He straightened. “So tell me about yourself,” he said. “When did you decide that working at Redman International was for you?”
“You’re assuming I had a choice,” Celina said. “When I was a kid, my father used to bring me to each month’s board meeting. I’d sit in a special corner chair while he hammered out deal after deal. He was mesmerizing. The board loved him. At night, I’d pretend I was him. I’d stand in front of my bedroom mirror and mimic the way he stood before the board-arms crossed, feet spaced firmly apart-pretending I was the one in charge. Believe me, I know it sounds cheesy, but at the time I was enthralled. My father was my hero.”
“Is he now?”
Although she said, “Yes, of course,” Celina wasn’t sure. After the incident with Eric Parker and her father’s reaction to it, her feelings had shifted toward George in ways she couldn’t quite describe.
The conversation turned and they laughed and joked about how they met and how Jack was planning on buying a new car. They talked with ease, as if they were old friends catching up over dinner. From time to time, Jack would touch Celina’s hand to make a point. From time to time, Celina would do the same.
When the waiter brought the second round of beers, Celina excused herself and left to use her cell phone. She called Harold at home. It was his wife, Helen, who answered.
“He should be there, Celina,” the woman said. “He left over an hour ago.” A silence followed. Celina could hear the sudden whistling of a tea kettle coming from Helen’s kitchen. “Maybe he’s at the office,” Helen said. “He did mention stopping by there.”
But Harold wasn’t in his office. And he wasn’t with her father.
“How long have you been waiting?” George asked.
“An hour,” Celina said. “And I’m getting tired of waiting. Where do you think he is?”
George didn’t know.
“If this wasn’t becoming a habit of his, Dad, I’d be worried. But it is becoming a habit. First he decides not to show for two board meetings, and now this. What’s going on with him? Harold’s never acted like this before. That man used to be on time for everything.”
“He may have just forgotten, Celina. The deals with WestTex and Iran have doubled his workload. He’s not as young as you.”
“True,” she said. “But my workload has tripled and you don’t see me missing a business dinner.”
“I’m not going to defend him.”
“I don’t expect you to. You know how I feel about Harold. But I do expect you to talk to him. Somebody has to.”
She severed the connection and forced herself to relax. She was damned if Harold’s absence was going to ruin this evening.
She returned to the table. Jack looked up at her as she approached. “We might as well eat,” she said. “It looks as though he won’t be coming.”
“Did you find out where he is?”
“No,” she said. “And at this point, I really don’t care. I’d rather have dinner alone with you, anyway.” She picked up the menu and flipped through it, aware that Jack was looking at her intently. “The filet mignon here is wonderful,” she said. “It's so rare, I think they merely walk a cow past a stove. I’m having that.”
Later, after dessert and coffee, Celina said, “It’s still early. Would you like to come back to my apartment for a nightcap? We can continue the conversation there.”
Jack said he would like that very much.
The evening was so warm, they decided to walk.
“You haven’t mentioned your family,” Celina said. “What do your parents do?”
They were walking up Fifth, stopping from time to time to glance at the illumined store windows. Jack reached out and held Celina’s hand. “They’re retired,” he said. “Dad worked forty years at a Pittsburgh steel mill before he sold the house and moved to West Palm with my mother. They live in this little house near the ocean. My mother calls once a week to tell me that Dad is driving her crazy. My father calls twice a week threatening divorce’“
“So, they’re happy?” Celina said.
“Excessively.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“One sister,” Jack said. “Her name is Lisa. She’s a nurse.”
When they passed 59th Street and her apartment complex came into sight, the first thing Celina noticed were the flashing red and blue lights surrounding it. As they drew nearer, she counted six police cars and one ambulance. A crowd had gathered outside Redman Place and traffic was lined up the street. Sirens gave chill to the warm night air.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked.
Celina said she didn’t know. She immediately thought back to the bombs that exploded on top of Redman International and couldn’t still a twinge of fear. The police still hadn’t learned who rigged the spotlights with explosives.
They hurried up the avenue. Car horns were sounding and people were talking excitedly, their voices rising. Celina tried to grasp what they were saying, tried to make sense of it, but it was impossible in the confusion.
The ambulance was parked in front of the building-lights flashing, sirens now quiet. A team of ten officers kept the crowd at bay. Jack led Celina toward the building’s entrance. His grip was strong, firm, and she was thankful for it.
When they reached the front of the crowd, they were in time to see two paramedics wheeling a man out on a stretcher. Celina knew it was a man by the arm that dangled to one side. It was muscular, bloody, bruised. An IV dripped life into it.
As the paramedics neared them, her stomach tensed and she squeezed Jack’s hand harder. She leaned forward but couldn't see the man’s face as he passed. It was partly covered by a bloody sheet.
She noticed that one of the man’s legs was quivering. She also noticed that the other leg was twisted horribly beneath the sheet.
