The silver fox.
After his mother and brother had been hit in Sicily, his grandfather had promptly shipped him off to join the family in New York where it was safer. He’d grown up running numbers around Queens and in the Bronx, learning the business, finally taking control.
Annie looked up at his face. It was a strong face, commanding. Tanned, with bright blue eyes. Deep laughter lines in the corners. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her from just inches away.
‘So what now, Mrs Carter?’ he asked in that assured, deep American voice. ‘You gonna bolt for the door, or give this a shot?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Annie, although she did. She brushed past him, went to the desk, sat down. ‘I’m here to discuss your clubs.’
Constantine went back around the desk and sat down too.
‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ he said. ‘I’m perfectly happy with the service I’m getting.’ He looked at her. ‘Which isn’t to say it couldn’t be improved upon, of course.’
The West End clubs that Constantine owned were gold mines. Annie knew that. Famous people were in and out of there all the time, the Beatles, Howard Keel, George Segal, anyone who was anyone, all the big names. If you weren’t rich, famous or glamorous—and preferably you would be all three—you wouldn’t get through the door.
Constantine knew many film stars and singers, just as Max had done. They were pleased to appear in his clubs and to bestow extra kudos upon them. Those he didn’t know—the up-and-coming talents, the great emerging beauties flaunting their fabulous bodies and eager to press the flesh of producers and directors—people like that, he paid. For a couple of grand and a few freebies they’d be there, spotting and being spotted, adding new-face charisma and a sprinkle of stardust to the already heady mix.
His clubs—like the other top London nightspots, Tramp and Annabel’s—were always packed out with wealthy punters, and wealthy punters liked tight security, locally provided, right there on the spot. While Constantine did business here, his main base was New York. Rather than spread his own resources too thinly, he preferred to hire in native
muscle—and, up until this point, that muscle had always been the Carters.
‘Look,’ she said quickly, ‘have the Delaneys made you an offer?’
Constantine gave her a look. ‘The Delaneys are always making me offers.’
‘
Have
they? What did Redmond have to say to you when I met you at the hotel?’
‘Okay. He said that whatever the Carter cut was, he’d halve it.’
Annie let out a breath. ‘I bloody knew it,’ she fumed. She looked at him. ‘And you didn’t buy that?’
Constantine shrugged. ‘Max was always a good friend to our family, he honoured his business dealings with us and I’m returning the favour.’
‘Although it’s costing you.’
‘Yeah. But that goes with the territory.’ He looked at her shrewdly. ‘The Delaney thing’s still ongoing then? I know they’ve spent years trying to muscle in on Carter territory, and now Max and Jonjo are not on the scene, I guess they’re thinking the coast is clear.’
‘It’s not clear,’ she said. ‘I’ve told them that.’
‘Well, that’s good. Because it’s tough, being a boss. And doubly tough being a lady boss. People looking to shake you down. Thinking it’s gonna be easy, you know?’
‘It’s not clear, okay?’
‘Okay, so that’s the business talk wrapped up. How is Layla?’
‘She’s fine,’ said Annie.
‘Good. That’s good news.’
He stood up and came around the desk and leaned back against it, then hauled Annie to her feet with one hand. Startled, she found herself standing between his legs, pressed up tight against him, his arms around her waist. ‘Can we now get on to what’s really on our minds?’ he asked.
‘Like what?’ asked Annie, although she knew.
Her blood was fizzing with desire; she’d wanted this for far too long. But her desire was tainted with unease now. What if he was lying, what if he’d already got into bed—in the business sense—with the Delaneys? What if he was her enemy, even while he
appeared
to be her friend?
‘Like this,’ said Constantine, and bent his head and kissed her. Her head reeled and pulse accelerated. After a couple of seconds, Annie pulled back, bunching her fists against his chest.
‘Wait,’ she said.
‘
Wait?
’ Constantine’s expression was amused disbelief.
‘You said something and I want to know what you meant.’
‘When did I say something?’
‘Outside the hotel. You said if you could find
the guts to face this thing, then so could I. What did you mean?’
‘Right.’ His eyes lost their spark of humour. He looked at her, smoothed his hands over her back. ‘Listen to me. Five years ago I lost my wife Maria in a hit organized by a rogue soldier from one of the other New York families. He was aiming for me. He got her.’
‘I know that,’ said Annie.
‘Yeah, but maybe you
don’t
know what it’s like to have that sort of guilt on your shoulders, uh? Anyway, what I’m telling you is, bad things can happen to people who come close to me.’ His eyes were intense as they stared into hers. ‘You know what I am. You know I’m telling you the truth.’
Maybe I don’t even want to get close to you
, she thought.
Maybe I don’t dare.
‘I’m not afraid,’ said Annie.
‘There have been bad things done between the families. Terrible things. Thirty members of one family, wiped out in a vendetta. A boy of twelve killed, his body dissolved in acid. Getting scared yet?’
She was scared all right—scared of loving him, and discovering too late that he was a treacherous bastard.
