Indulge

by E. B. Walters

  Rod replaced Dom, then Cade, Lucien, and finally Aiden. Her feet began to hurt, and she also realized that Lex’s friends had been deliberately monopolizing her time while her handsome groom had disappeared.

  “Where’s Lex?” Jillian asked.

  “Am I boring you?” Aiden asked, leaning back and cocking his eyebrow.

  “No. I mean, other than the fact that you keep turning me so you can stare at Jade, you’re an amazing dancer.”

  “She looks happy.”

  Jillian chuckled. “Don’t sound so disappointed. There’re plenty of women out there.” He sighed. “I’d stop staring at her if I were you.”

  “I danced with her twice. Maybe one more time to say my goodbye.”

  What a sucker for punishment. “Do you know where Lex is?”

  “Talking to the wedding crashers.” Then he winced as though he hadn’t meant to say that. “But he’ll be out shortly.”

  What wedding crashers? With the security, uninvited guests shouldn’t have made it inside the compound. The song ended, and Jillian started for the house, taking a long route to escape Lex’s friends. Unfortunately, guests wanted to congratulate her and she was forced to stop and trade kisses and hugs. She paused to hug her grandmother.

  “Thank you for making this day perfect, Tat,” Jillian whispered.

  “Is it time for you to leave?”

  “Soon. I’ll come find you before we leave. I promise.” She picked up the hem of her dress and hurried toward the house, almost bumping into Troy. “Hey, where have you been? You owe me a dance.”

  “Are we leaving?”

  “Soon.” She disappeared inside the house. Douglas, not Lex, should be dealing with security breaches. Unless the people worked for Warwick.

  “Spying on them for years? How the hell do you explain that?” Her father’s voice reached Jillian before she turned into the hallway leading to the den. She slowed down.

  “Watching over them, not spying,” Chris shot back, not sounding sorry.

  They were at it again. Why couldn’t they just enjoy the food and the drinks and let her have her moment without the drama? Unless this was about Chris and the man she’d seem him with.

  “She’s not going to like this, Chris. You didn’t just lie to me, you lied to her, too.” Jillian stepped forward, and her father saw her. “Jilly, what are you doing here?”

  “Looking for Lex. What’s going on, Dad?” she asked, her eyes volleying between her father and Chris. Guilt was written on their faces. “Chris?”

  “We were talking about something that happened years ago. You owe me another dance.” Her father closed the gap between them. “Let’s rattle these old bones on the dance floor one more time.”

  “Don’t, Dad. I overheard what you said. Who were you spying on, Chris? Me? I recognized the man with you during the ceremony,” she added.

  Silence greeted her.

  “How well do you know him, Chris?”

  “Jilly…”

  “Don’t Jilly me, Daddy. He knows that reporter. How long have you been passing him information about me?”

  “I had no choice,” Chris mumbled.

  Jillian sighed, the anger draining out of her. She should be angry, yet all she felt was sadness. She’d trusted Chris, and he’d betrayed her. “You always have a choice. You could have told me he was forcing you or blackmailing you, or whatever. How long have you been working for him?”

  “Tell her the truth,” her father cut in, his voice firm.

  Chris sighed. “Since the moment you and your mother joined the Finnegans. They approached me to keep an eye on both of you and to report if anyone bothered you or showed too much interest in you. That’s all I did.”

  His eyes begged Jillian to understand, but she was confused. All this time she’d thought he cared about her. “My mother? Reporting to who?”

  “Vito Gagliano. I know there’s no excuse for what I did, but I was young and broke, and I saw a way to make a quick buck. After your mother died, I told him I was done. When your father sent you to me in Hollywood, I was no longer working for him. I swear.”

  Jillian knew that should make her feel a little better, but it didn’t. She was still confused, and the sense of betrayal still lingered. “Who is Vito Gagliano?”

  “Your mother’s uncle.”