Celina knew almost everyone in this building. It was here that many of Redman International’s senior executives lived. She turned to one of the officers and was about to ask who had been hurt when, from inside the building, a woman shouted, “Wait!”
To her surprise, Celina watched Diana Crane rush from the building.
There was a bandage on her forehead. One eye was slightly swollen. Celina heard Diana say, “I’m going with him.” She watched in disbelief as the woman climbed into the back of the ambulance. No one objected.
The paramedics were lifting the stretcher. Celina knew it was Eric lying there even before the sheet fell to one side and revealed his broken face.
For a moment, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move or react. Her mind began making connections. She remembered her father calling a week ago and saying, “Leana’s been beaten, Celina. Eric did it the night of the party-probably not long after you left the room. If I had known that earlier this morning, Eric would be in the hospital now, instead of just looking for a job.”
She knew her father was responsible for this. She was sure of it.
Why else would he have asked Elizabeth and her to leave the room before making that call?
The ambulance’s doors slammed shut. The sound broke Celina’s reverie and she saw that the vehicle was preparing to leave. She was about to run forward and ask what hospital they were taking him to when she caught sight of her sister in the crowd.
For a moment, Celina could only stare.
Arms crossed, face grim, Leana was standing across from her, sandwiched between two tall, muscular men. She was wearing dark glasses, a black pant suit, no jewelry. Her hair was pulled away from her face.
Celina called out her name.
Alarmed, Leana turned in her direction. Their eyes met. Leana took a step back.
Celina called out her name again.
Leana ignored her. She spoke to the men beside her, they looked at Celina and quickly led Leana away.
She was gone at the same moment the ambulance screamed to life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The first thing Mario noticed when he arrived at the modest-looking brownstone on l2th Street
was his father’s black Lincoln limousine shimmering in the light of a streetlamp. Instinctively, he looked across the street at his home and saw the three men standing guard at the brick entrance.
Something was wrong. His father only visited on Saturdays.
He parked the Taurus behind his father’s car, stepped out and slammed the door shut. He crossed the street and nodded at the men as he approached. “What’s up, Nicky?” he said. “Why’s my father here?”
The man shrugged, even though Mario sensed he knew exactly why Antonio De Cicco had taken the time and trouble to drive all the way into the city from his Todt Hill mansion on Staten Island. “Didn’t say. He don’t look too happy, though. Wants to see you inside.”
Mario entered the house. It was his wife who met him at the door. Tall and slender with fiery red hair, the years had almost been as kind to Lucia De Cicco as her plastic surgeon had.
She greeted him with a smile and a slap across the face. Mario’s head snapped to the side and his cheek burned. When he turned back to look at her, Lucia’s smile had dissolved into a look of hate.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he said.
She raised a hand to hit him again, but Mario grasped her arms and held them at her sides. She writhed beneath his touch. Her eyes blazed. “Let go of me!”
“Why did you hit me?”
She nodded toward the library, which was to her right. A lock of her carefully dyed hair fell into her face. “Your father’s in there. I’ll let him tell you.”
She wrenched her arms free and hurried up the staircase that led to their bedroom. Mario watched her go, realizing that this was the first time she had stood up to him.
He went to the library. The large mahogany door creaked when he entered the room. In the fluorescent glow of an enormous saltwater aquarium, he saw the faint but familiar images of paintings, furniture and urns. He looked for his father and found him sitting beside the aquarium in a leather chair.
Blue light rippled in waves across his tanned face, making him look oddly like a living corpse. A cloud of cigar smoke hung in the air above his bald head.
His voice came unexpectedly. “Close the door and sit down. This won’t take long.”
Mario did as he was told and shut the door, feeling contempt for this man he never loved-but also fear. He sat opposite his father and noticed that while Antonio was shorter, he seemed to be sitting slightly higher.
De Cicco leaned back in the leather wingback and began tapping his knuckles against the side of the aquarium. The fish jumped, skidded away. Mario looked at his father and knew now why he was here.
“You’ve disappointed me, Mario,” De Cicco said. “You’re not thinkin’ with your head, anymore.” His knuckles struck the aquarium harder. Water sloshed. “You’re thinkin’ with your cock.”
Mario glanced at the aquarium. Of the seventy-six fish filling the tank, one alone was worth twenty thousand dollars. It was so rare, it had taken him nearly eight months to obtain it. The others were almost as rare.
“It’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think. You’re bangin’ that Redman cunt again.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You call having lunch with that whore in your Family’s own restaurant not seeing her?”
“She’s not a whore. And that restaurant belongs to me.”
“Bought with Family money.”
“Bought with my money-for the Family.”
The shadow of what looked like a small grey shark crossed Antonio De Cicco’s face. He cracked a knuckle against the aquarium and the fish darted away.
“I told you two years ago what would happen if you started seeing her again," he said. "I warned you. You’ve disgraced Lucia for the last time. You know how I feel about that girl. She’s like a daughter to me-her father is my best friend-and I’ll be damned if you’re going to hurt her just because you like the way that Redman bitch sucks your cock.”
