Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) (14 page)

When she opened her bedroom door, Franco had his
back to her and was adjusting the cuffs of his tuxedo shirt. He
turned and froze. His eyes widened as he sucked in an audible
breath.

“You look amazing,” he managed in a husky
whisper.

Heat flooded Jo’s face. “Th-thanks,” she
stammered.

He walked toward her. His eyes glinted with
admiration and something else, something that made pleasure settle
in the center of her chest and flow outward through her veins like
honey.

When he reached her, he took her hand and lifted it
to his lips. He kissed her hand, then turned it over to draw a lazy
circle in the center of her palm with his finger. He closed her
fingers over her palm as if he wanted her to hold tight to his
touch.

Jo forgot to breathe as Franco’s hot, bold gaze
locked with hers.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he said in
a thick voice. “I’ve wanted you from the minute I saw you at
Doriana and Logan’s wedding.”

At his startling words, her throat constricted.

He caressed her face with a gentle touch. The feel
of his warm fingers made her sway closer, wanting to absorb his
heat into her body.

“It’s not just your beauty,” he said. “You’re smart.
You make me laugh. You’re never boring.”

Her bones turned to liquid. “You barely paid
attention to me at their wedding,” she said, finding her voice.
“You were with some striking blonde. I’m not your type. You said it
yourself.”

He laughed softly. “You’ve always been my type, Jo
Fortune. I noticed you, so much so that my date got angry. We had a
huge fight over it.” He leaned closer. “There’s always been
something about you. Something that makes me want you more than
I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

Swallowing, she backed away. “Don’t say those
things. Please. We have to go.”

“You’re right. Let’s go. I want to show you off and
bask in the envy of every man there.” He took her arm and tucked it
into his. “But we’re not finished with this discussion.”

<><><>

“What do you think of that one?” Franco asked.

Jo sipped her sparkling cider and studied the huge
marble sculpture in front of them. She turned her head, trying to
get a better angle on the piece. “It’s different,” she said,
looking up at him. “I wonder if I’m the only one who thinks it
looks like a vagina?”

His arm holding his champagne flute froze halfway to
his mouth. Lowering his arm, he burst out laughing. Several people
turned to stare at them with disapproving looks.

“My God, Jo,” he said when he stopped laughing. He
snaked his free arm around her waist and drew her against him. “I
never know what you’re going to say. You bring a fresh perspective
to everything.”

“Seriously, Franco. Isn’t that what it looks
like?”

He laughed again. “It does.”

She smiled and pressed closer to him. They’d been at
the gallery almost three hours. After her initial nervousness and
self-consciousness at the way everyone stared at them, she’d lost
herself in the myriad display of paintings and sculptures. The
gallery’s openly vigilant large security force helped her relax.
She’d never been into art, but she had to admit this evening was
fun. She stole a glance at Franco. Having him next to her,
attentive and patient as he explained some of the art, helped.

Despite her feelings of warmth and contentment, and
the presence of the gallery’s security detail, she was fully aware
of her surroundings. Whenever anyone approached them, a member of
the wait staff, a guest, or a gallery employee, her senses went
into high alert. At times she felt like a pit bull, guarding her
master and ready to tear apart anyone who tried to hurt him.

When they’d first arrived, Franco had had a lengthy
conversation with the gallery owners, Chloe and Matteo DiMarco, a
beautiful young couple who Franco said divided their time between
their house in Philadelphia and their villa in Ravello, Italy. As
they talked to the friendly couple, Jo had felt unwanted twinges of
envy at the obvious love between Chloe and Matteo. Deep in the
recesses of her soul, Jo wanted that kind of love.

As she and Franco strolled through the rooms of the
spacious gallery, admiring some of the pieces, confused by others,
they spoke to artists and guests and nibbled on the gourmet food
offered by the white-jacketed wait staff. Franco seemed to
genuinely enjoy being with her and she found herself reveling in
the thought. She looked at him and reminded herself where they were
and why they were there. If only things were different.

