Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  “Are you and Sophie gonna split?” Ben asked.

  “No! Why would you say that?”

  “’Cause you were fighting the night Mom dumped me at your place.”

  Sighing, Grant confirmed, “That was a really bad night, yes.”

  “Why?”

  Looking away, he pressed his lips together, feeling repulsed by what he’d done to Sophie. Eventually he said, “It was an awful night because I was acting like my father’s son.” Grant immediately began walking again.

  That response silenced Ben, and he hustled to keep up with his uncle. Was it wrong to act like your father’s son? Would it be a bad thing to be like Logan Barberi? All his life, Ben had desperately wanted to be like his tough, cool, unflappable father. Was that a mistake?

  Ben’s thoughts drifted back to his father’s funeral, when his mother revealed that his dad had forced Uncle Grant to commit robbery. Although Ben initially refused to believe it, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since then. Was his own father responsible for sending Grant to prison?

  As the ship appeared just ahead, Ben quietly asked, “Uncle Grant? Um, did my dad, um, did he make you pull that robbery?”

  Grant stopped in his tracks. “What?”

  Ben tried to stop the trembling in his voice. “Did my dad threaten to kill Joe if you didn’t rob the club?”

  A look of dread was etched onto Grant’s face. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Did it happen?” Ben pressed.

  Grant exhaled, feeling trapped. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t know if his nephew could take any more. The boy was already a mess. Locked in a moment of faltering uncertainty, Grant reached for Ben and scooped him into a tight embrace.

  Smothered by his uncle’s muscular arms, Ben felt a rush of sadness. He knew what his uncle’s silence meant. Maybe it wasn’t so great to be his father’s son.

  Ben’s words were muffled: “So it’s true then.”

  Grant voice was thick with emotion. “Your dad was a good man—he, he just lost his way. I don’t want you to end up like that, okay?”

  Ben nodded, and they let go of each other.

  Grant waited until their eyes met, then explained, “That’s why I want you to keep working with me after school. I want you to stay out of trouble, and I want…I want to spend more time with you. Your dad missed out on a lot in your life, and I don’t want to make the same mistake. Will you keep working? With me?”

  Biting his lip, Ben considered the question for several moments before attempting a nonchalant “Yeah.”

  “Atta-boy.”

  Grant heard the familiar sounds of The Eagles, Roger’s favorite band, coming from the ship. He thumped his nephew’s shoulder. “C’mon, we got some cleaning to do.”

  ***

  “You’re going to be fine, Kirsten.”

  Sophie’s soothing voice did nothing to quell the butterflies in Kirsten’s stomach. She was minutes away from her dissertation defense, and she was visibly shaking as she leaned one shoulder against the brick wall in the corridor. Kirsten was quite afraid the only “revelation” happening today would be her failing her defense—and likely taking another eight years to finally complete her damn doctoral degree.

  “Remember,” Sophie assured her as she rubbed gentle circles on her friend’s back, “your committee might be tough, but in the end, they want you to succeed. Why don’t you go in there and make sure your PowerPoint presentation is all ready to go, okay?”

  Kirsten nodded. “I wish you could be in there with me.”

  “Me too, but you’ll be fine.” Sophie thought of the warm smile of the young faculty member she’d befriended, Tanya Highgate. “Tanya’s on your committee, and then your advisor’s always good for throwing a few softballs. I’m sure David will take good care of you in there.”

  “Oh, great. You really think I’m going to fail this, don’t you?”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “You must be pretty desperate if you’re saying nice things about David Alton.”

  Sophie smiled confidently. “Don’t worry—I’m over him.”

  Kirsten arched her eyebrows. “Wow, Dr. Taylor. How did you arrive to such a Zen place? Are you doing therapy on yourself?”

  “I’ve actually found a great technique for moving on after painful episodes of unrequited love.” Knowing she had Kirsten’s full attention, Sophie leaned in and explained, “It’s called the McSailor Method. Find a drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend who makes every loser you’ve ever dated utterly pale in comparison.”

  Kirsten giggled. “The McSailor Method? Sounds quite promising, doctor!”