“You’ve got it wrong,” Mario said firmly. “I haven’t seen Leana since we broke it off two years ago. She came to me. She’s in trouble. She asked a favor of me. That’s the extent of our relationship.”
“Bullshit.”
“It isn’t bullshit. It’s the truth. Do you really believe I’d bring Leana to the restaurant if I was sleeping with her? Aunt Rosa waited on us, for God’s sake. Do you think I’m that stupid? Listen to yourself. You know me better than that. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense.”
De Cicco was silent a moment. When he rose from his chair, he looked at the aquarium, considered it for a moment, then stepped away from it and Mario, his hands in his pockets.
“I’m gonna talk with Lucia,” he said after a moment. “Calm her down, tell her everything’s all right.”
He faced his son. “But if I find out that you’ve been lyin’ to me, that you been fucking that little shit slut behind your wife’s back, I’ll kill her myself. I promised you that years ago and I mean it as much now as I did then. You will not hurt Lucia. You will not embarrass your children-my grandchildren. Because if you do, you might as well have loaded the gun and murdered Leana Redman yourself.”
BOOK TWO
SECOND WEEK
FIFTH AYENUE
CHAPTER TWENTY
Swinging out through the big brass and glass doors of Harold’s townhouse on 81st Street, Leana looked up at the buttery morning sun, felt the warmth on her face and decided she would walk to most of her appointments instead of taking a cab. There were a few apartments in the Village she wanted to look at and she had to sell her jewelry to her mother’s jeweler on Park.
She was beginning to feel better about herself. Not only had the bruises on her face faded and the cut on her lip healed, but she was full of resolve and a measure of hope. For the first time in her life, she was doing something productive. Soon, she would have an apartment of her own and enough money to furnish it comfortably. At breakfast, Harold mentioned something about finding her a job.
And Mario was back in her life.
He called earlier that morning and asked her to dinner. He said they needed to talk, that it was important they talk and that they must talk soon. Leana agreed, but under the condition that she pay for the meal. Although a part of her wanted much more than a friendship with Mario, Leana was determined to keep their relationship simple. She would not sleep with Mario while he was married.
But I’ll think about it.
She continued walking until she came upon a crowded newspaper vending machine. The crowd shifted and she was able to glimpse the front page of The
Daily News. A chill went through her. The headline and recent pictures of Eric Parker screamed out at her: EX-REDMAN FINANCIAL CHIEF BEATEN IN APARTMENT
Leana stared at the headline, then at the photos of Eric. One showed him being wheeled out of the building on a stretcher. She studied the fine lines of his face and saw that it was broken.
She remembered the shock of seeing Celina last night. She remembered Mario’s men hurrying her away from the crowd and into a limousine. She remembered the shrill of the ambulance as it raced past them.
She wondered what Celina was thinking this morning and decided she didn’t care. I didn’t do anything to Eric.
Sensing someone standing behind her, she turned and faced a rugged-looking man in a dark suit and dark glasses. His hair was black and cut short. He was looking at the headline as well.
Their eyes met and he shook his head in disgust. “You’re not even safe in your own home anymore,” Vincent Spocatti said.
The man seemed vaguely familiar to her. She had the feeling that she’d seen him before, but couldn’t place where.
She shrugged. “Maybe he deserved it.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I happen to know the man,” Leana said. “And I am serious. He deserved it.”
And she started for the Village, leaving Spocatti intrigued.
She had appointments to see two apartments-one s
tudio and one loft. It was the loft that caught Leana’s eye.
Overlooking Washington Square, her favorite place in New York, the loft was large and sunny and located on the fifth floor of a prewar building. It had promise, and a few issues that could be fixed-it needed fresh paint, two of its windows were cracked and the carpet was worn and in need of updating. Hardwood would work in here, she thought. Maybe polished concrete.
Despite its flaws, the loft had character, a sense of style. Her mind began to picture plants, clean ivory walls, paintings. I could make this place my own.
The owner of the building, a thin woman who hadn’t stopped smiling, was standing in the middle of the living space, making sweeping movements with her arms. Copper bracelets winked and jangled.
“What furniture’s here is yours,” she said, as if that would tip the balance. “The bed, the desk, the table and chairs-all yours. Some freak artist left them and the smell of cat piss behind. If I hadn’t had the carpets cleaned, you wouldn’t be able to stand it in here.” She wrinkled her nose, sniffed, and looked uncertainly at Leana. “You can’t smell the piss, can you?”
“I can smell it,” Leana said. And I can smell your desperation.
She stepped over to a window and watched a group of children run past the empty fountain to a flock of pigeons. The birds took flight in a dizzying cloud of gray and black and white, and the children cheered. Leana thought back to the last day she had been in the park. It was the day the bombs exploded on top of her father’s building.
It was the day the man had followed and harassed her.
The woman was standing behind her. “Beautiful view, isn’t it?”
It was, and Leana said so.
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