AMBER_His to Reclaim Page 5

  “Well, it’s true,” Naima says, her voice huffy with her defense of Rock. “And you know, Rock was very inspired by Luca’s decision to give up the family business to make it work with you. He started making secret moves to leave of his own. He saved his money, got his GED, and even applied to college so that he could have other options in life, just like Luca.”

  “Oh God,” I realize aloud. “You’re case working Rock.”

  “Doing what?” she answers, so defensively, I know that she already knows what I’m talking about.

  But I spell it out plain and clear for her anyway. “You’re turning him into a case file. Getting all caught up in his sad backstory. Throwing yourself body and soul into making sure he’s rehabilitated, just like you did with me.”

  Naima huffs again. “So now I’m an idiot for giving my everything to a college student with a very bright future in front of her? I didn’t know our friendship was a symptom of whatever psychological problem you’re trying to diagnose me with.”

  “No, obviously, I value our friendship, Nai,” I say, holding up my hands. “But Rock isn’t me or one of your deserving clients. He’s a criminal—”

  “A normal life,” Naima interjects. “That’s his dream, to settle down and have a normal life. That’s what he told me he wants.”

  “Oh, is that what he told you?” I ask, my tone set to scathing, even though Naima is my dearest friend. “Was that before or after he floated the idea of you going out with him to a club tonight? And, let me guess, he’s also asked if you could come back to his place after you’re VIP experience.”

  Naima’s breath catches. “How did you know he invited me back to—?”

  “How did I know he wants to upgrade his babysitting job to a bone-in session?” I finish for her. “Because I’m not an idiot when it comes to men. Not anymore. And guess what? Luca told me the exact same kind of thing when he convinced me to marry him. ‘I don’t need that life, Amber. I choose you, Amber. All I want is you, Amber.’ That’s what he told me. That’s how he lied to me. Trust me, men will say anything to get what they want, and that’s why you giving this flunky the benefit of the doubt is exactly like naming a wild lion and trying to keep it as a pet. Because deciding this mafioso is your friend, isn’t going to keep him from hurting you. He’s an animal. A freaking apex predator. And that’s never going to change, no matter what kind of story you tell yourself.”

  Quiet meets my impassioned speech. Hurt and shocked.

  Okay, somewhere in the middle of that counter-argument, I might have stopped talking to Naima, and started reminding myself of all the reasons I had to get myself, Naima, and this child out of this situation. Stat.

  But I can tell just by the lack of an answer that I’m beating a dead horse. Naima’s not going to score a phone for me tonight. She probably won’t even try, she’s so far gone over Rock.

  “Look, Nai, I’m sorry, I just…I don’t want you to get hurt,” I say lamely. Then I give her a sad smile and tell her I need to lay down.

  Which is sort of true. I climb into bed, exhausted for reasons that probably don’t have anything to do with the baby growing inside of me. But the wheels spinning even more madly in my head now won’t let me take my usual mid-morning nap.

  Eventually, I give up and go back out to the sitting room to settle into the window seat. “Echo, play my book,” I tell the mini smart speaker.

  And Alexa takes me away into a Hugo award-winning book, in which all the humans, both male and female, are more worried about the invading aliens coming from far away to take over the earth, than whether they’ll ever make it out of one mafioso’s apartment with their soul intact.

  Still, as I listen to them futilely scramble for a plan to protect Earth from the incoming aliens, I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into despair.

  But then halfway through yet another depressing chapter, a quiet tap sounds on the door, and there’s a soft whisk. A piece of paper being slipped underneath the door? I wonder, recalling the few times I’ve stayed at hotels.

  I’m not sure, so I go to the suite’s first door, feel around, and yes, sure enough, that’s what it is. A note-sized piece of paper with several raised dots.

  A message, I realize, with a jolt—one printed just for me in Braille. I bring the piece of paper to the square-shaped metal table where Naima and I ate breakfast. Then, after setting it down, I run my fingers over the collection of raised dots.