  Nodding, Sophie said, “I’m gonna write a book about it.”

  They chuckled again before Kirsten’s mood sobered. “I better get in there,” she said, biting her lip.

  “Knock ’em dead, Dr. Holland.”

  Hearing her potential new title, Kirsten grinned at Sophie before disappearing into the classroom.

  Sighing, Sophie turned down the hallway and headed back to her office, lest she run into David again. She’d been truthful with Kirsten—she was over her former crush—but it was still awkward. A smile crossed her face as she considered her book idea. She’d launched into a daydream about Grant when a woman rushed out of an office, plowing right into her.

  “Oh!” the woman squawked, grabbing Sophie’s right arm as they tried to orient themselves.

  Instinctively, Sophie pulled her still-sore left arm out of the fray.

  “I’m so sorry, Sophie!”

  Sophie laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Tanya.”

  In her ginger-colored blouse, chocolate-brown knee-length skirt, and tall leather boots, Assistant Professor Tanya Highgate was one fashionable lady, managing to look glamorous even mid-collision. She’d joined the department right after Sophie graduated, and once Sophie had accepted the visiting instructor position, they’d clicked instantly.

  “Wow, you just can’t wait to get to Kirsten’s defense, huh?”

  Sophie caught a quick grimace on Tanya’s face before the woman composed herself again.

  “Are you okay, Tanya? Uh-oh—didn’t you like Kirsten’s manuscript?”

  “Oh, no. Kirsten’s study was great and she’s going to pass, no problem.”

  “Phew.”

  “I know you two are friends.” Tanya winked.

  “So what’s wrong?” Sophie prodded. “What has you running out of your office like there’s a stack of journals on fire?”

  Tanya gazed into Sophie’s earnest eyes, trying to determine if she could trust her. Though they’d shared quite a bit, they’d only been acquainted a little more than three weeks.

  As Tanya hesitated, Sophie began to worry about hanging out in the hallway so close to Kirsten’s defense. David could materialize at any moment. Sophie backpedaled, “If you’d rather not explain, no worries—”

  “Oh, hell.” Tanya backed into her office and gestured for Sophie to follow. Then she closed the door. “I’ll probably end up telling you this anyway, so I should just get it over with.” She grinned ruefully. “That’s what happens when you have a shrink for a friend—you end up spilling all your secrets.”

  Sophie smiled and sat in one of Tanya’s chairs as Tanya sat behind her desk.

  “I am discombobulated right now,” Tanya admitted. “It’s not the student I have a problem with in this upcoming defense. It’s the committee.”

  “The committee?”

  “Well, one person on the committee, to be precise.” She sighed. “David.”

  Sophie felt her chest tighten. “David Alton?”

  “Is there another David in this department, Sophie?”

  Tanya was quite direct, and Sophie loved her for it.

  “No, uh, one David’s quite enough, thank you,” Sophie said.

  Tanya squinted at her curiously before resuming.

  “Anyway, I’ve managed to avoid him for the most part, but when Kirste
n asked me to be on her committee, I couldn’t refuse. The poor woman is just dying to graduate, I know.”

  Sophie’s interest was definitely piqued. “So why have you been avoiding David?”

  Taking a deep breath, Tanya tossed her head back and proclaimed, “God, this is so embarrassing!”

  Sophie waited in silence for a few moments before Tanya admitted, “My first year on the faculty, I was fresh out of grad school and I didn’t know anybody, and David sort of took me under his wing. We often went to get coffee—we talked about department politics, he showed me the ropes. He was very charming, and I, I found myself falling for him.”

  Sophie’s lips parted but Tanya didn’t notice. She looked at her lap as she mumbled, “I should’ve known better.”

  “What happened, Tanya?”

  When she raised her head, a soft blush colored her smooth brown cheeks. “You know how David adores Theodore Millon?”

  Sophie nodded, recalling how he’d swooned over the “brilliant” personality assessments created by Millon.

