But she’s not really speaking to the cameras. She’s speaking to me.
She tells me about her days or shows me new things that Harry has learned. Sometimes she chastises me for refusing to speak to her, for leaving her alone despite having, in her mind, committed no crime. Other times she seems almost apologetic.
Today she is lying on her back on the couch, running a hand over her belly while ruminating on baby names.
“If you don’t provide any input, I’m going to name it something weird,” she says, glancing down the lens of the camera. “You know, like when celebrities name their kids after objects? I’m going to name our baby ‘Lanyard.’ It’s great because it works for a boy or a girl.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“I presume you’d want to choose an Italian name?” she says. “I don’t mind. I figure after I named our first child after my dead father, who turned out to be a psychopathic sadist, you get to name this one.”
Her brown hair lies like a silken curtain over the arm of the couch, and she is wearing a simple tank top and cotton lounge shorts. Even dressed simply, she looks like a wet dream, one long leg folded over the other.
“What’s going to happen after I give birth?” she asks, reaching down to stroke Harry’s head.
He is sitting on the floor, rolling a truck back and forth over the brown rug, completely unaware that his mother is talking to his absent father.
“Will I come back to live in the mansion with you? Or could we finally go live in that house you bought for us?” She smiles, looking down at Harry. “I have so many ideas for how I would decorate. I’ve been thinking that we could do the nursery in a cheery yellow so that it always feels like the sun is shining through the window.”
I can’t help but wonder if this is all an act—if Alexis is doing everything she can to reel me back in. Or maybe she’s sorry. Maybe she is trying to make amends for everything she did by painting a beautiful picture of the life we could have together as a family if only I could forgive her.
But I can’t. Not when I’m still so angry. Not when I can’t trust that this isn’t yet another one of her deceptions.
I force myself to close the feed. I could spend hours watching her, but what would that accomplish?
I go to the gym instead, pushing myself harder and harder, until the only thoughts that circle my mind are those of thirst and pain.
Silvano calls just as I sit down to do some work.
“What?” I answer.
Even after a punishing workout, a shower, and some lunch, I am still on edge. Alexis made it all sound so easy—I could just forgive her, and then we could raise our children together in domestic bliss. We could paint the nursery sunshine-yellow and get a dog and make pancakes with banana smiles and blueberry eyes on lazy Sunday mornings.
But I can’t have that. Not with Alexis. Not with anyone.
Silvano clears his throat. “Our contacts in the police have found Clara’s phone. It’s in a house in Tremont.”
“Send me the address.”
“There’s no guarantee she will be there,” Silvano says carefully. “This could be a trap.”
“It’s definitely a trap,” I snap. “But if there is a chance that we can rescue Clara, we need to take it.”
Only the most foolish kidnapper would keep their captive’s phone so it could be tracked. It annoys me that Silvano thinks I don’t know this.
“I would suggest that we leave this one to the police,” Silvano urges.
I understand his hesitance. Why would we put ourselves on the line to go save a girl who doesn’t belong to our organization?
But this is Alexis’ best friend. She begged me to find Clara, and considering all that Clara has been through because of Alexis’ connection to me, it feels like my responsibility.
“If the police were going to do anything about it, they would have done it already,” I reply. “Do you think we are the only ones who can afford to buy help on the inside?”
“I still—”
I slam my fist on the desk. “Dammit, Silvano. We’re going after her. Get a team together and meet me in front of the mansion in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call. If nothing else, maybe this rescue mission will help me blow off a little steam. I obviously need it.
The house is a nondescript rancher with one boarded-up window and a rusty bicycle sitting in the middle of the front yard. The front porch light is on, as if welcoming us inside. It’s quiet. I don’t like it.
My men split up, with Gio and Mirko going around the back and the rest going through the front with me. We approach the door, guns drawn, and Dom kicks it in. We rush through the entrance into the darkness.
It smells putrid inside, like cats and feces and something dead. I reach for the light switch, but it doesn’t turn on. Dom aims a flashlight at the ceiling. The bulb has been removed.
“Here!” Mirko calls from further in the house.
I leave Dom and the others to clear the rest of the front while I follow Mirko’s voice. I find him in a small boxy room off what looks to be the kitchen. That’s where I find Clara too. The small blonde is tied to a chair, her head hanging forward, her arms pulled tightly behind her so that it looks like her shoulders are seconds from popping out of their sockets.
Mirko is bent behind her, working on the restraints. It’s only when I enter the room that Clara seems to notice she is no longer alone. She lifts her head, looking up at me with bleary eyes, rimmed with red and purple.
“Gabriel,” she says, her scratchy voice thick with surprise.
“I’m a little surprised, too, if I’m being honest,” comes a husky female voice from behind me. I would recognize that voice anywhere.
I spin on my heel and aim my gun, but Felicity Huffman and her two men already have guns trained on Mirko and me. Fuck.
My father’s former concubine looks just like I remember her—an elegant woman in her forties with blonde hair cropped into a prim pixie cut and blue eyes sparkling under the golden bangs at the front. She has high, elegant cheekbones and a pert mouth that always lends her the appearance of someone who knows a secret that she cannot wait to share.
I always wondered what happened to her after my father’s death. She disappeared in the middle of the night, presumably never to be seen again. If only it were that simple.
“Felicity,” I growl. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I thought it was time for a chat,” she coos, leaning one hip against the doorframe. “I hear you’ve been demanding to have an audience with me all over town.”
I frown. “I didn’t even know you were alive.”
“Oh come now, Gabriel.” She rolls her eyes, chuckling. “Don’t be so dense.”
The pieces click together in my mind. But no…It can’t be.
I grit my teeth. “You’re leading the Cartel?”
Felicity laughs, an airy sound that seems so out of place in this den of horrors. “Don’t look so surprised, darling. You knew I was ambitious.” She cocks the gun. “I did have my sights on the Italian Mafia, but some little shit got in my way and took it for himself.”