn’t pull this off without me.”
Thirty-Seven
The first half of the night went well. The dogs paraded next to the models, and everyone was on their best behavior.
“Are they all house-trained?” Cora looked up at Andrea Doria, who’d joined her backstage.
“The dogs are. Can’t say for sure about the models.” Andrea smiled. Her blonde wig was glorious, teased around her perfectly made up face.
“You look amazing,” Cora told her honestly.
“Thanks, darling. You’re sweet.”
“I’m serious. And I was serious about getting a makeup lesson, I want to know all your secrets.” Cora admired the contours of Andrea’s cheekbones, then turned back around to watch the mayor give his speech.
“It’s my honor to dedicate this park to our four-legged friends. My father taught me that you measure a man’s humanity by how he treats his fellow creatures.”
“Talks a good game, doesn’t he?” Andrea muttered.
“Mmhmm,” Cora agreed.
“And so we are here to honor the most loving and loyal of creatures. My friends, I never thought I’d say this with any pride, but here I am to tell you: this city is going…to the dogs!” Zeke said to the crowd’s happy applause.
“See you after half time,” Andrea said, and when Cora turned around, she was gone.
Striding carefully in her high heels, Cora met the mayor backstage.
“That went well,” Sturm said briskly.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Mayor.” Cora stepped forward before his aides could intervene. “Could we trouble you for a quick photo op in the back building, where the light is good? The photographer has a setup back there.”
The mayor blinked at her, and Cora realized he didn’t completely recognize her. “Just back here,” she repeated. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”
“Sure, sure,” Zeke said, waving at his aides. “Just a few minutes.”
“Certainly.” Cora smiled and led the entourage across the park lawn to the old theater. Inside, she led them to the stage. The space was big and open, which was the main point. There were few hidden corners other than backstage—but Waters’ men had secured it beforehand, and otherwise, everything was out in the open.
“Interesting spot,” Zeke commented. He and his aides slowed when they saw Andrea Doria’s tall form flanked by two guard. Andrea also held Brutus’s leash; Cora hurried to take it and then positioned herself between the two parties.
“Mr. Mayor, meet Andrea Doria.”
Zeke barely hesitated, extending his hand for the tall drag queen to shake. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
“All mine, Mayor Sturm.” Andrea didn’t bother to alter her voice’s smooth tenor. “I’m so glad you have recovered so well after the poisoning.”
“Yes, bit of a scare, but all’s well that ends well.” The mayor gave his fake chuckle and looked around. “Where are the cameras?”
“I believe you know Ms. Doria under a different name,” Cora said, stepping between the two.
The mayor’s eyes narrowed and Cora knew then he recognized her. He opened his mouth, but Philip Waters stole the show by removing his platinum blonde wig and stating his name clearly.
The mayor’s people reacted immediately, drawing their weapons and forming a hedge around Sturm. Cora found herself at the center of a deadly circle as Wate
rs’ men also responded.
“Stop, just stop,” she cried out. Stretching out her hands in a ‘stop’ sign, Cora looked from one powerful man to the other. “This is neutral territory. We are just going to talk.”
“Well, well,” Zeke said, staring at the tall black man. “This is an interesting way to get my attention. Although you had it as soon as you tried to poison me.”
“I’m innocent of that,” Waters said. The wig lay at his feet, and even wearing a dress and backed by only two men, he looked more than a match for the mayor’s posse. “You’re the one who allowed my shipment to be taken, and then reneged on our deal.”
“Enough,” Cora said and, at her feet, Brutus barked—a deep, dangerous sound that stilled the men who heard it. “Waters never tried to kill you, or my husband. And the matter of the shipment has been settled, are we agreed?” She glared at all of them. “The real issue is that you’re being played.”
“The only issue I have—” Zeke began but Cora quickly cut him off.
“Don’t you get it? The Titans are setting you against each other. They’d like nothing better than to watch you take each other out. Then they can take the city with no one in their way.”
Cora’s outburst seemed to silence the mayor, if only because he wasn’t used to being interrupted.
“Mr. Mayor, look at him,” Cora snapped. “Does he look like he’s hiding anything from you?”
Ezekiel Sturm took in Philip Waters from head to toe. Then, to everybody’s shock, he laughed, and it was a genuine, pleasant sound.
“Lower your weapons,” Zeke ordered his men, and Waters’ men mirrored them.
“This is unbelievable,” the mayor shook his head, but he had a smile on his face. “You planned this ambush?”
Waters also grinned. “Mrs. Ubeli did. I come in peace.”
“An alliance, eh? You, me, and Ubeli, all united against the Titans?”
“So says the lady,” Waters nodded.
The mayor studied Cora. “Do you speak for your husband?”
“She does,” a voice echoed from near the ceiling, and Marcus Ubeli sauntered down the stairs at the side of the stage, flanked by several Shades.