  “Well,” Tanya continued, “I was at a conference, and I got Millon to sign one of his books and write a little message to David on the inside cover. I gave the book to him, and he absolutely loved it—he did that Richard Gere thing, smiling at me with his squinty eyes, thanking me profusely, sidling up to me, making me feel like I was the love of his life. Stupidly I lost my head, and I went in to hug him, but he, um, backed away…”

  Now Tanya couldn’t help but notice that Sophie’s jaw had become unhinged. “What?” she asked.

  “Go on,” Sophie managed to get out.

  Sighing loudly, Tanya said in a disdainful tone, “Being psychologists, of course we had to process what happened, and that’s when I confessed I thought he was coming on to me. I must’ve sounded so damn desperate! He quickly assured me he was simply trying to be my mentor—that he, of course, was happily married, and he was very sorry I’d misconstrued his intentions—”

  “Oh my God!” Sophie interrupted, almost shrieking. “He did the same thing to me!”

  “He did?”

  “When I was a grad student! When I was meeting with him in his office, he hinted around that he and his wife were having problems, which only magnified the crush I had on him. Then when I tried to take it further he totally blew me off! I think he said the exact same thing to me—that I ‘misconstrued his intentions.’”

  Tanya’s brown eyes widened. “Bastard! I thought it was all me.”

  “Me too!” Sophie nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve been so embarrassed for four years, thinking it was all my fault.”

  “Sounds like a pattern—the little prick,” Tanya scoffed. “He thinks he’s so suave. Well, Rico Suave has finally been busted.”

  Sophie laughed. “Speaking of Rico, his student is about to start her defense. You better get in there.”

  “Crap!” Tanya glanced at her watch and grabbed a thick manuscript off her desk. “I’ll let you know when Kirsten passes. Please close the door on your way out!” she called over her shoulder, hustling out of the office.

  Sophie sat completely still, bowled over by what Tanya had just shared. She wondered how many others David had lured into his web, only to bite them with venomous shame. Sophie pursed her lips. She definitely intended to find out.

  ***

  Grant suppressed a smile as he listened to his boss and his nephew sparring verbally on deck. They were between cruises, and he was taking an inventory of the bar supplies while Ben wiped down the benches in the passenger section with Rog. Technically, stocking the bar was Dan’s duty, but the slacker bartender was nowhere to be seen, probably off smoking a cigarette somewhere.

  Grant stood and began stacking plastic cups on the bar.

  His elbow perched languidly on the other side of the bar, Roger pointed to the bench Ben had just finished wiping. “You missed a spot, Barberi.”

  Ben rolled his eyes and ignored the comment.

  “Did you hear me, kid? I want every inch of those benches to shine!”

  Ben muttered something unintelligible and Roger sharply retorted, “What’d you say?”

  Standing up, Ben shouted, “Nothing shines as much as your bald head, you big fat elf!”

  Roger strode toward the teenager. “You’re calling me an elf, you little shit? Look who’s talking, midget. You sure you’re related to Madsen over there? He’s double your size.”

  “At least I’m still growing,” Ben countered. “You will always be short.”

  “Yeah you’re growing—growing dumber by the second. C’mon, Cheech, you’re cleaning the engine room.” He not-so-gently pushed the boy toward the hatch. Ben grumbled the whole time but allowed himself to be propelled forward.

  Shaking his head, Grant still couldn’t believe how disrespectfully his nephew spoke to his boss. But Rog let Ben’s comments roll right off him, seeming to enjoy the banter. Grant gathered his list and headed to the office to call the liquor store. As he passed by the ticket window, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. Slowing his pace, he gingerly rounded the corner and, sure enough, found the reason for his sudden alarm.

  Standing in the shadows was Angelo Barberi.

  Behind the Mafia boss was a tall, muscular man, his hooded eyes staring menacingly over Angelo’s shoulder.

  Grant gulped and took a step backward. Here was Carlo’s father, and Grant had no doubt he’d be seeking revenge for his son’s death.

  “Grant,” Angelo called. “I want to talk to you, nipote.”

  His heart was banging so loudly he barely heard his uncle, and Grant retreated another step.

  “Please,” Angelo said, walking out of the shadows and opening his hands. Grant’s eyes darted all around, but he detected no bulge in his uncle’s jacket or pockets. He was quite certain the behemoth was packing, though.

