Read Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) Online
Authors: Christopher Smith
Pepper recognized the name instantly.
She turned to Leana with her lips
slightly parted.
Before Michael
came on the line, Leana wanted to leave her and her father with something to
worry about, so she acted as if Michael had already answered.
“Michael, it’s Leana.
I’m in a bind and need a favor.
Are you up for lunch?”
She
turned and started to walk down the hallway.
As she walked away from them, her
footsteps were so firm, they sounded to her like small explosions on the marble
tile.
In a voice that would carry,
she said, “That’s perfect.
Thirty
minutes.
I can’t wait to see you,
either.”
On the sidewalk, where
the sun was hot, the air was still and Sunday afternoon had come to life with
teams of people walking down Fifth, Leana finished talking to Michael, who had
come on the line when she was in the elevator.
She then went to the curb to hail a cab,
snagged one and stepped inside.
“Where to?” the driver
said.
She gave him the address
of Tribeca Grill, which was within walking distance of Michael’s
apartment.
Michael said he could
get one of the corner tables where they’d be able to talk as discreetly as
possible while having lunch.
“I’ll
take care of the seating arrangements before you get here,” he said.
Meanwhile, in the cab,
Leana checked her phone for messages.
There was one from Mario, who was off to see his father at his Todt Hill
mansion.
“How about dinner with me
tonight?
Our place?
I’ll cook.
Maybe a movie afterwards?
We can talk about today if you want or
we can talk about it when you’re ready.
See you tonight.”
She put the phone in her
handbag and thought about how much she loved him.
She’d go to the end of the earth for him
and she knew he’d do the same for her.
After all they’d been through together, she couldn’t imagine life
without him.
She couldn’t wait to
be married to him.
The cab raced down Fifth
and her thoughts turned to Michael.
The last time they spoke, he was here in New York and had just published
his latest novel,
Fifth Avenue.
Allegedly, it was a fictional account of everything that went down
between Louis Ryan and her family.
The names were changed but there was nothing fictional about it.
She read the book and, in spite of using
a bit of creative license to keep the story intense, everything in it was true.
Because he was so deeply
involved in the story, he and his editor decided to publish the book under the
pseudonym Christopher Smith.
To
their surprise, the book immediately hit the international bestseller list and
remained on it for seven consecutive months.
It sold millions of
copies, which was nothing new for Michael, who had published several bestselling
thrillers, which likely received a boost because of his other career as an
A-list movie star.
But it certainly
was new for “Christopher Smith,” a writer few had heard of before and who
curiously didn’t give interviews or make public appearances in spite of how
white-hot his book was.
I wonder why
, Leana thought.
When the driver arrived
at the Grille, she slipped him a twenty, told him to keep the change and felt a
nervous pit growing inside her stomach.
This was twice today that she was seeing someone she hadn’t seen in
years.
First her father, which
turned out to be a disaster.
And
now Michael, her former husband, who was revealed to be her half-brother when
his father, Louis Ryan, confronted the Redmans with the truth about George
Redman’s infidelity with his wife.
She was about to step
inside when someone came up behind her and took her by the arm.
It was Michael.
He was wearing sunglasses and a cap over
his dark hair, but that was nothing new for this place, which attracted
celebrities like a magnet.
Tribeca
was filled with them.
Without thinking about
it, she reached up and held his face in her hands.
There was no awkwardness between
them.
Both of them had been used by
Ryan and suffered at his hand.
She
kissed him on the cheek and he held her close.
She took a step back and
smiled at him.
“Look at you,” she
said.
“So incognito.”
He blushed, which
surprised her.
“I have a new movie
coming out in September,” he said.
“They’re promoting the hell out of it now.”
He’d been famous for
years, but still he wasn’t comfortable with it.
Perhaps that wasn’t possible at his
level.
She caught the look of
concern that crossed his face and realized why.
“This is your first time back on screen,
isn’t it?”
“First the book.
Now the movie.”
“You look worried.”
“You never know if
they’re going to come back, Leana.
In my business, three years away from the screen might as well be ten.”
“So, I guess we’ll wait
and see.”
“You know, you’re one of
the only people in my life who doesn’t bullshit me.”
“Not my style.”
“You don’t know how much
I appreciate that.”
“I expect the same from
you.
Were you able to get us a
seat?”
“I think so.”
She knew that was an
understatement, but she loved him for it.
He never put on airs.
He
opened the door and a beautiful woman greeted them with a look of
recognition.
She led them to a
corner table that overlooked the street at the far left of the restaurant.
Leana took the chair facing the
windows.