  Her mother’s what? Jillian took a mental step back and tried to remember her brief and traumatic meetings with Scarred Face. The man hadn’t looked old enough to be her uncle. And why the heck hadn’t he just told her who he was? “The man who sat beside you during my wedding, the one with the scar is my uncle?”

  Chris shook his head. “No. That’s Joey. Joey was sent by Vito to investigate your mother’s accident and to make sure you were okay. And when the boys beat him, they knew you would be safe with the Finnegans. They knew you”—he glanced at Jillian’s father—“considered Jillian one of your own. I never heard from them again until this morning.”

  “Why is he back now? Did this faceless uncle send him again to make sure I was okay?” She scoffed at the idea. “I’m better than okay. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m in love, and I have a family. No, three families that want me. I don’t need someone who has never shown interest in meeting me or getting to know me. Tell this Joey to tell my uncle, he can either show his face and explain himself or stop sending people to check on me.” She started to walk away, stopped, and turned. Her chin went up. “Where is he? I’ll tell him myself.”

  Chris inclined his head. “In the den. And it’s not just Joey who is here, Jillian. Your great-uncle is here, too.”

  Jillian blinked. She glanced at her father, but he didn’t move. In fact, he was scowling as though something bothered him. Had he known about her mother’s family in New York? Did it even matter? She was tired of the secrets, but she didn’t want to be angry with people she loved anymore. If her father had known about them, he must have had his reasons for keeping quiet. As for Chris, she shouldn’t punish him for putting himself first. He had agreed to spy on her and her mother before he really got to know them.

  Before Chris could knock, the door swung open from inside and her eyes met Lex’s. She tried to see around him, but his broad shoulders made that impossible.

  Smiling, he reached for her, and Chris stepped aside to let her through. She took his hand, her eyes searching his face for hints of what was going on inside the room.

  “You okay?” he asked, pulling her closer, his touch reassuring.

  Jillian nodded.

  Inside the room, the first person she saw was Douglas, then the man with the scar, but he wasn’t alone. An older guy in a white suit and white hair was with them. He had sat in front of Chris and Scarred Face, and had worn a white hat.

  He started to stand and Scarred Face hurried forward to help him, but he stopped him with a raise of his hand. He leaned on a stick and made it to his feet. He smiled, showing her crooked teeth. There was something familiar about him. Memories teased her and disappeared, but with them came a weird feeling she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t fear. More like wariness. Not sure what to say, Jillian glanced at Lex.

  “This is Mr. Vito Gagliano. He’s here to meet you,” Lex said, glancing briefly at the man in a white suit. She had a feeling he was warning him to behave. Someone closed the door, but Jillian continued to study the man, a memory teasing her. “Mr. Gagliano, this is my wife, Jillian Finnegan-Fitzgerald.”

  Once again, she heard the warning in his voice when he said wife. The man must have heard it, too, because he smiled, showing crooked teeth. She knew that smile. Those teeth.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked in a heavy New York accent.

  The memory solidified. She’d seen him in the back of a car outside her new school in San Juan right after she and her mother arrived in California. Not once, but several times. He’d also been in the audience during her mother’s performances a few times. She remembered because he’d smiled at her and nodded.

 
; “Who are you?” she asked, despite the introduction.

  “I’m your great-uncle,” he said and indicated the seat across from him. He waited until she sat before he did. Lex stood to the right of her chair. His presence was reassuring without being distracting. “Your mother was my grandniece,” he added.

  Her mother was an orphan. That was what Jillian had been told as far back as she could remember. Even her grandmother had said so. Someone somewhere had started a lie and made it a reality, or this man was telling the greatest whopper of the century.

  She glanced at her father. His expression said he wasn’t surprised by this revelation. Once again, he’d hidden something from her. She smiled to show him she wasn’t mad. He smiled back.

  “Are you Italian?” she asked, focusing on her newfound great-uncle.