  Watching Grant’s eyes flicker to the bodyguard, Angelo turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “Leave us, Tank. This is a family matter.”

  A coughing spasm overtook the Mafia don, and Anthony Tanketti nervously hesitated, wondering if he should try to help his boss. Once Angelo was breathing normally again, Tank slunk away as ordered, retreating farther into the shadows, leaving the uncle and nephew warily eyeing each other on the dock.

  Apparently Grant looked terrified because Angelo said, “Relax, nipote—I won’t hurt you. Your father forbade it.”

  Grant forced himself to unclench his fists, and he took in his uncle’s pallid complexion beneath his black suit. Beads of sweat cropped up on Angelo’s forehead, and Grant could feel drops of sweat sliding down his back as well.

  “My father?” Grant asked.

  “I told Enzo everything,” Angelo responded. His jaw tightened. “I told him how you killed my son.”

  “And did you tell him how your son killed my brother?”

  Angelo was surprised by Grant’s seething tone. He’d thought the boy was a wimpy non-entity, but perhaps he’d been wrong.

  Coughing a few times more made Angelo’s black eyes water, and suddenly Grant didn’t feel so scared.

  “For what it’s worth,” Angelo began, “I didn’t approve of what my son did. No matter what you think of me, I loved Logan. Like a son,” he added quietly.

  “I loved him too,” Grant insisted. Before you destroyed him. Sadness competed with intense anger as he spat, “What do you want?”

  Angelo gave a weary smile. “It’s not what I want; it’s what your father wants.”

  Grant held his breath.

  “Enzo wants to see you.”

  His heart pounded furiously again, and he slowly shook his head.

  “He needs to see you, Grant. Soon.”

  Still shaking his head, Grant smiled bitterly. “Does he think he deserves—”

  “Hey, Ange!” Ben’s boisterous voice interrupted them.

  Grant looked up with horror to find his nephew approaching.

  “Ben!” Angelo boomed, erupting into a genuine grin. “I hea
rd you were working on a boat.”

  Grant nervously glanced around him, feeling quite unsafe and wondering what else Angelo had heard. Thank goodness Sophie no longer worked with him.

  “Yeah.” Ben blushed, now standing next to the two men.

  “But why are you working, ragazzo? You ever need any money, you can always come to me. You know that, right?”

  The color on Ben’s cheeks deepened. “Yeah, but, um, my mom, um, she told me I wasn’t supposed to go to your place anymore.”

  A wicked smile bloomed on the don’s face. “Since when do you listen to your mom, Ben?”

  They both chuckled while Grant felt sick. The chuckle must have irritated Angelo’s throat because he started coughing again, and the hacking drew Tank from the shadows.

  He nervously clasped Angelo’s arm. “Boss? We better go.”

  Angelo, gasping for air, nodded. Weakly, he murmured, “Take care of yourselves, you two.” A few coughs later, he choked out, “Think about what I said, Grant.”

  Once Angelo and Tank disappeared, Grant found himself shaking. He had no idea how to protect his nephew from their menace.

  “What’d Angelo say to you?” Ben inquired.

  “Nothing.” Grant aimed a deadly serious look at his nephew. “I want you to stay away from them. You’re never to go to that compound again, got it?”

  Ben hesitated. His uncle had never spoken so harshly to him before. “Why?”

  “Because they’re dangerous. Any money Angelo might give to you, you’ll pay for with your soul. You stay away from them, Ben. I better not find out you’ve been anywhere near the mansion.”

  Grant stormed off to the office, leaving Ben standing on the dock like a chastised schoolboy.

  Ben’s eyes narrowed into slits. Nobody was going to tell him what to do.

  9. Constant

  “You look well-rested today.”

  Grant glanced up at Hunter and swallowed uncomfortably. He was still getting used to being so closely watched in therapy—he couldn’t get anything by the observant psychologist. “Yes, sir.”

  Settling into his chair across from the couple, ready to begin the session, Hunter smiled to himself. He was accustomed to receiving one-word responses from stubborn clients, but he supposed the tag-on “sir,” which transformed the response to two words, made Grant seem slightly more forthcoming.