Power and Possession

by C. C. Gibbs

  “If Contini’s mixed up in that defection,” Max said, “he’s got a world of trouble on his hands. A friend of mine who runs security for a Singapore financier happened to be in Macao when the shit hit the fan. Rumor has it the plane was Contini’s, the team that walked the defectors to the plane was Contini’s, and the Shanghai gang is frothing at the mouth. Their entire cybernetwork was bombed to dust.”

  “Jesus, Nicole sure knows how to pick ’em.”

  “And Gora married Contini’s mother a couple years ago. Right after Maso died, right after Gora’s wife was found dead of an overdose in Istanbul.”

  “Fucking convenient.”

  “Yeah. You’re looking at a real salt-of-the-earth family unit.”

  “Fuck, Melanie would wet herself if she knew where her baby girl was playing house.”

  “Nicole is a lot like you, Nick. Just saying. Don’t get righteous.”

  Dominic laughed. “The day I get righteous, you have permission to put a bullet in my head. But she needs protecting from herself, from him, from this shit storm that seems to coming his way. So call up the troops. In case we need them.”

  “I’ve already sent out the message. Everyone’s coming in from holiday.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Dominic had been watching the clock. “I have to go. Kate expects me in bed when she wakes up. As for Nicole, I’ll know more after I talk to her. There’s no question she’s going to balk at going home.”

  “She’d be safest there.”

  “We both know that. Getting her to agree is the fucking elephant in the room.”

  Max laughed. “Déjà vu. You never did what was prudent either.”

  “That’s not fucking helpful,” Dominic grumbled. “We’ll talk later.”

  Dominic had just pushed away from his desk, calculating that he had twenty minutes to shower before Kate woke up, when his phone rang. He pounced on it, not wanting the ring to rouse the household. His private number was private. It had to be someone he knew.

  “I hear we might be relatives,” Gora said gruffly in Italian, their common language.

  Dominic recognized the rough accent. “Did you set this up, motherfucker?” he growled at the mafioso, Anton Georgescu, who had almost ruined his life a few years ago.

  “No. I just found out. The boy doesn’t confide. He’s also too young to know what he wants.” There was a flash of anger in Gora’s voice.

  “That works out then, because my niece isn’t his type.”

  “And Rafail’s not hers,” Gora said just as grimly. He’d done some checking too.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “She’s fickle, impulsive, men always buzzing around her. Rafail’s getting involved. It worries me. I don’t want him hurt.”

  “Him hurt? Are you fucking kidding me? Your stepson and a friend of his have some serious enemies from Shanghai mobilizing against them. A goddamn armada coming in for the kill. What the fuck’s wrong with you? Aren’t you watching your kid?”

  “It all just happened in the last few days.”

  “Fuck if I care when it happened. It happened. I’m warning you now, if there’s any blowback to my family, I’m coming after you with everything I’ve got. Full-scale war, Gora.”

  “Calm the fuck down. I’ll deal with it.”

  Dominic crushed back a snarl and spoke very slowly. “You. Do. Not. Understand. This isn’t your brain-dead, no-neck enforcers. This is a state-sponsored, fucking no-holds-barred bunch of thugs who’d kill their own mother if they were given the order.”

  “Don’t you think I fucking know that?”

  “It sure as hell doesn’t seem like it when you tell me to calm the fuck down. I haven’t been calm since I found out who my niece was shacking up with.”

  “I agree. The arrangement isn’t wise. I’ll talk to him.”

  Dominic hissed a breath between his teeth, pissed that Gora had the fucking gall to disapprove of Nicole when his goddamn stepson was the byword for lecherous vice. “You do that,” he said with a bite to his voice. “In the meantime, I’m sending Nicole home. So when you talk to him you can give him the message.”

  “I might need some names from you. My contacts are more limited since I retired. But I’ll send out a hit team, ten times ten teams, if necessary. I still can do that. He’s my boy and no one’s going to hurt him.”

  “Your boy?” Dominic’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “Stepson.”

  “Don’t fucking lie. I heard your voice.” For a second, clear as a bell, Gora’s heartbeat rang in the word boy, and the truth slipped out into the world like a wisp of smoke.