  Bel. Know Ferraro has you. We need to talk. Find phone underneath potted tree in roof garden.

  I re-trace the note, and my breath catches on the very first word. Bel. There are only four people who know my real name, and neither Luca nor Bill, my old WITSEC contact, would ever call me by that name.

  That only leaves two people, only one of whom I’ve ever met in real life. Peter. The half-brother who’s now trying to bring a case against Luca. He’s found me, and moreover, he’s managed to get a letter to me. That means he’s got someone on the inside of Luca’s inner circle, someone who can slip into this prison of an apartment. And if he’s got someone inside, maybe that means he can get me out.

  6

  Pennies From Heaven

  LUCA

  “Can I ask what exactly you’re doing here, Luc?” Rock asks over the secure line the day after the spaghetti fight. “Maybe if you told me the final plan, I could help you with it.”

  He’d called to ask if he could grant Naima’s request to take Amber up to our rooftop terrace for some sun and air. I agreed without a problem. Which I guess he wasn’t expecting because all I got was more questions as a reward for my quick consent.

  What am I doing? That same question’s been knocking around in my own head all day.

  Amber and me ain’t kids anymore, and the proximity formula isn’t working. Like at all. I’ve rearranged my nights and canceled all my out of state meetings, including a trip back to Italy, to be with her. Why? I don’t know.

  And that’s what feels so crazy. It’s like I want to punish her for lying to me and keep her close at the same time. I’m seething over my Italian food while trying not to wonder about what she’s really thinking behind that purposefully placid, still fucking gorgeous face of hers.

  She gives me nothing and that only makes me want more.

  Now Rock’s breathing down my neck, daring to ask questions I can’t answer about my endgame. Stone’s an animal. He’ll kill anything I point at without blinking an eye and won’t ever ask questions. But Rock’s the opposite side of that coin, and don’t think I’m not noticing how his eyes light up whenever he and Naima get ready to go. Like those few hours with her are the best part of his day.

  “Still working on it,” I answer, my voice flat as Amber’s dinner table expression. “But yeah, let her go up on the terrace. That’s probably a good idea.”

  “Ain’t it? Nai’s thoughtful like that. One of those girls who genuinely cares about people, you know?”

  I don’t answer. And unfortunately, Rock must mistake my silence for subject approval, because he keeps going.

  “She still hasn’t said anything about coming back to my apartment after the club tonight. Do you think it was too forward of me to invite her?” he asks, like him and me are high schoolers, gossiping about the likelihood of some girl going with him to the school dance. “I mean, she’s still really traumatized by what happened with Stone, and here I am, looking just like him. I just don’t want to scare her off. She really is a beautiful soul, and I’m still having a hard time believing she’s been single this long, ya know?”

  No, I don’t know. And what I’m finding hard to believe is that the man on the other side of my phone has got six years on me.

  But that age difference could explain this weird-ass conversation actually. Rock’s approaching his forties, closing in on those mid-life crisis years. Maybe that’s why he is measuring up Naima like she’s a profitable racket he never heard of before three weeks ago.

  “You can’t scare her off,” I remind h
im. “It’s not like she’s got any place to run. No matter what, she’s gonna have to come out with you every night until I say she doesn’t.”

  There’s an ugly pause. Then Rock says with more steel in his voice than I’m used to from him, “Yeah, but I don’t want it to be like that with her. I want her to come out with me, come back to my apartment because she wants to—not cuz she’s got no choice.”

  I’m a don.

  I can do whatever I want.

  And this thing with Amber…it’s about revenge.

  But his words hit me like a perfectly aimed bullet. Pierces the ice wall around my heart and embeds itself inside.

  “Yeah, we all got wishes,” I answer, voice drier than Bugsy’s desert. “Don’t mean any of them are going to come true.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he answers. Like I’m the naïve one in this conversation.