  He chuckled. “No, dear. I’m American. My sister and I came to this country from Corleone, Sicily and settled in the Bronx years ago. Arabella, your grandmother, fell in love with a Polish boy who liked climbing rocks and jumping from airplanes.” He chuckled, and the chuckle became a cough. The kind that said he’d been a smoker and was paying dearly for it now. He removed a handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth before glancing at Jillian. “I think you get your, uh, interest in bikes from his side of the family. But I’m happy you no longer do it, because most people who live like that don’t last long. Your grandfather died young, leaving your grandmother to raise your mother alone.”

  “Alone?” Jillian asked. Where was he?

  “I never had children, and she preferred to live far away from New York, where no one knew she was my sister.” He chuckled. “Arabella might not have approved of how I lived my life and ran my business, but she never forgot she was a Gagliano. She told Mira about me.” He grinned with pride. “When she died, Mira came to find me. She lived with me, but no one knew she was my niece. It was better that way.”

  Jillian wondered about his business. Money laundering? Racketeering? She’d bet he had a club as a front. She’d watched enough mafia movies and did stunts in a few to know how they operated. From her conversation with her grandmother, her grandfather hadn’t approved of her mother because she’d been a dancer.

  “Was she a dancer at your club?” Jillian asked.

  Mr. Gagliano grimaced. “My club? Never. She was, uh, una ballerina di talento. She had a bright future with a dance troupe. She had just auditioned and was waiting for her acceptance letter into one of those fancy New York dance schools when she met the Armenian boy.” He made a face as though reliving something unpleasant. “Love has a way of getting in the way of destiny. Your mother would have been a prima ballerina. But by the time the letter came, she was pregnant with you.”

  Jillian was impressed and proud. Her mother chose her and her father over the stage. She had always assumed her mother had been an exotic dancer.

  “Why are you here, Mr. Gagliano?” Jillian asked.

  He smiled. “To make sure you are happy. I’ve been watching the TV, and they talk about you and your, uh”—he glanced at Lex—“husband and his family. I wanted to see for myself that you are okay.”

  Jillian glanced at Lex. “I am more than okay.” He took her hand and squeezed.

  “I also decided it was time you knew the truth about your mother,” Mr. Gagliano continued. “The media talks about your Armenian family and your husband’s. But what did they say about your mother? She was an orphan from New York and a trapeze artist. She was the best dancer at her school.”

  Jillian had stopped watching TV days ago. She glanced at Scarred Face before focusing again on her great-uncle. “You were outside my school several times when we first arrived in San Juan, and you attended performances when Mom was still alive,” she said. “So you must understand why I’m confused. For someone who claims to care about me, why haven’t you tried to talk to me? Why did you pay Chris to keep an eye on me and send him”—she glanced at Scarred Face—“to question me after Mom died. It would have been nicer and easier if I had known who sent him and why.”

  “Nicer, yes. But I would have broken a promise I made your mother.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, but his eyes didn’t waver. “I promised Mira when she left New York that I’d never contact her again.”

  “Why?”

  “Mira, like Arabella, did not approve of my business or business associates. And even though your father’s death was an accident, she blamed me. I admit I didn’t approve of their relationship and his family did not get along with the Italian businessmen at the waterfront, but his death was an accident. When she left New York, she severed the ties between us and vowed to disappear.”

  That explained their constant moving for three years. Jillian had assumed they were running from her Armenian family. Instead, it seemed like they were running from the Italian mafia—her mother’s people. Her people. Someone should shoot her and bury her in an unmarked grave. Not a good thought to have, but damn it. Her family was messed up. Her great-uncle probably had people whacked on a daily basis.

  “But I also made a promise to my sister to always look after her daughter,” he continued. “So you see the dilemma I had, my dear. I couldn’t keep the promise I made to your mother and break the one I made to my sister, so I had someone follow the two of you.”

  “We moved around for three years,” Jillian said, remembering the cheap apartments and trailer parks, and her mother going to job interviews.

  “I knew everywhere you lived and what you and your mother did, until you reached California. I did what I could to make sure she always found a job and that you were safe.” He glanced at Chris before adding, “And when she died, I made sure it was really an accident.”