  “I don’t care what you heard. It’s none of your business. It’s no one’s business but mine. As far as Rafail knows he’s my stepson, so shut the fuck up.”

  “If I wasn’t so pissed, I’d find it amusing that you cuckolded that head case Maso.”

  “I didn’t know about Rafail until after Maso died. Long story. It doesn’t matter now. But he doesn’t know he’s my son and I want it to stay that way. If you tell him, I’ll see you in hell.”

  There was the hard, cold vehemence Dominic had heard before in Rome years ago. “Take it easy. He won’t hear it from me. But if I needed added reason to keep my niece away from him I have it now. Keep your boy away from her,” Dominic said, his voice as deadly as Gora’s. “Now and forever.” He set the phone in the cradle softly, as if he needed to compensate for the rage boiling inside him. Then he sat utterly still, telling himself it couldn’t be possible. In all the world, this was who Nicole had picked? He sucked in a breath, said, “No,” under his breath, then “No way,” in a louder tone, then “No way in hell,” with such fury, he could barely breathe.

  Chapter 26

  Rafe, wearing only boxers, was standing in front of an open wardrobe door flicking through hangers. Three discarded shirts and two pairs of trousers were in a pile on the floor. He was softly swearing.

  “Wear your gray linen slacks and one of your short-sleeve shirts.”

  Rafe swung around to see Natalie standing in the doorway. A flash of impatience lit his eyes. “Do you mind?”

  Her shrug set her dangly jet earrings quivering. “You’re not naked. And it’s not as though I haven’t seen you naked.”

  “Great. That’s what I want to hear.”

  “I’m an old lady. You’re not the first man I’ve seen without clothes.”

  “Hey. This isn’t a conversation I want to have.” He lifted his chin. “Do you want something?”

  She held up Nicole’s backpack. “Here’s the change of clothes you wanted. And a word of advice. Relax. You’re nervous as a bridegroom.”

  “Jesus, Natalie, if you want me to relax, don’t say words like bridegroom.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Suddenly his gaze was nailed on her. “You saw?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t all sunny skies, but you can do it.”

  “You try to keep things casual, then it changes. Gets real.” He did a quick shoulder roll, winced, every muscle tense. “It throws me.”

  “She’s a lovely woman. Special in ways that touch you, that make you stop and think you might be missing something.” A bare nod in his direction. “Why wouldn’t she matter?”

  Rafe examined her, did some quick calculating behind his eyes, finally flashed a wry smile. “You’re right, take a bow. Damned if the world just seems better when Nicole’s around, colors brighter, sun more dazzling. Nicer.”

  “Explain that to her uncle.”

  Rafe groaned.

  “I have a feeling he might understand. He wasn’t always happily married.”

  Rafe’s eyebrows flickered. “Christ, how do you know that?”

  She look amused. “As you recall, I have a gift.” And a thousand street contacts in the gypsy community. “Now get dressed. I woke Simon. He’s showering. Come downstairs and I’ll make you a good breakfast before you go into the lion’s den.”

  “Jesu
s, he’s just a fucking man.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t. Although, if you’re sensible, you’ll mind your manners.”

  Rafe laughed. “That’s the plan, Natalie.”

  At the same time Rafe was talking to his housekeeper, Nicole was on her way into the kitchen. She’d have coffee, then find something to wear. She wanted to be ready when Rafe came for her.

  Dominic heard Nicole in the hallway. Quietly sliding out of bed, he threw on sweats and a T-shirt and left the bedroom without waking Kate. He preferred privacy for what was sure to be a difficult conversation.

  When he walked into the kitchen, Nicole was standing in front of the espresso machine in a pair of Kate’s pajamas, looking uncertain.

  “Let me,” he said. “Every machine is different. What’s your pleasure?”

  As she spun around, her brows dipped into a scowl. “Double espresso, and I’m still pissed at you so you can stop smiling.”

  “I understand. Sit.” He pointed at the scrubbed pine table surrounded by colorful painted chairs in the center of the large, sunny kitchen.