  And of course, Naima and Rock are waiting at the elevator doors when I arrive at the apartment. She’s wearing a dress—a sparkling gold number I’m doubting was in the lot of stuff him and Joey brought over from her house. And Rock’s got a leather overnight bag, slung across his shoulders.

  “I won’t be back tonight,” Naima says as if to confirm my guess. “But that’s okay because I’m sure I won’t be needed to clean up any spaghetti tonight, right?”

  She asks me but looks at Rock. Like he’s my minder.

  “No, Luca’s cool,” Rock assures her. “But if you need us to come back—”

  “I don’t need you,” I answer before he can finish the offer.

  Either I’m convincing enough, or Naima’s too excited about her overnight with Rock to worry about leaving Amber alone with me for more than a couple of hours. With one more considering look, she leans forward to push the call button. And a few seconds later, I watch the elevator doors close on the image of them laughing and talking to each other excitedly.

  Like two people who actually want to spend time together.

  Look, Luca, there’s the exact opposite of your Friday night, going down in the elevator, I think as I turn around and walk further into the apartment.

  The place smells like Mom’s Sunday dinner, and my stomach balls, hard and nasty. I can just imagine what Italian dish she’s got brewing in the kitchen, to get around my spaghetti decree.

  “Hey, I’m here,” I call out nonetheless like I used to when I got home from work while we were married. Basic living with a blind person courtesy. I found that out early in, the one time I didn’t announce myself while she was cooking. She came out to put two bowls of chili on the table and dropped both with a screech when I said “hi” from the couch.

  “Oh great, right on time. I’m just pulling dinner out of the oven,” Amber calls back from the kitchen.

  She actually sounds glad to hear me, which makes me even more sure I’m not going to like tonight’s dinner. Lasagna maybe. Or eggplant parmesan, I think, eyeing her suspiciously as she comes out of the kitchen in a pretty blue maxi dress I’ve never seen before—Wait a minute, is that…?

  My eyes widen when she sets a pot roast on the table. It’s drenched in garlic, but other than that, there’s nothing to suggest anything Italian or even unhealthy about this dish. From what I can see, it’s just a straightforward beef roast, covered in sprays of rosemary and surrounded by roasted vegetables—none of which are the potatoes, which Ma and Aunt Peg would have thrown in.

  “Do you mind going into the kitchen to find the carving fork? I can’t recall where I filed it, and I forgot to ask Naima to get it out for me.”

  It takes me a few beats to recover from my shock. But eventually, I answer, “Don’t think we need it. Let me see what I can do with my fork.”

  I pick up the carving knife, she’d set down next to the roast. Strangely, the sharp knife feels like a peace offering. One I can’t believe she’s making as she sits down on the other side of the table.

  “Sorry, if it’s not as good as your mom’s,” she says, placing a hand on her baby bump as she lowers herself into her seat. “It’s my first time making this, so I don’t know how it turned out.”

  Fucking delicious, that’s how. I scarf down every bite, then fork seconds onto my plate, and not to prove a point this time.

  I’m just glad she can’t see me gaping at her all through dinner, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. She’s the prisoner. But somehow it feels like I’m the one who’s been traumatized during our Spaghettigate. And I don’t know how to handle this sudden switch to pleasant.

  Should I talk to her about our days, like we used to when we were husband and wife? I’m sorta inclined, but no. I end up only opening my mouth for the next bite of delicious not-spaghetti. Muscles tense as I wait for the next psychological slap.

  But other than the entrée choice, everything unfolds like normal. We don’t talk much, and eventually, it’s time for me to clear the table and do the dishes.

  This is the part where she disappears up the stairs to the bedroom. Usually, as soon as my back is turned like she’s making her escape.

  But when I come back out of the kitchen, I find her still at the dining room table. Lingering.

  “You waiting for Naima?” I ask, wondering why the hell Rock and Naima didn’t tell her they weren’t coming back tonight.