‘You’re quiet,’ he said when she didn’t answer.
‘I think you’re on my side.’ Annie was staring at him. ‘So I’ve nothing to fear, have I?’
‘You
think
?’ He was looking at her curiously.
He was warning her of the dangers of involvement—but she wasn’t even sure she wanted to get in any deeper. ‘And I’ve got the boys. Max’s boys,’ she said. It was safer, better, to rely on them.
‘I’m glad you said Max’s,’ said Constantine. ‘Because they’re still his, you know, not yours.’
Annie shook her head. ‘No, that’s—’
‘Don’t tell me it’s not true, because it is. It’s a tough world out there: men run it and you’re a woman. Max’s people will think you should remain loyal to him. To his memory, anyway. So if you’re not—if you start something with me, for instance—although
you
know you’re free to do so, they won’t ever accept it. And trust me, they’ll be annoyed. They’ll see it as a betrayal.’
Annie said nothing. She knew he was right. She’d been thinking much the same herself.
‘I’m going to be honest with you,’ said Constantine. ‘After we parted last time, I thought…no. I didn’t want to go there. I’d already lost people I loved. I didn’t want to risk that sort of pain again.’
Annie opened her mouth to speak.
‘No, let me finish. But I kept thinking about you. And I realized that it was already too late, I was already involved. So I knew I had to go for it. And I hoped it wasn’t too late, that I hadn’t
kept you waiting too long, that you had the balls to go ahead with this even though there could be dangers involved, there could be risks. You know what I really
didn’t
want to happen?’
Annie shook her head.
‘That you should feel grateful to me for anything I’ve done in the past. I didn’t want your gratitude, and I didn’t want you on the fucking rebound from Max either.’
He pulled her in and kissed her again, harder.
Annie melted. But again she pushed him away.
‘And the problem this time is…?’ asked Constantine.
‘Is Lucco going to walk in on us?’ Annie remembered Constantine’s oily dark-haired son sneering at her, warning her off, bursting in on them at every opportunity.
‘Lucco’s in New York,’ said Constantine, pushing her back a step. He took her hand, looked at the ring on her thumb. Max’s ring, with the Egyptian cartouches carved into the gold, the solid slab of lapis lazuli a gleaming pure blue. Looked at his own ring, gold with small diamonds scattered like stars. ‘Listen, if I kiss your hand, will you kiss mine?’
Annie started to smile. He could always charm her. His charm was her weakness. ‘Did you
seriously
think I’d kiss it?’
‘Wanted to see how you’d react.’
‘That’s cruel.’
He shrugged, his eyes playing with hers. ‘Hey, I can do cruel. If it turns you on.’
Annie was aware of her heart beating fast. Her cheeks felt hot, her nipples hard. They looked at each other and there was a hot crackle of sheer sexual need between them.
‘Let’s take this upstairs,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Annie, digging her heels in. She wasn’t sure about him. No
way
was she going to be rushed. She was determined to take things at her own speed.
He gazed steadily at her face. ‘Okay. I’ll wait. I’ll do the whole courtship thing, if you want. Why not come to lunch on Tuesday, meet the family properly?’
‘Oh shit, Constantine…’
‘They don’t bite.’
‘Are you
sure
?’
He laughed. ‘I’m not going to let this go,’ he warned her. ‘And this courtship thing? I won’t be patient for too long.’
She knew it. He knew it.
‘You need me,’ he murmured, trailing his lips lightly over her mouth. ‘You need me like a drug. And one day soon you’re going to admit it to me—and to yourself.’
‘You know what? You’re an arrogant swine,’ said Annie, but he was right, damn it.
‘Yeah, and you like that,’ he said with a smile. ‘So let’s get this thing rolling. Come to lunch.’
‘Okay,’ she said at last, and wondered what the hell she was getting herself into.
They’d been so happy together, so very happy—two survivors clinging on to the wreckage of life; but to the outside world they were winners—a glossy, polished couple so wrapped up in each other, so much in love. Or so Mira had thought.
They were voracious in their appetites. Redmond had a taste for the high life and he also had a taste for excess, and she matched him in that. They ate at the finest places, mixed with TV stars and peers of the realm…and then there was the sex: they gorged themselves on stupendous sex.
And then suddenly one day she realized she was late. She was overjoyed. She knew he would be, too.
‘What do you mean, late?’ Redmond asked her when she told him, smiling happily.
‘Late.’ Mira threw her arms wide, let out a laugh. ‘As in, I could be pregnant.’
‘Pregnant?’ He stared at her. ‘But you’re on the Pill.’
‘It’s not one hundred per cent reliable,’ she said. ‘You know that.’
He did know it. She’d told him, but he’d said they’d chance it anyway. He hated to use condoms, he liked to be naked inside her: wearing a condom was like trying to scratch your toes with your boots on; he hated the things. He’d known this could happen. So why was he standing there, saying nothing, looking at her as if she was a stranger?
