Aleena
I popped a grape tomato in my mouth and hummed under my breath. “More of these,” I told Francisco. “Whatever you’re getting, it has to involve more of these.”
He laughed. “I’ll get more at the farmer’s market tomorrow, okay?”
The doorbell rang but before I could get up to get it, I heard Dominic rising. He’d elected to work home today and I could tell Francisco had been amused by the two of us.
It had been a week since we’d gone to Olympus, a week of pure bliss. We'd fought through our demons and knew where we stood with each other. It was almost perfect.
Except for one thing that kept hovering in the background.
Rising from the chair, I moved over to the doorway and watched as Dominic ushered Kowalski in.
“We’ll be in the office,” Dominic said, his gaze flicking toward the kitchen.
“Do you want me to bring in coffee or anything?” I asked.
Dominic glanced at the investigator, but the man just shook his head. He didn’t have good news and my heart twisted painfully. I could almost feel Dominic's disappointment.
“No,” he said. “We'll be fine.”
As the two of them disappeared, I turned back to the kitchen and settled back down on the seat, forcing myself to smile as I looked at Francisco even though my thoughts were down the hall. We were quiet as Francisco jotted down a few notes and then passed them to me. I looked over the menu and shrugged, not as interested in food as I had been a few minutes ago.
“Miss Aleena.”
“Aleena.” I made a face. “Please. This
Miss Aleena
crap is so archaic.”
Francisco chuckled, but there wasn't really any joy in it. “Archaic.” He nodded slowly. “You know, I know of some
archaic
things that might interest you.” His gaze flicked in the direction of the hall. “My family, for one. Do you know we’ve worked for the Snows for going on four generations now?”
“That’s not...well, yeah, I guess it would be archaic.” I tipped my glass of water toward him with a half-smile.
He chuckled and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “When you come from a family like mine, you grow up understanding certain rules. There are things that are done and things that aren’t. One thing that is not done, is you do not talk about the family with outsiders.”
He shrugged and studied his nails in a manner that was so patently nonchalant that it told me what he was saying was anything but casual.
“Now you might gossip with members of the staff, with those who work for other families even. But you will not chat with anybody outside the loop. Even years later.” He smiled as he lifted his gaze to me. “It’s just not done.”
I narrowed my eyes as he glanced toward the office again. Okay? What was he trying to tell me?
“Unless, of course, somebody,” he continued. “The right somebody, asked the right way.”
“Francisco—”
“My grandfather worked for Mr. and Mrs. Snow back when they first brought Mr. Dominic home,” he said, changing the subject so fast I almost got whiplash. He shoved off the counter and walked over to the refrigerator to check on supplies he’d already checked. “Grandfather talked about what a pretty baby he was. Fussy though. Sick and pretty small.”
I slid off the stool and gripped the table, staring at the back of Francisco’s averted head. Any other time, I would've been fascinated to hear about Dominic as a child, but I was focusing on the more important part of what Francisco had said. “Your grandfather?” My voice was level and calm.
“Yes.” Mild eyes met mine and once more, he smiled. “He’s retired now. Lives down near Atlantic City. Gambles a lot. Flirts with women. I go see him every other weekend. He’d talk a man’s ear off. He called me last night, told me about a visitor he had. A skinny man with glasses. Grandfather couldn’t wait to remind me about all those rules a family like mine has, Miss Aleena.” He sighed then and shook his head. “He always did like Mr. Dominic though.”
I jumped off the stool and walked to the office as fast as I could without actually running. Both men turned to look at me when I burst through the doors.
“Did you go and see…” I wracked my head for Francisco’s last name and couldn’t think of it. Growling in frustration, I looked at Dominic. “Francisco’s grandfather. You know him?”
Confused, Dominic stood up. “Yeah. Antonio.” He sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. “Is something—?”
“He’s fine.” I made a dismissive motion and pointed at Kowalski. “Did you talk to an old guy named Antonio?”
Kowalski rocked back on his heels, tucking his hands into the pockets of a pair of worn, faded corduroys. His expression gave nothing away. “It’s possible I did. I’m afraid I haven’t learned much, though. I—”
“They aren’t going to tell
you
anything.” I walked across the room and grabbed Dominic’s hand. “Come on!”
