Balducci nodded. He gestured toward Davis. “The alderman’s father, our illustrious police superintendent, speaks quite highly of your menu. I look forward to the meal.”
“Alderman Black!” the man said, his eyes widening as recognition swept over him. “I did not realize you would be here this evening. Welcome, sir! I am Adamu Kamau.”
Davis forced a smile to his face. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Kamau, and I’m honored to be here.” He extended his hand in greeting.
“My daughter was supposed to stop by your office this afternoon to speak with you about the drug traffic in the community. My neighborhood is overrun with criminal activity. We need places and activities for our young men. You need to do something about that, sir. I would like to talk to you and maybe give you some suggestions on how to help these young people.”
Davis nodded. “I appreciate that, Mr. Kamau. It’s not a good time right now, but I’d love to sit down with you to have a conversation. Perhaps you can call my office later this week to schedule an appointment?”
Mr. Kamau turned to the young woman standing in the shadows behind him. As he stepped aside, Davis got his first good look at the beauty who’d been standing politely in wait. There was no denying the family resemblance. The young woman had her father’s expressive eyes. Her features were chiseled, high cheekbones, lush lips, and the coloration of her skin deep and rich like black marble with the faintest hint of a mahogany undertone. Davis’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening with a shimmer of intrigue. Because the woman was beautiful!
She wore all black. Tailored slacks, a buttoned shirt, and an apron tied around her waist, fit her neatly. She was lean and petite in height with modest curves and the tiniest waist. Her shoes were sturdy, Dr. Martens’ Mary Janes in polished black leather. Her hair was cropped close, the sides shaved in a faint fade. Gold hoop earrings and a hint of lip gloss finalized her look, complementing her lush lips and chiseled cheekbones.
Shifting forward in his seat Davis struggled not to stare. His temperature had risen, and his heart was suddenly beating faster than normal. He took a deep breath and held it, hoping to calm the nerves that had surfaced with a vengeance. For a brief second, their eyes locked. She stared intently, and then her father spoke her name, pulling her gaze from his.
“This is my daughter, Neema. Neema will call your office and arrange time for you to speak with us.”
Davis practically jumped from his seat to extend his hand toward the exquisite beauty. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Neema. I’m Davis. Davis Black.”
Neema gave him the slightest smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Alderman,” she said softly.
“Please, call me Davis.”
She gave him another smile but didn’t bother to respond.
Neema’s father was grinning from ear to ear. “She will call,” he said as he gestured for her to place the food on the table. As she lifted the last silver lid with a well-practiced flourish, her father watched approvingly, his hands folded behind his back as he rocked from side to side. “Is there anything else I can get either of you?” he inquired after he’d explained each dish.
Balducci shook his head. “No, thank you. It all looks delicious.”
Mr. Kamau nodded. “Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.” He waved Neema out the door, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.
Watching her leave, Davis had been hopeful for one last shared look between them. He found the emotion surprising. As Balducci cleared his throat, he realized the man, and the woman with him, were both staring in his direction. Balducci’s companion was smiling at him, a smug look across her face.
Davis felt a rush of heat color his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said, hoping to shift the attention to something else. “But we haven’t been introduced. I’m Davis Black.”
She flipped the length of her red hair over her shoulder as she reached to shake his hand. Her hand was cool, her fingers almost icy. “My name’s Ginger.”
Balducci interjected. “Ginger is my personal assistant, but she won’t be staying,” he said as he stole a quick glance at his wrist. “She has someplace to be.”
Ginger rose from her seat, grabbed a wedge of flat bread from the basket in the center of the table and swallowed a quick bite. “Business calls,” she said. “It was nice to meet you, Davis Black. Please tell Danni I said hello when you see her.”
“Danni?” he questioned, referring to his brother Armstrong’s wife. “You know my sister-in-law?”
“We’re old friends,” she said. Ginger smiled and winked at him. The gesture felt slightly salacious and Davis felt a rise of perspiration bead across his brow.
Ginger lifted her designer purse from the table, steadied herself on her very high heels and then moved swiftly out the door.
An awkward silence swept through the space. Davis watched as Balducci filled his plate with a generous serving of curry goat, pilau rice and fried plantains. The man began to eat as if he were famished, filling the quiet with small talk about the weather, the Chicago Bears and the rate of growth in the city. He gestured at the food, encouraging Davis to eat, but Davis would not budge. He sat with a slight pout tugging at his full lips and his hands folded together in his lap. He was ready to be done with their conversation and as far from Balducci as he could get. Balducci didn’t seem to take the hint.
His father’s history with Alexander Balducci was far from wine and roses. Davis knew that it went back to well before he’d been born.