Michael kept his back to
them.
“You look great,” he
said.
“A relationship suits
me.”
“At least this one does.”
She put her hand on the
back of his.
“I’d rather have you
as my brother.
We’ll be together
forever that way.”
“I’m glad you called me.”
“It’s time we get back on
track.
I need a brother.”
“You’ve got one.”
“We’ll see how happy you
are about that in a minute.”
“What’s up?
You sounded irritated on the phone.”
“Just irritated?
Michael, I was nuclear.
They could have plugged the entire city
into my ass and there wouldn’t have been a blip in service.”
“And thank you for
that
image.”
“I have more.”
“I think I’m good.”
“I’m sorry to start off
this way, but I need a favor only you can deliver.
I really need your help.”
“What’s the favor?”
She told him about the
scene with her father and their cousin.
“Her name is Pepper?”
“It’s actually
Penelope.
The kids at Wharton
called her Pepper because she’s spicy.
And, man, is that ever true.
Let me tell you about our cousin.
She’s one mean-spirited bitch.”
A waiter came over to
take their orders.
Each went with
an iced tea and a salad.
When he
left, Leana told Michael everything that had transpired in her father’s
penthouse.
“He’s never going to let
you in, is he?”
“Apparently not.”
“What’s his problem?”
“Take your pick.
I was a drug addict when I was in my
late teens, I caused nothing but trouble in my early twenties and I agreed to
open Louis Ryan’s hotel because I knew it would piss Dad off.
I understand he has legitimate reasons
for being angry with me, especially when I was becoming an adult.
What I don’t understand is why he
treated me like a third-rate nobody when I was a kid.
He ignored me.
That’s where my problems with him
began.”
Their drinks arrived and
as Leana looked up to thank the waiter, she was aware that she and Michael were
the room’s focus.
She couldn’t tell
if people were looking at him or her.
For the past twelve hours, her face had blanketed New York.
“So, what can I do for
you?” he asked.
“You said you
needed a favor.”
She told him about her
hotel on Park.
“In a month, I’m
celebrating its restoration with a grand opening party.
Naturally, Pepper and my father have
chosen the same night for a ‘social event that will elevate The Hotel Fifth in
ways that will bury The Park.’
Or
so says Pepper.”
“She really is a bitch.”
“You don’t even know.”
She hesitated, then told him what she
needed from him.
“I know it’s
asking a lot.
If you can’t do it, I
understand.”
“I can do it,” he
said.
“At least, I think I
can.
Let me get back to you.
The only issue is timing.
I’ve got to do promotion for the movie,
which might make things tricky.
And
friends might be working on their own projects.”
“If you can do it, I owe
you one.”
“You don’t owe me
anything.”
“I’ll email you the
particulars.
I appreciate it,
Michael.”
“What
are brothers/ex-husbands for?”
At his father’s Todt Hill
mansion, the sun went behind a cloud, a shadow stretched across the grounds and
Mario’s face was left gray in the wake of the diffused light.
He rolled down the window
of his Ferrari 458 Italia, pressed a button on the box beside him and looked
ahead at the massive iron gates that separated him from his father’s
house.
On top of those gates, a
camera was pointed down at him.
A
few seconds passed before the gates opened to expose a cobblestone drive that led
to a mansion no one could see from the street.
His father’s house was a mile from the
entrance, at the end of winding curves that cut through a canopy of trees,
which rustled now in the late-summer breeze.
As he drove to the house,
he counted four armed guards either standing beside trees or walking alongside
the road.
They nodded at him as he
passed.
He nodded back, knowing
that he was missing others, but nevertheless sensing their presence.
His father, capo di capi of the New York
syndicate, left nothing to chance when it came to his own safety.
Welcome home
, he thought.
He crested a hill and the
house came into view.
It was
obnoxiously large, a Tuscan-style mansion with massive casement windows,
flowers that cascaded from several balconies and a large fountain at the center
of a circular driveway that winked and twinkled as if in an effort to maintain
the illusion that this was a warm, inviting place to be admired and not a
common meeting ground for members of the Mob.
Mario rounded the driveway
before he came to a stop near the front doors, which opened when he turned off
the car.
His nephew Christian, who
was just sixteen and now learning what there was to learn about the Family,
rushed down the steps.
Mario stepped out of the
car.
“How’s it going,
Christian?”
“Great, Uncle
Mario.”
The boy looked only
fleetingly at his uncle.
Instead,
he was consumed by the fiery red car with the sloping hood, the bi-xenon
headlights and the black leather interior.
“When did you get this?”