He stared at me, still clearly confused, but he let me pull him up. He followed me out, Kowalski trailing along behind us.
Francisco was waiting for us in the living room, seated.
There was a neat tray of hors d’oeuvres on the table. Nothing fancy, but the man did work fast. He folded his hands and met Dominic’s gaze as he lowered himself to the couch, eying the chef narrowly.
“Just what is this?” Dominic asked.
Francisco looked at me and I nodded.
“Mr. Dominic,” Francisco said softly. “I think you should talk to my grandfather.
You,
not an investigator.”
“About what?” Dominic’s voice was flat and hard and I saw the flicker of anger in his eyes. I knew how much he valued his privacy.
Before Francisco had to explain, I laid a hand on Dominic’s thigh. “He talks to his grandfather all the time, baby. Kowalski was just out there and Francisco talked to Antonio last night. What do you think you should talk to him about?”
Dominic looked over at Kowalski.
Francisco bowed his head, but not before I caught a glimpse of his face. He had known before.
“Why do I need to talk to Antonio?” Dominic said quietly.
“Because he knows things that he isn’t going to tell somebody outside the family,” Francisco said softly. “I don’t know if he has answers, but he could point you the right direction.”
Chapter 11
Dominic
Antonio Salvatore had the wrinkled, leathery skin of a man who’d seen a lot of years. He also had the wide, easy smile of a man who’d spent a lot of those years laughing.
As he sat rocking on the chair, he looked at me with eyes that held no hint of the laughter though.
“Some bad things were happening about that time, Dominic.” He nodded and went back to staring out over the waters of the Atlantic. “Lots of bad things. A few of us…” He paused and looked back at me. “Us workers, you see. Some of us thought something was wrong. One girl, she went to the police. She went to boarding school in France and ended up getting sent back. She had a little girl, lived with a boy she’d met from Brooklyn. But only for a short while, then suddenly, she was back in school. The boy from Brooklyn was gone and her daughter…I don’t know if she ever saw her daughter again. Made a lot of people afraid to say anything.”
Aleena put her hand on my knee, but I barely felt it.
Antonio continued, “I always figured they had some cops involved to help smooth things over. People like us, people see through us, and so we see a lot.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Antonio, what do you know?”
“Nothing for sure.” He shrugged and went back to staring out over the water. “It all ended a few years after they adopted you.”
“Was there anything going on when I was adopted?” My voice was even, a miracle.
Antonio pressed his lips flat. “I don’t like to do this. I really don’t.”
“Antonio—”
The old man turned, reaching for a book he had on the table next to his chair. Inside it was a folded up sheet of paper. He handed it to me without a word.
I unfolded it and stared, confused. The picture was of a young woman. Attractive, with sharp features and intelligent eyes. “What…”
“Her name is Cecily Cole.” Antonio looked at me as I raised my head.
Shit.
Cecily Cole was a name both feared and worshipped among the social circuit. An heiress, she’d lived and partied hard as a teen, taking herself to the brink of total disaster. Now she was a crusader of sorts, and she scorned New York society with a zeal that made them almost slavishly devoted.
“Is she involved in…whatever this was?” Considering her prominence, I hoped not.
“You could say that,” Antonio said. “She got into drugs when she was young. Twelve or thirteen, I’ve heard talk. Ended up living the wild life. When she was nineteen, she was found in a compromising position with a U.S. senator and ended up pregnant. Naturally, it was all her fault—that nineteen year-old troubled girl.” He let his voice clearly say how he felt about that blame.
My skin went cold and I shook my head. “What…”
“My sister was her nana. Took care of her from the time she was a baby. Was there the night she went into labor. They let her stay with Cecily, because it calmed the girl, you know. But the next day, she was given her walking papers…she’d hoped they’d let her stay and take care of the baby. But they told her the baby was being put up for adoption.”
I swallowed, hard and fast. “Okay. So…she put me up—”
“No.” Antonio opened the book on the table and handed it to me, pointing at a paragraph at the top of the left page.