  But she answers, “No, I was sitting here, waiting for you to return actually. Can we…can we talk?”

  Oh, I get it. This whole dinner was butter up. I sit down, less confused than when I got up because now it all makes sense.

  “What would you like to talk about?” I ask, preparing to say no to whatever request she thought I’d grant with dinner.

  “First of all, thank you for letting me go up to the roof today. I didn’t realize how much I’d been feeling caged up until I felt the sun on my face.”

  Guilt twists my stomach, but then I remind myself, she’s the one who decided to lie to me. She’s here in my apartment because she fully planned to raise this kid without ever telling me. Wasn’t that exactly what she told me last night? That she didn’t regret her decision to lie to me, only getting caught.

  Revenge ain’t pretty, so there’s no reason for me to feel like I owe her anything better than what she’s been getting, including the sun.

  “Okay,” I answer, giving her exactly what she’s been giving me these last three weeks. Nothing.

  She folds her hands on top of the table. Then unfolds them and lets out a quick breath before saying, “I know you’re angry at me. Really angry at me. And I get why you are. But we can’t go on like this. It’s not good for the baby. And like you said, last night, people who actually deserve to parent wouldn’t punish their baby out of spite.”

  My face hardens, hating that she’s using my own words against me.

  “So, what do you think we should do about it?” I ask. Just for show. I already know she’s going to ask me to let her go. To let her off the hook with a bullshit custody agreement and a no foul. I also already know the answer to that ask will be no.

  But then, she carefully turns around in her seat, placing her back to me.

  I’m close to asking her what the hell she’s doing when she makes a movement like she’s putting an earbud into her ear.

  No, not an earbud, a Bluetooth headset like the one I took off her when I confronted her at Naima’s house. I realize that when she says, “Hey, Google, call Luca Ferraro. Breeep-Breeep! Breeep-Breeeep!”

  I stare at her, not understanding until she stage-whispers, “You’ve got to pick up.”

  Not sure how else to handle this, I stare at the back of her head and say, “Hello.”

  “Hey, Luca, this is Amber,” she answers into her fake headset. “I’ve got some news.”

  “What?” I ask, feeling like an actor who didn’t have time to read the script before getting thrown on stage.

  “You know when we had that…ah…moment in the back of your car? I’m pregnant. I’ve decided to keep it. It’s a boy, and that’s something…something...”

&n
bsp; Her voice suddenly gives out, and I watch her head dip lower as if she’s mining her head for words or strength. Maybe both. Either way, the pause goes on for a long, long time. But then she lets out a shaky breath and says, “I think that’s something you should know. Something you deserve to know,” her voice strong and clear.

  It's just pretending. Just pretend.

  But a rush of heat floods my chest at the announcement, and I turn around in my seat, putting my back to her as I raise my own fake phone to my ear, suddenly needing to do more than go along with this, whatever this is. My throat catches, and I work my mouth a few times before I can answer. “Whoa, that’s unexpected news.”

  “I bet. It was for me, too. As you overheard at Sylvie’s and Holt’s party, my body has some issues. And I’m really afraid of losing this baby. So other than Naima, it’s not really something I’ve been talking about. Because…”

  She trails off again. But this time I supply the finish, “You’re afraid to talk about it. After what happened the last time.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she answers softly. “But you’re the dad, and I should talk about it with you. You deserve to know. I’m just…I don’t know, really shocked to be here after the way things ended between us. And really scared.”

  “Me too,” the confession slips out on a choked whisper. So I try again, this time louder and clearer. “I’m scared, too,” I tell her.

  Then I realize at the same time I speak the words, “That’s part of the reason I had to bring you here… keep you with me. I’m pissed, yeah, but also, the thought of anything like that ever happening to you again…”

  I trail off, the image of her in the hospital bed floating back like it just happened yesterday.

  “It won’t,” she says into my silence.