After a while, the crowd began to thin, and they
wandered more easily through the large rooms. Franco kept his hand
on the small of her back as they walked. Jo inhaled the rich aromas
of beef, chicken, and vegetables from the selection of food that
had been served. A table in a corner of the main room overflowed
with cakes and sweets, their sugary scent making her mouth water.
The soft white walls and the light oak floors, polished to a high
gloss, whispered wealth and privilege. She felt like Cinderella at
the ball. Would the Town Car morph into a pumpkin and her prince
disappear at midnight? If this prince disappeared, they’d all be in
a lot of trouble.

They entered one of the smaller rooms, filled with
bronze sculptures. Franco stiffened beside her. Jo looked up at
him, then followed his gaze to a well-dressed, middle-aged
couple.

“Damn,” Franco said under his breath.

“Who are they?” Jo asked.

“Mac’s parents.”

The woman, in a long white beaded gown, wore her
blonde hair in a helmet-like bob. The silver-haired man with her
was tall and elegant in his tuxedo. But it was the malice in the
couple’s eyes as they stared at Franco that set off alarms in Jo’s
head. She discreetly opened her purse then lowered her hand,
letting the soft folds of her dress hide the gun from view. The few
others in the room had drifted away, leaving Franco and her alone
with the other couple.

Mac had been Franco’s friend, his partner. Surely,
the stylish people facing them would do him no harm.

Franco tightened his arm around Jo’s waist as Mac’s
parents, their bodies stiff and their faces set into determined
masks, strode toward them.

When the other couple reached them, Franco nodded
and said, “Robert, Teresa.”

“Don’t waste your breath being polite,” the man
said.

“What are you doing here?” his wife asked in a voice
sharp enough to cut glass.

The sculptures blurred and faded as Jo concentrated
all her attention on the older couple.

“I’m here the same as you. At Chloe and Matteo’s
invitation.” Franco’s voice was tight with tension.

Casually, Jo slid over, putting herself between
Franco and the others.

The woman, eyes flashing with hatred, stared at
Franco over Jo’s head.

“You should be ashamed to show your face in public,”
the woman spat out.

“Let’s go, Teresa,” her husband said. “He’s not
worth it.” He took his wife’s arm to lead her away.

“Murderer!” she shouted.

Her vile word hung in the air, tainting the rarefied
atmosphere, as Teresa turned and the couple marched out of the
room.

Jo furrowed her brow and turned to Franco. “What was
that about? I thought Mac died in prison.”

“He did,” Franco said in a dead voice. “I put him
there.

***

F
ranco and Jo left the
gallery soon after the incident with Mac’s parents. They said their
goodbyes and thanks to the DiMarcos, then hurried outside and into
the Town Car. Jo pressed against the door on her side of the
backseat, not looking at Franco. She didn’t need to look at him to
feel his tension. It vibrated through the car’s interior. She
needed to sort out her confusion. Franco’s admission had hit her
like a sucker punch to the gut.

Neither of them spoke on the short ride home. When
they entered Franco’s house, he secured it, then headed toward the
living room. Jo followed and watched as he went to the bar, pulled
out a brandy snifter, then popped the top on the brandy
decanter.

As he lifted the bottle of liquor, Jo put her hand
over his, stopping him. He gave her a questioning look, then set
down the bottle. “What?”

“We need to talk,” she said. “Now. And I need you to
have a clear head.”

“My head’s clear.”

“Franco, you’ve been holding out on me again. I want
Mac’s whole story. I want to know why his parents think you
murdered him.” Her gaze locked on his. “And I want to know why you
sent him to prison.”

With a frustrated sigh, he slipped off his tuxedo
jacket and threw it over a nearby chair. “Can I at least have a
glass of water?” Loosening his tie, he tossed it on the bar, then
unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and rolled up his
shirtsleeves, exposing tanned, muscled arms sprinkled with fine
dark hairs.

He looked so masculine. Her desire for him released
some of the anxiety that had tightened her chest since they left
the gallery. Hoping he wouldn’t notice her ogling him, she waved a
hand. “Yes, and bring me ice water too.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Please,” she said.

