“They have recently reunited,” Carl told him. “But yes, they lost a lot of years to the pain of keeping that secret. And yet not once was the boy neglected. The lover who left visited him frequently—under the radar of course. You see, the four of them were still a family. A little fractured, a little imperfect, but that boy grew up knowing he was loved.”
Hunter spoke up, surprising him. “He grew up so loved he reached out to other people to pull them into the circle. He grew up so loved he tries to look into people’s hearts to see what they’re made of. Nobody is irredeemable.”
“He sounds like the best of men,” di Rossi said, his eyes shiny. “Why would he need his father—or me—after all this time?”
They all swallowed, and Carl wondered which one of them could say it.
“He’s dying.”
It was Hunter, and the word looked like it cost him.
“Oh no,” di Rossi murmured.
“Lymphoblastic leukemia,” Carl said. “And while they’re treating it aggressively with chemotherapy, what would really, really help would be―”
“A bone marrow transplant.” Di Rossi nodded. “Of course. I’ll make plans immediately. Where are you based? I assume America from your accents?”
Carl sucked in a breath, so relieved he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding it. “Chicago,” he said. “We can get you accommodations in the city, or if you like, you can stay in the mansion. Or we’ll buy you a mansion. Or—” Liam’s steadying hand on his shoulder let him know any cool he had ever possessed had simply evaporated.
“I will be traveling with the children,” di Rossi said, a hint of a smile on his face. “I apologize. I can be there within a week.”
Carl nodded and reached to the briefcase he’d left resting at his hip. “I have papers here for you to sign. I’m sure you have your own solicitor to look through them. They agree we will pay for everything—transportation, accommodation, even childcare if you should need it. There’s an option for a stipend. It’s generous, and the money would be in the bank before the end of the week—”
“I’ll take none of these things!” di Rossi protested, as though slapped. “I know what I am, Mr.…?”
“So, er, Cox. Carl Cox.” His face flushed, and he resisted the temptation to glare at Hunter and Chuck. “My, uhm, friends call me Soderbergh.”
Di Rossi’s thunderous expression eased up. “I understand the need for a nom de plume,” he said. “Mr. Cox, I should very much like to meet this young man, Matteo’s son. That is all I ask for. My brother was….” He bit his lip. “He was too dear for the world he was born into.” He blew out a shaky breath. “Our father was a monster as well, and Matteo was thrust into a loveless marriage with a woman who did not make his life easy. He was killed five years ago, as I’m sure you know.”
Carl nodded. Julia had known, in fact. She, Felix, and Danny had kept tabs on Josh’s father for many reasons, including contacting him should Josh ever ask.
“My father was killed the year before that, and Matteo was allowed to divorce his wife, and that year—that year was the happiest I have ever seen him. I have done the best to turn my father’s business into something approaching legitimacy since then, but I will always regret my brother not having more time to be the man he should have been. I would give everything—my homes, my business, anything but my children—to see my brother’s child and do what I can to bring him to health.”
Carl could hear everybody’s breath coming shakily. In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he startled before checking it. “Oh,” he said, thinking that Chuck must have left Molly on the line in his pocket, muted but still able to hear. “Uhm, Mr. di Rossi, this is Ms. Dormer-Salinger. Would you like to speak to her?”
Again, that sunshine smile.
Carl handed over the phone and tried to breathe through the feeling that everything just might be all right.
The Life of Pawns
MICHAEL TRIED not to be too excited that Carl and the others were returning. They’d only been gone for a few days.
It was stupid, really, to feel a connection with a guy he’d seen a couple of times, maybe, in a social situation, and who had come behind the hangar to look at birds with him. But then, all Michael had needed from Chuck had been a well-timed wink and a sparkle from his green eyes before he’d known he could at least get some touch.
What he felt from Carl went way beyond touch.
Chuck was a good guy, but he’d been comfortable robbing banks long before he met Michael. Michael had only wanted what everyone else did. Security. Someone to care for him when he went home. Somebody he could talk to. It was great that Good Luck Chuck had a billionaire to charm and a crew that would keep him from being bored at the same time they kept him out of trouble. Chuck and Michael had never spent any time talking anyway.
Carl had listened to him go on and on about birds and thought they were cool, and the only person Michael had ever had that with had been his ex-wife, which is why he’d hung in there for so long.
And he just really, really wanted to see the man again. He had green eyes too—not sparkling like Chuck’s, but flat and inward looking.
Michael would really love it if those eyes would look at him.
So when he got word from the tower that the plane would be taxiing in an hour after he was supposedly off the clock, he volunteered to hang back and see if anybody needed a ride.
He sort of knew they didn’t, really. He knew Hunter had driven his own vehicle, and Carl and Chuck had arrived together, but well….
As if to confirm his hopes, he heard the brisk stride of hard leather soles echoing in the hangar when he knew for a fact the jet had not yet returned.
He pushed himself out from under the Roadster he’d been repairing, the wheels of the dolly so well oiled and balanced they didn’t even squeak.
“Can I help you?” he asked, smiling like someone who wanted to help.
The man who’d entered was slick and moneyed, wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit and shoes that looked more expensive than Michael’s first car. He was slender and conventionally handsome, with hair cut just so over his brow and kind hazel eyes.
“Don’t mind me. I’m only here to see if they’re back yet. I, uhm, was hoping I could spirit Charles away for dinner in the city tonight, since we’re both in the area at the same time.”
“Mr. Broadstone! It’s so good to see you. No, they’re not back yet. I’m sorry. Do you, uhm, want to wait here? I’ve got a little apartment and everything.” Even if he didn’t recognize Lucius Broadstone from seeing him on the news and in person two months ago, Michael would have remembered him from those dinners at the Salingers’. He’d often thought that if anybody could put a rein on Good Luck Chuck, it would be this kind, elegant man. There was something so intense about the way he carried himself—he wasn’t coarse or rough like the men Michael had grown up with, but he sure could let someone know what he thought, sometimes with just the arch of an eyebrow.
“A place to sit would be so very appreciated!”
He didn’t look around like he expected it to be covered with grease or anything. Now that was class.