Alexander’s eldest son, Leonard, had been a career criminal, one who had made Jerome Black work hard for his money. Years ago, Leonard had worked to put the family business on the map. He and his crew had hijacked trailer shipments and sent the cargo overseas. It was Armstrong, Davis’s brother, who had caught them after they’d taken down a truck full of TVs and electronics. The security guard had barely been able to signal the alarm before he’d been killed. There’d been a shootout at the docks, and Balducci’s son had taken a bullet. It had been one of Armstrong’s first cases, the first time he’d had to discharge his weapon, and it had happened mere weeks after their father had been promoted to superintendent. Leonard Balducci had died days later and when most had anticipated the two fathers would have parted ways, it seemed to solidify their strange relationship instead.
Most recently, Armstrong had arrested Alexander’s other son, the man charged with trafficking children and teens and the promotion of prostitution. Again, the two fathers had moved past that bump in the road with their friendship still solidified.
As Davis sat there lost in thought, he found himself thinking about the beautiful woman named Neema. Curiosity was thick, its viselike grip tenacious. He had questions. Something about her had piqued his interest and he was suddenly determined to discover all he could. He looked forward to her reaching out on her father’s behalf to talk about the crime in their neighborhood. He found himself plotting when and how to call her if he didn’t hear from her in the next day or so.
Davis would have preferred to be talking with her than with Balducci. Even continuing the conversation with her father would have been a better time as far as he was concerned. But despite his best efforts to engage the man, Balducci wasn’t ready for serious discussion. As he noshed on his meal, he said very little that had to do with why Davis was there, preferring to keep up the casual chat. He gestured a second time toward the table of food, his insistence evident in his stern tone. “Eat,” Balducci admonished. “Please, don’t waste the food. It’s very good. Your father made an excellent choice.”
Realizing it wasn’t worth the argument, Davis reached for the bowl of curry and scooped a serving onto his plate. It didn’t hurt that he was also hungry, having missed his midday meal. He ate as Balducci asked questions about his family and his efforts in the community. Only once did he mention his own family, noting that his youngest son was a Dallas Cowboys fan.
> Davis had just swallowed his last forkful of rice and meat when the man finally got to the point of their meeting.
Balducci rocked back and forth in his seat, the front chair legs lifting slightly from the floor each time. His eyes locked on Davis’s face.
Davis pulled his napkin to his lips and wiped his mouth. He took a sip of the chilled water in his glass, resting it gently back against the table. He turned slightly in his seat and gave Balducci his full attention.
“Why am I here, sir?”
“There’s something I need done and I need to trust that it will be done discreetly. I also need to trust you’ll keep it confidential. Your father volunteered your services. He assured me that you could be trusted to do what I need and to keep it to yourself.”
“My father shouldn’t have made you any promises, especially since he didn’t discuss it with me first.”
Balducci hesitated for a moment before he nodded. “At least hear me out before you decline.”
Davis gave him a slight shrug. “Okay,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”
Balducci pushed his plate to the middle of the table.
“I know that you are acquainted with Gaia Russo. Is that correct?”
Davis hesitated before answering. Gaia Russo was renowned in the community for her activism in the city. If there needed to be a fight for political or social change, Gaia Russo was usually at the forefront of the public protest, never hesitating to take her activism to the streets. The two had worked on many committees together and Gaia had helped with his campaign, instrumental in convincing young voters that he had their best interests at heart. A talented artist, Gaia often hawked her paintings and sculptures at local events, but had yet to garner the national recognition her talent deserved. She was also a mother, her eight-year-old son the light of her life. They had history and he considered the young woman a good friend.
Davis took a deep breath before nodding his head. “That’s correct.”
The man smiled ever so slightly. “Gaia is my daughter,” he said matter-of-factly, making the pronouncement as though he were only stating the time of day. “But she doesn’t know that I’m her father, and I need to keep it that way.”
Davis’s eyes widened in surprise, his expression questioning. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s come to my attention that my daughter and grandson are going through a difficult time. I’d like to help, but for reasons that I can’t explain, I need to remain anonymous.”
The man had been holding Davis’s gaze and then abruptly shifted his eyes away. A muscle in his face twitched, the anxious tick pulling at the corner of his right eye.
“So, what is it that you want me to do?” Davis asked.
Balducci reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and extracted a manila envelope. He set the envelope on the table, a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills peeking past the flap. The envelope bulged, looking as if it might burst at the seams. Davis’s brow furled as the two men locked gazes a second time.
“Buy a painting or two. Invest in her art with my money. She trusts you.”
Davis sat back in his chair. He had questions and wasn’t even sure where to begin. Why didn’t Balducci just buy her artwork himself? Why was her parentage a secret? Why Davis and not one of the man’s other employees? Even the redhead could buy artwork for him, right? Why the cloak and dagger of secrecy? What was Alexander Balducci really up to?
Balducci seemed to read his mind. “I would prefer not to enlist anyone in my employ to do this for me. Not everyone needs to know my business. And my daughter and her son are safer if no one knows our connection to each other. Unfortunately, in my business, I’ve made many enemies. I can’t trust that Gaia will allow me to protect her if she’s told, and I might not be able to keep her safe if someone goes for her to get to me.”
