I get in the car, and Angelo gets in beside me, ruffling his thick brown hair as we pull out into the street. “You do get yourself in some scrapes,” he comments.
“It’s nice to see you too,” I remark dryly.
His gray eyes sparkle with mirth. He leans over and tickles Harry’s chin, which nearly earns him a smile. Angelo’s cute, a bit too round in the face for my liking, but I could see Clara finding him attractive.
Clara, shit.
I pull my phone out and dial her number again. Her phone is still off.
“What’s wrong?” Angelo asks.
“I need to speak to Gabriel.” I bite my lip, thinking about what King Kong said to me back there about Gabriel’s arrest. Gabriel and I have a lot of things to talk about.
A pained expression flickers over Angelo’s features. “I’m not sure that will be possible. We’re just supposed to take you back to the apartment and await orders.”
“Angelo, please.”
He glances at the front seat, where the other guards are talking in low voices to each other. He chews his bottom lip.
“You know me,” I say, jumping on his indecision. “I’ll make a big scene. I’ll get Harry to start crying again, and that’s going to really freak John out.”
Angelo chuckles. “Let’s get you back into the apartment safely, and then I’ll see what I can do.”
7
Gabriel
As requested, Silvano calls me in less than half an hour to update me on Alexis’ whereabouts. “She’s safe,” he says. “Angelo and the others have her, and they’re bringing her back to the apartment now. Angelo says there were two members of the Cartel trying to subdue her when they found her. He had to let them go so they could prioritize getting Harry and Alexis away safely.”
“I don’t care. As long as they’re okay.”
“Should be at the apartment within minutes.”
My shoulders sag, and I lean back in my chair. I have spent the past twenty minutes trying and failing to get work done. Every time I tried to concentrate, an image of Alexis and Harry, bound to a chair somewhere in the dark, popped into my brain and thoughts would scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind.
“Any word on her guards?” I ask.
“No. None of them are answering their phones, and they’re not at the apartment or in their car.”
That’s worrying. To have Alexis’ security detail suddenly and silently go missing is not a good sign, and I’m just glad that Angelo found her.
Once she’s in the apartment, that’s where she’s going to stay. Alexis won’t like it, but she will have to learn to deal with it. She escaped by the skin of her teeth, and we might not be so lucky next time.
“Call me when they’re back at the apartment and it’s secure,” I instruct.
I check the time on my watch. I have only an hour until I need to be at my office in the city for a meeting. I’m being interviewed for a lifestyle column in some executive magazine. I don’t much feel like having the threads of my life examined by some self-important journalist, and I consider canceling.
Carmen Book, my publicist, will spit actual fire if I do. I have canceled every interview she has set up since I was arrested just over a month ago, and as she has reminded me many times, if I don’t start rehabilitating my public image, my business will suffer. It just hardly seems to matter what the city’s gossips think about the CEO of Bellucci Inc. when the don of the Italian Mafia is fighting a gruesome war. But this life, this charade, is a delicate balancing act, and I need to start tipping the scales back toward a neutral center before they tumble over entirely.
Silvano calls back ten minutes or so later to inform me that Alexis and Harry are secure.
“Good,” I say. “I want her guard tripled for the foreseeable future. Two in the apartment at all times, plus guards posted outside and regular patrols of the area.”
Silvano clears his throat. “She has asked to see you.”
My chest tightens. For a second, I am tempted. But what good would come of that? She would only try to manipulate me further, and that is the last thing I need amidst all this madness.
“No,” I reply.
“Angelo says she is being quite insistent.”
“Angelo would say that,” I growl. “My son is safe. As far as I’m concerned, Alexis and I have nothing to talk about.”
I hang up, irritation buzzing through my veins. Alexis only wants to talk to me because Angelo and his men have told her she cannot leave the apartment. She wants to bargain, or worse, she thinks she can twist me around her finger, and I will let her do whatever it is her crooked little heart desires.
I call my driver and tell him to meet me at the front door with the car.
The woman sitting in front of me sips her green tea daintily, watching me over the top of the mug with cat-like interest. I can almost see her swishing her tail behind her. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a long, shiny ponytail, and her gray eyes are smudged artfully so that they seem bigger. She wears an expensive-looking pantsuit, the pointed toes of her Jimmy Choos poking out underneath.
Taylor Green is not merely a lifestyle columnist. Whatever she writes about me will have substance and will be braided with her opinions and observations. I need to be careful.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Bellucci,” Taylor says in a level, honeyed voice. She places the tea down on the desk and crosses her legs. “Shall we begin?”
I sit straight in my executive chair, not a thread out of place. Outside of this office, I have enemies converging on me from all sides. Not in here. In this office I have all the time in the world.
“Yes, let’s begin.”
Taylor opens the notebook in her lap, pen poised over the page. “It has been a busy year for you, Mr. Bellucci,” she comments. “Various run-ins with the press, a mother and child who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and now a murder trial.”
Her eyes flick up, and I suppress an irritated scowl. I hate when reporters pose statements as if they are questions.
I don a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, it has been a busier year than most, I admit.”
“On the subject of your delightful little family, many of your critics have noticed their absence from the public eye recently. Can you comment?”
I want to tell her that it’s none of her business, and perhaps a few months ago would have done just that, but I have practiced maintaining a cool head in front of the press, even when it comes to answering uncomfortable questions.
Recently Carmen made the rather astute observation that now that I am being investigated for murder, I cannot be seen to publicly lose my temper. It paints too clear a picture.
“Harry and Alexis are well,” I answer. “Alexis and I decided we wanted to keep Harry out of the public eye and away from the madness of the trial as much as possible. So, for the time being, we are living separately.”
Taylor cocks a sculpted brow. “That must be very difficult.”
“It is.” I nod. “But it’s for the best. Alexis and I love each other very much, and we love our son even more. We just want what’s best for him, even if at the moment that means I must keep him at arm’s length.’