–
The day I lost my baby was the day I knew I had to turn my life around. He died in my womb. I never got to hold him. Never got to see him. I never even got to hear him cry, because he was born lifeless, thanks to the abuse I’d heaped on my body over the years.
I grabbed the book and read that paragraph, over and over.
Finally I hurled it against the wall and surged upright. Aleena went to catch my hand, but I shook her off. I didn't want to be touched at the moment. Wheeling around, I stared out over the water, but it did nothing to calm me.
Nothing.
I turned back to Antonio. “What's all this about? Do you know anything or not?”
“My sister, Isabel, was in that room when Cecily's baby was born. A private doctor was brought in and Cecily was sedated, heavily. Then a C-section performed. A healthy,
living
baby boy was delivered, Dominic. My sister was there.”
He gestured at the book. “Isabel is dead now, a heart attack, just a year before that book was released. But my sister wouldn’t have confused a living, crying baby boy with a stillborn.”
“Dominic…”
Dazed, I looked over at Aleena. She had her tablet out, but I didn’t want to see whatever it was. I just wanted to take off, walk. Do something. Anything to empty my head.
“Dominic!” She walked over to me and shoved the iPad into my hands. “Cecily names the senator she slept with. Look at his picture!”
I looked down.
Then staggered back.
His hair was brown, unlike mine, but other than that, we might as well have been made from the same mold.
“He…”
I cleared my throat. Okay, so if that was the guy who got Cecily Cole pregnant…
I looked back at the picture I held in my hands.
“Is she my mother?”
Chapter 12
Aleena
When we left Antonio’s, Dominic asked me to drive. We hadn't wanted anyone to know what we were doing so we hadn't had one of the drivers take us. I was beginning to wish we had.
Dominic sat rigid and unyielding in his seat for the first five minutes before reaching into the interior pocket of his suit and pulling out a phone. He was so quiet, so closed off.
I’d never been so worried about him. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. The first ten minutes or so stretched out without me saying anything.
He was actually the first one to speak, gesturing toward the exit for Philadelphia. “Take that one.”
“Ah…aren’t we going home?” Confused, I shot him a quick look before changing lanes. Several horns blared and I clenched my teeth as I forced my way through another lane of traffic. I was once again reminded why I didn't want to drive in New York City. Jersey was bad enough.
“We'll need gas soon. Once we fill up, I’ll take over driving.” He spoke in a neutral, business-like voice, the way he’d talk to a stranger.
I just nodded and took the exit. Once the attendant had finished pumping the gas, we traded out, Dominic taking over the driver’s seat as I slid into the passenger side. My concern for him grew as we drove on in silence.
Finally, I asked, “Where are we going?”
Dominic just shook his head.
Normally, time with Dominic moved by too fast, but these minutes dragged out indefinitely. He didn’t speak. He hardly moved, other than what was needed to drive.
It was unsettling and it occurred to me how used I was to seeing him move. Or having him touch me. The brush of his hand on my cheek, or even just resting it on my knee, but he was on lockdown now, sitting behind the wheel, jaw clenched and shoulders tight. I thought the lightest touch would make him shatter.
Or explode.
“Do you want to talk about this?” I asked him softly.
“No.”
I tried not to let the sharp word hurt. “Okay. When you’re ready, I’ll listen.”
I looked out the window, watching as we rolled into Philadelphia. The city was still unfamiliar to me. I’d only been there a couple of times now, but it was a nice city. I liked the history of it and it was a friendly enough place. It wasn’t home, but I liked it.
Clearing my throat, I said, “I can find out information on Cecily Cole. See if we can figure out how to set up a meeting between the two of you. I'm—”
The words came to an abrupt halt in my throat as he pulled the car up in front of a hotel. It was an elegant, glamorous sprawl of metal and glass, a familiar one. Masque Philadelphia. The hotel we stayed at when we’d gone to Philadelphia not long ago when he had been looking to take over
Devoted
. Dominic’s hotel.
“What are we doing here?”
Dominic didn’t say anything. He climbed out and tossed his keys to the valet who greeted him by name. Again, no response. As he strode inside, I trotted after him to catch up. Then I crashed into him, because he’d come to an abrupt halt, just inside the doors.