‘It…doesn’t have to be a disaster though, does it?’ Mira said hesitantly, the smile dying on her face.
Redmond ran a hand through his hair. He was still looking at her in that peculiar way, like he was wondering what the fuck she was talking about.
‘I mean,’ she went on hopefully, ‘we love each other. We could…have a family.’
He walked over to where she stood. Sunlight poured through the big picture window on to her golden, tousled hair. She was a vision of beauty. But…pregnant.
Redmond heaved a shaky sigh and ran a hand lightly down her cheek.
‘Get rid of it,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay.’
She couldn’t believe that he had said that. Get rid of it. Just like that. Her child. Hers, and his. She was in love with this man. She had never been in love before but she was now. It had been instantaneous, like a lightning strike. The minute she had seen Redmond across that dining room, she had felt her heart seize up in her chest. Kept on chatting, kept on flirting with that sweet doting old fool William, but all she could think, all she could feel—and oh God, how wonderful, how completely stupendous, to actually feel something at last—was that he was watching her from that nearby table, and all she wanted was to go to him, throw herself at his feet, say I’m yours, take me, do anything, I don’t care.
It was love. Total, absorbing—and now despairing—love. Because he didn’t want their child.
‘I can’t believe you said that,’ she said, half smiling, nervous, disbelieving. ‘You don’t mean it?’
But he was nodding his head. His eyes were cold. Chillingly cold as he stared at her face.
‘Of course I fucking well mean it.’
He actually shuddered. He looked…revolted. Disgusted by the very idea. Mira drew back, shrank into herself. He really meant it.
‘I don’t want children,’ he said flatly. ‘Not now. Not ever. I thought you understood that.’
But she hadn’t. Cringing with pain at his rejection of the child she carried, she backed away
from him. Now he looked deeply irritated. Like an impatient stranger.
‘Look, I said I’ll pay and I will. Book yourself into the best clinic. Don’t worry about the expense. Let’s get this over with.’
Mira couldn’t believe he had said that, either. She was a Catholic. All right, she hadn’t attended church in years; she wouldn’t dare. They’d have to sluice the church steps down with Holy Water if she walked up them. She knew she was a dirty bitch, a whore. Her family had made that clear. But at heart she was still the Catholic girl she’d been raised as. She still believed human life was sacrosanct.
The first time she’d had an abortion had been bad enough—a crime against God—and she knew she would burn in hell for it. But she had wanted to get rid of the thing, couldn’t even think of it as a child; it was a thing her uncle had forced upon her, not a child. So she’d got rid of it and had tried never to think of it again.
But this was the child of the man she loved. The child of a man she had believed had loved her. How could he, if he could say that?
‘Get rid of it,’ Redmond said again, as she stood there, open-mouthed. ‘I mean it.’
And so, numb at heart, pierced through with pain, Mira had waited until he’d gone and then
she’d found the number, picked up the phone, and dialled.
They were quite kind at the clinic, although the receptionist was frosty and looked at her as if she was scum. But then, she was used to that. It had long since ceased to offend her. She knew she deserved it. They asked her questions, then gave her the tablets, and told her to come back tomorrow. She went back to the flat and felt nauseous. Overnight, she spewed her guts up.
She got up next morning—he was away, on business—and dressed and went back to the clinic. Then came the part where she was laid out on a table with her feet in stirrups while they inserted things inside her. It was brief, uncomfortable—not painful. Then she went back to the flat.
Within two hours she was bleeding heavily, her womb cramping hard. Shuddering, sobbing with grief, she sat on the toilet as blood poured out of her along with the baby she was carrying.
When the worst of it was over, she flushed the loo. She didn’t look. She didn’t dare. What she had done was wicked, unforgivable. Just another sin in the long line of sins she had been performing all her adult life.
She took a bath, lay there in a state of shock and horror, watching the blood still seeping out
from between her legs. Then she dried herself, inserted a tampon, and took the painkillers they’d given her. She crawled into bed and stayed there all through that day and into the next.
For Redmond, it was as if nothing had happened. He came back within a week, bearing gifts of perfume and a pearl necklace. She wondered if he had really been away on business at all. No, she thought he had just been lying low, keeping away from her. Getting all the unpleasantness out of the way before he came back and picked up precisely where they left off.
Only Mira found she couldn’t do that.
Something had changed in her when she had killed their baby. The wild highs were not so pronounced for her now; the depths were deeper, bleaker than ever before. She sensed he was irritated by her low moods, but he made no comment and she was glad of that. He took her to bed again three weeks after the abortion, and they made love, but she couldn’t reach orgasm and that annoyed him all over again.
‘Concentrate,’ he urged her, touching her, caressing her, but she felt frighteningly blank.
This was the man she loved. But he had told her to kill their child.
Finally Mira gave Redmond what he wanted. She faked her orgasm. He was satisfied. That night
she turned her face into the pillow for the first time and, when she knew he was asleep, she wept for the child that they had killed, and for their love, which had also died that very same night.