  Jillian shuddered, imagining what he would have done if someone had been responsible for her mother’s death. Would he have taken care of them? No wonder Scarred Face had asked her those weird questions. She still needed to process everything. Nothing was ever just straightforward with her family.

  “Now that I’ve witnessed this joyous occasion and confirmed that you are in capable hands, I can retire in peace.” He got up, and Scarred Face moved closer. “The wedding was beautiful, my dear. Your mother and grandmother would have been very proud.”

  Jillian felt a rush of emotions. “Maybe I could call you sometime or visit…” her voice trailed off when he shook his head.

  “No calls or visits, my dear.” He placed the hat on his head and adjusted it. “Today was an exception, which reminds me. Joey.” He snapped his fingers, and Scarred Face moved closer. “Do you have something to say to my great-niece?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Joey said. “I shouldn’t have scared you after your mother died.”

  “He was overzealous, but that time, he went too far. If you ever need me for anything, my dear, or if anyone is bothering you”—he tapped his nose—“I’ll know.”

  “Chris can’t spy for you anymore,” Jillian said. She wasn’t sure what to call him. Mr. Gagliano sounded too formal and Great-Uncle Vito was too personal. “He’s family, and family doesn’t do that to each other.”

  Mr. Gagliano spread his arms. “Jillian, we are all one fam—”

  “No. Leave him out of this. He’s done enough.”

  He studied her, then Chris. “Okay.” He moved closer, his gait slow. Then he stopped in front of Jillian. “You look so much like my sister, except for the eyes. Those are from your father. She would have enjoyed having you as a granddaughter. She loved life too, which was why she fell in love with your grandfather. She was also stubborn and opinionated.” He patted Jillian’s arm. “I have enjoyed watching you blossom. Even though you didn’t see me, I like to think I didn’t miss a thing.” He glanced at Jillian’s father. “You did a good job raising her, Finnegan. You should be proud.”

  Her father shrugged like the compliment meant nothing, but Jillian saw his expression. He liked it.

  “I’m afraid it’s time for me to disappear. Maybe we will meet again.”


  “But—”

  “No buts, my dear. You should never try to find me. Even now, my former business associates can never know you are my great niece. It is better this way. Safer.” His eyes went to Lex. “Your husband has reassured me that he’ll take good care of you, but Joey will stop by occasionally to make sure he keeps his word. For my peace of mind, you understand.” He smiled, his hazel eyes twinkling, but the threat still dangled in the air. “Now, may I give you a hug?”

  Jillian hugged him, not exactly sure how she felt. She didn’t really know him, but at the same time, he was the last link to her mother and her side of the family. Then he gripped her hand and stepped back.

  ~*~

  Lex watched from the den window as the car carrying their surprise guests pulled away. They’d quietly slipped away the same way they’d sneaked into his home, with the help of Chris Lander.

  Lex’s grip tightened on Jillian’s hand. Her father had left with Douglas, leaving the two of them in the den. He didn’t want to think about anything but his wife, alone, at a secluded beach. No more relatives popping up to surprise them or Warwick playing mind games. Douglas vowed to ferret out the person he claimed was leaking information about Jillian to the press. He was convinced the same person was working with Warwick.

  “Were you surprised by anything he said?” Lex asked, his hand tightening around Jillian’s waist.

  She scrunched her lips in thought. “Oh yeah. Mom was an amazing dancer and gymnast, but she never talked about where she took lessons. It’s nice to have an explanation. Then there was my daredevil grandfather, whoever he was. I thank him for that gene, but the rest? The mob great-uncle part…” She made a face. “There’s still time for an annulment if you want get out out.”

  Lex chuckled. “Sorry, babe. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. His business practices have nothing to do with you.”

  A thoughtful expression flitted across her face, and her turquoise eyes darkened. “When I heard that Chris worked for him, I was sure he was the one leaking information about us to the media.”