  She bristled. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Sorry, please sit,” he said gently. “The coffee will take a few minutes.”

  The only sound for the next small interval was the hiss of the espresso machine and the ticking of a tall case clock in the corner.

  Pissed as hell that Dominic had interfered in her life last night, Nicole came out guns blazing. “I met someone you know in Monte Carlo,” she said, her gaze trained on her uncle. “Her name was Bianca—a tall, dark-haired bitch.”

  Dominic froze. A heartbeat later, he turned and looked at Nicole’s smug face. “I’m sorry you had to meet her. Forget it.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “It’s a little hard to forget when she said you two had a child. Does Kate know?”

  He wanted to slap that smug look off her face. He knew what she was doing. A good offense is the best defense. “Yes, Kate knows. And the child wasn’t mine. The situation was taken care of a long time ago. End of story.”

  Nicole made a face. “Funny. She says the child is yours.”

  One of his eyebrows flicked; that was all. “Since you met her, you have to be aware that she’s a gilt-edged, lying bitch. Now, we’re done with this conversation and if you mention it to Kate, I’ll have you on a plane home so fast your head will spin. Do we understand each other?”

  “I’m not going home, so fuck you and your threats,” Nicole snapped.

  “You’re going home if I say you’re going home,” Dominic snapped back.

  “Jesus, Dominic, who made you God?” she shouted. “I’m twenty-two years old, I’m not your child, you have no say over what I do.”

  “Keep your goddamn voice down or you’ll wake the kids,” he growled. “And little missy, right now, I’m the only one who does have a say. Or would you like me to tell your mother who you’re mixed up with? No? It looks like you don’t think that’s a great idea. I won’t even mention your dad because he’d lock you in your room for the next decade if he knew what the hell Rafe Contini does in his free time. And I’m not talking about the Chandelier Club. He took you there because it was tame. Yeah, look all wide-eyed. That place is like nursery school for hard-core players. Okay?”

  “And you would know,” she hissed.

  “I did. Not anymore. But that’s the difference between him and me. The serious, anything-goes, twisted, fuck scene is still his playground.” His gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t like it. There’s nothing pretty about it.”

  “You can’t scare me. If other places are worse, he didn’t take me to those, okay? There’s nothing about him that frightens me.” Unblinking, she stared at him. “So stop with the bullshit. And I’m only here for the summer anyway—a few weeks more. Then I have to go back to school. You don’t have to make a federal case about this. We’re both just enjoying the holiday.”

  “He’s got other problems,” Dominic said flatly. “Business shit that could be dangerous.”

  “If you’re talking about the attack on his company computers, that’s over.”

  Dominic slid two small cups of espresso out from under the machine spouts, and walked over to the table, wondering what lie would best serve. “There might be more attacks,” he said simply, setting the cups down and taking a seat at the table.

  “Rafe has plenty of security. Like you. He protects me the same way you protect your family.”

  She didn’t have a clue in hell. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “See, you’re equivocating.” She jabbed her finger at him. “You don’t know.”

  “Maybe if you just went home for a week or so,” Dominic suggested, perjuring himself without a qualm, intent on getting Nicole to the States, where she’d be safe. “Once things calm down you—”

  Two young children suddenly burst into the kitchen screaming, high-pitched and repetitively, “Auntie Nicole! Tanti Mic! Auntie Nicole! Tanti Mic!”

  And a moment later two little pajama-clad bodies hurled themselves at Nicole. She leaned down, scooped them up on her lap, and the adult conversation was over.

  Kate arrived a few minutes later, tying the belt on her robe. “Morning, everyone. Isn’t it nice Auntie Nicole is visiting?” She smiled at her children crowded together on Nicole’s lap. “Tell Auntie what you’ve been doing this summer.”

  Both children began talking at once, giving Nicole a breathless rendition of their activities: how they’d been learning to swim, underwater, they both explained in an excited rush of words. How they were going to go to the seashore too before they had to go back to school. How they’d had classes in computer games, James explained with such swelling pleasure, his words tumbled out in an unintelligible flurry that required interpretation from his older sister. “Isn’t that so, Jimmy,” Rosie said, after making everything clear. He nodded furiously, his dark hair flopping back and forth and went off on another tangent, requiring further explanation.