“You sure are bossy.” Despite the seriousness of the
situation, his eyes held a glint of humor.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” She kicked off her
heels and stalked to the leather sectional and primly set her purse
on the table in front of her.

Franco’s soft laugh, his first since they’d
confronted Mac’s parents, followed her.

A few minutes later, seated next to each other,
Franco lifted his water goblet, drank deeply, then replaced his
goblet on the table. Not looking at her, he sat on the edge of his
seat, legs apart, his arms resting on his thighs. “What do you want
me to say?”

“The truth, Franco. Always the truth. Start with how
you were involved with Mac going to prison.”

Staring straight ahead, he said, “The same time Mac
and I started the center for the kids in North Philly, we also
started the charity to fund it. Mac had a degree from Wharton so he
was a natural to run the charity. We hired experienced people to
manage the center. It was hard work, but I was really proud of all
we accomplished.”

He slid back and braced an arm along the back of his
seat, then turned to look at her. “Mac’s parents are wealthy. Same
as mine. With our contacts, we had no trouble raising money.
Although I’m a blind partner, I worked my contacts and helped
organize fund-raisers.” A shadow came over his eyes. “Until he was
arrested, Mac’s parents didn’t know I was his partner. They thought
he started the center and the charity on his own and were relieved
Mac was finally doing something worthwhile. He’d always been wild,
and had gotten heavily into drugs during his teen years. Far as I
know, he was clean by the time he got to college.”

Giving her a cynical smile, he continued. “Mac’s
parents were always traveling somewhere, without him. So whenever
Mac got into trouble, they’d make it go away, and they’d make
excuses for him. Then they’d be off on another trip. My parents
indulged me too, but they were always there for me.”

She touched his arm where it rested along the sofa
back. The warmth of his skin heated her hand, and his tense muscles
bunched under her fingers. “I don’t understand why you didn’t want
anyone, especially your family, to know you were involved in the
charity and youth center.”

“I had my reasons. I was perfectly content to let
Mac take all the credit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was
a fool, Jo. I gave him free rein and he screwed me. And, more
importantly, he screwed the kids. I should have seen he hadn’t
really changed.”

“What happened?”

He blew out a breath and stared at a spot above her
head. “Mac stole from the charity. He embezzled close to seven
hundred fifty thousand dollars.”

“Oh. My. God. That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it is. As a partner, I should have known
something was off. But I trusted him.” He hunched forward, hands on
his knees, and looked down at the floor.

Jo placed her hand over his. “Don’t beat yourself up
because you trusted a friend.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “I run a multi-national
company. Although I’ve got good people helping run my company, I’m
ultimately responsible for what happens, and I’m responsible for my
employees. My department heads report to me. I know everything that
goes on at the firm. Yet, Mac, my partner and friend, was stealing
from the charity right under my nose and I saw nothing.”

“When did this happen and how did you find out about
it?” she asked softly.

He gripped her hand and held it tightly as he
settled back into the sofa, his gaze still on hers. “About three
years ago, Mac was on a month-long Hawaiian vacation with his
latest girlfriend. It was a slow period, and Mac’s assistant could
handle most problems that might come up. Mac had only been gone a
couple of days when his assistant called me, very agitated and
concerned about a letter the charity received that day from the
State of Pennsylvania. Henry, his assistant, had called Mac in
Hawaii, and left a message. When Mac didn’t call right back, his
assistant got worried and contacted me.”

“Letter?”

“A threatening letter. Apparently, not the first one
they’d sent. Mac’s assistant hadn’t seen the other letters. Mac
liked to micromanage and usually grabbed the mail before Henry saw
it.”

Jo rolled her neck to relieve the knot that had
formed between her shoulder blades. Franco still held her hand.
“What did the letter say?”

“The state threatened the charity with a cease and
desist unless we allowed them to do an audit of the books.”

“Audit?”

“Yeah, an audit.” He settled back into his seat but
didn’t release her hand. “The state had gotten a complaint from a
donor saying he suspected the charity might not be using the money
for the kids’ club. The state wanted to do an audit, and Mac
ignored their requests.”