“She deserves to know the truth,” Davis stated, judgment like barbed wire around each word.
“I promised her mother I would never reveal myself. I’m honoring that promise. I’m only trusting you because your father trusts you to keep my secret. And I trust your father.”
“So, you want me to just randomly throw money at her under the guise of collecting her art.”
“I want you to help me invest in my daughter’s career and allow her to support herself and her son without her feeling like she’s being given a handout.”
“Why don’t you just mail her a money order anonymously?”
“Because she will only donate it to one of those charities she’s always raising money for. She won’t consider it income for her and her alone.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes. I do. I tried that a year ago. She gave every dime of it away to some shelter for battered women.” Balducci spat the statement out like he couldn’t comprehend his daughter’s generosity.
“And what makes you think if I gave her money, she wouldn’t do the same thing with it?”
“She has a child to feed. She will know it’s earned income for her services. She will use it to take care of herself. I think when I sent it anonymously that she may not have trusted the intentions for it.”
Davis mulled the request over in his head. It all felt slightly crazy to him and, even though he thought Balducci was being extra for no sane reason whatsoever, he found himself considering the request.
“There’s ten thousand dollars in that envelope. I’ll give you another ten thousand to spend on her next month.”
Davis’s expression was incredulous. “You don’t think your daughter won’t have questions if I suddenly start throwing ten grand in her direction every month. Hell, even I’d have questions.”
“Make something up, son. I hear you’re quite creative when it comes to problem solving. But if it helps, she has a gallery showing that opens this week. The owner is a friend of mine.”
“I don’t know about this...” Davis started.
For a good ten minutes, Balducci pled his case, defended his position.
Davis asked questions and voiced his concerns, not at all on board with being Balducci’s errand boy but not declining, either. Because he did know Gaia was going through a difficult time. He knew his friend struggled with having to work two full-time jobs to support herself and her son. He knew that, like most single mothers, Gaia balancing needs over wants came with its own set of challenges because someone else’s young life was in her hands. Doing what Balducci asked might ease that burden briefly, but then what? What challenges would Davis be throwing on his friend’s already full plate? What disappointments would he be responsible for igniting if the truth ever came out? And, just as important, could he live with himself when this all felt like he was making a deal with the devil?
“And if I say yes, what then?” Davis finally asked.
“Then nothing. I’m asking for a favor, and if honored, I’ll owe you my gratitude.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“I’ll still owe you should the day ever arise that I can repay this favor.”
“And how long do you expect me to do this?”
The man shrugged. “Just a few months. I’ll figure something else out after that. As you said, it’s not a charade that can be never-ending without questions being asked.”
Balducci pushed the envelope toward him. Davis’s hand rested on the table and the edge of it brushed against his fingertips. The door to the room suddenly opened and Neema stepped inside. Both men bristled as if caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Without giving it a thought, Davis palmed the mailer filled with cash, slid it off the table and into the pocket of his jacket. Admittedly, even under the best circumstances, the overt gesture seemed cagey and Davis hoped Neema hadn’t been paying attention to either of them as she’d stepped into the room.
Balducci s
tood abruptly, leaving Davis no chance to change his mind. “Thank you,” the man said as he extended his arm for a quick handshake. “I’ll be in touch.” As he moved past Neema, he gave the young woman a nod of gratitude. He paused, stopping to pull cash out of his wallet to give her a tip for her service. “Thank you,” he said again as he moved past her. “I’ll settle the bill with your father. I’d like to thank him personally for his hospitality.”
“Thank you,” Neema said politely. She slid the one-hundred-dollar bill into the pocket of her apron. As Balducci exited the room, she turned to stare at Davis, who was eyeing her intently. The moment was suddenly awkward as she moved nervously toward the table to gather the dirty dishes.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Alderman?” she asked.
Davis smiled and shook his head. “No. Thank you,” he said. “But please, call me Davis.”
* * *
Neema smiled, her thick lashes fluttering ever so slightly. She eyed him curiously. Davis Black was almost too pretty for words. Having only seen him from a distance and in photos alongside his very attractive family, she’d not realized just how good-looking he was. He was jaw-droppingly handsome with picture-perfect features, the hint of a keenly edged beard and mustache, and hazel eyes flecked with gold. She didn’t want to fetishize his warm complexion but standing there, eyeing him keenly, all she could think about was butter pecan ice cream, imagining what that might taste like against her tongue. He wore an expensive navy wool blazer, plaid shirt, denim jeans and retro Air Jordan sneakers.
His stare was intense, something in the look he was giving her that made her want to search out a mirror to see what it was that he saw. His gaze was heated, a hint of fire shimmering beneath the narrowed lids. She felt herself gasp, her breath catching deep in her chest. The moment was suddenly intimidating and usually there was very little that overwhelmed Neema.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021 Page 73