  Their indulgent parents watched and smiled.

  Nicole was smiling too. She and the children were close.

  Suddenly, the back door to the kitchen opened and a tall, gray-haired woman walked in, carrying a market basket with fresh produce and two baguettes tucked under her arm. She greeted everyone with a smile and a cheerful, “Bonjour.”

  Preferring their privacy, Dominic and Kate didn’t have live-in help, but the cook came in each day and saw to their meals. The children immediately jumped off Nicole’s lap and clamored for the morning pastry Emilie always brought from the market. After handing them each a small caramel bun, the cook asked, “Now, what would everyone like for breakfast?”

  Relieved that she was free from any further arguments, at least until after breakfast, Nicole smiled at the cook and put in her order for a veggie omelet. Rafe would find a way to liberate her; he’d texted that he’d come for her in the morning. She wasn’t going home. Dominic might not like it, but that wasn’t her problem.

  Breakfast was almost over, the last of the children’s pancakes sizzling on the griddle, when the doorbell rang.

  “Me get, me get!” James shouted, sliding out of his chair in a flash. “Me, me, me!” he screamed, running from the kitchen.

  Dominic was right behind him, followed by the rest of the family. Visitors were rare. No surprise, when it practically took special permission signed in triplicate from the pope to reach the front door. When the concierge always called for confirmation before anyone was allowed up.

  Dominic opened the door and froze.

  Rafe smiled. “Morning.” Wearing perfectly pressed gray slacks, his white linen shirt buttoned up to the neck, his shoes shined to a high polish, his hair pulled back in a ponytail smooth as a matador’s, save for a pocket protector, Rafe looked like an accountant—albeit an uncommonly handsome one.

  “Papa! Papa! Up! Up! Hold me!” James screamed in French; he had his father’s gift for languages. He already spoke four, including toddler Malay and Cantonese. />
  When Dominic picked up his son—a smaller version of himself, with identical hair, eyes, and cute rather than handsome looks—James pointed his finger at Rafe. “Who he?” he asked in English, having heard Rafe’s greeting. “Who you?” he added when his father didn’t immediately answer.

  “My friend Rafe,” Nicole interjected, stepping forward, her heart pumping wildly, feeling happiness bubble inside her; Rafe was trying so hard in those ridiculous clothes.

  “You tan be my friend too,” James said with a wide smile, then repeated the sentence in French in case the man didn’t understand because he hadn’t responded.

  “Thank you,” Rafe finally said in English. “I’d like that. I have a little brother like you.”

  “You do?” James grabbed a handful of Dominic’s hair and swung his father’s head sideways so he could see into his eyes. “He got bruver yike me, Papa.”

  Dominic nodded. “Yes, I heard.”

  “Bruver got name?” His gaze back on Rafe, James jabbed at his chest. “Me Jimmy.”

  “Hi, Jimmy. My brother’s name is Titus.”

  Rosie tugged on her father’s pant leg, sensing something was wrong. Her attachment to her father was strong, almost mystical; they were a team. “Daddy?”

  Dominic looked down and smiled. “It’s fine, sweetie.” He winked at her. “Everything’s fine.”

  Rafe saw that spark, that magic between parent and child, and knew that Dominic Knight wouldn’t make a scene in front of his children. Lifting up the shopping bags he was carrying an inch or two, Rafe said, “I brought the children some gifts, if that’s okay?”

  “Me, me, gif!” James screamed and wiggled frantically in his father’s arms, trying to get down.

  Rosie lightly brushed her father’s leg, more composed than her brother, remembering her manners, but excitement shone in her eyes. “May we, Daddy?”

  Goddamn fucker, Dominic silently swore, then turned his full attention on his daughter, giving her a little smile. “Of course you can, sweetie.” His gaze shifted to Rafe, turned into a glare. “Come in.” With a quick glance over his shoulder, he lifted an eyebrow to Kate. “Why don’t you show the children what Rafe brought while he and I talk for a minute in my office.” Another sharp look for Rafe. “That okay with you?”