Izzie couldn’t say she cared that people knew she was with Milo Tarantino. They weren’t breaking any laws. The morality of their connection and the complexities of their relationship were easy to judge but nearly impossible to genuinely understand.
She and Milo understood, and that was enough to fill her with strength and hope despite the turmoil she sensed was coming to a head.
Izzie was relieved to return to the tiny apartment that had, day by day, become a safe place for her. It had something to do with being used to seeing a baby crib in the living room and her friend’s random stuff adding character throughout the place. Toya herself was a safe place, someone to laugh with at the end of a long day, someone who left food crumbs on the counter but always set aside leftovers in fresh-lock containers, someone to consult on all matters of makeup and clothes.
And the baby… Oh, he had hold of Izzie’s heart and wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. She was okay with that.
Coming through the door, she wanted to curl up on the sofa and cuddle him.
She ventured forward. “Toya-Toya-Bo-Boya, I’m back and ready to snuggle that kid of yours,” she called out as she pursued the baby crib.
Only, it wasn’t there.
Technically, it was, but it was dissembled.
“Toya?” Izzie stepped over the scatter of parts and the now shrink-wrapped mattress, heading to the hallway. “Toya, what’s going on with the baby’s crib?”
Toya emerged from the bathroom with her son bundled in towels. “Hey, Izzie. Holden and I are moving out.”
“Moving out?” The woman had swept in like a funnel cloud and was leaving the same way? “When—and why?”
“My parents asked me to come home to Iowa. When I visited, we had this amazing heart-to-heart and they don’t want Holden and me to stay so close to Asher right now. It’s just too tangled with all these feelings and high emotions getting in the way of what’s best for the baby. So we talked this morning and I said I would come home. They’re arranging everything—the moving guys, the flight, and you’re getting a basket! As a thank-you for opening your home to me. It should be here in a few days.” Breathless, Toya smiled. “I didn’t tell them about the stripper pole.”
Izzie laughed. She was sure she’d cry first—a loud, all-out Toya-style bawl. “Save it for Thanksgiving conversation or something.” She paused. “Does the leaving ASAP have something to do with that ESPN breaking news we heard today? My connection to Luca Tarantino?”
“No,” Toya said emphatically. “You are not involved in that. I know it. Holden and I have been nothing but snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug safe with you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to miss you, Izzie.”
“It’s so sudden. I have zero time to get used to the idea of you and Holden leaving. I let myself get stuck on you guys.”
“And that’s okay. We’re stuck on you, too.” Toya offered the baby and Izzie took him even though it’d hurt that much more to let him go. “You’re truly my friend. You inspired me to get past losing Asher and the settlement. I’m going to be the most kickass Toya Keech I can be.”
“You gave up his name?”
“I did. Already filed the paperwork.” Toya preceded Izzie to the living room. Funny, now that she knew her friend was leaving, she could see the signs. Things put in their place and clean, fewer toys scattered around the apartment. “I decided to get Holden all washed and clean before we take off. Want to help get him ready to go?”
Izzie almost said sure, but a half gasp, half sob stopped her. She shook her head and went into the kitchen. She needed a friend within reach when Toya and her child left. Dialing Milo’s phone, she did her best to control her wobbling voice as she asked him to come over tonight.
When he showed up later, just missing the moving men who’d loaded up the baby’s bed and taken the last of Toya’s belongings, Izzie was almost as relieved as she’d been the first time he’d come to her apartment, carrying a car seat brand-new in its box.
Toya, on her way out with her baby wide-eyed and too cute to say goodbye to, stopped short when she saw Milo in the doorway. Turning to Izzie, she said, “He’s the someone, isn’t he?”
“He is.”
Toya grinned slyly at Milo. “The way you looked at her gave you away in two seconds flat. Take care of her, okay? Try not to leave food crumbs on the countertop.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Always.” Toya gestured for Izzie to join her in the hallway. “I cracked open my nest egg to give you something in appreciation for taking Holden and me in.”
“Wait, the basket?”
“No, no, that’s from my parents. There’s an envelope on top of the refrigerator. I paid for you to attend a horticulture program. Very low-commitment and I think you’ll enjoy it. It starts next month, just in time for Arbor Day. Read the info in the packet and decide if you’re interested. I just wanted to say thanks.”
“Thank you,” Izzie said, and there were the tears again. She opened her arms wide to hug Toya and the baby, and when they left, she went back into the apartment and sat next to her sexy Italian someone on the sofa.
“Since I don’t want to think about the hell spinning around my family, and you want to get your mind off your friends, I had this idea,” he said.
Not sex. She wasn’t in the frame of mind for it, and emotionally she needed a different kind of consolation. She would tell him no and see if he’d accept her answer. Better to find out now than become even more tightly entwined with him.
“What’s the idea?”
Milo pointed at the television. “Madden NFL. The stuff’s in my truck. Just say the word.”
Oh, yes. You’re my someone. “The word.”
They hooked up the console and even though Izzie struggled to grasp the functions of the game despite knowing her stuff when it came to actual NFL gameplay, they kept at it until she finally admitted defeat. “I guess I’m not versatile,” she said. “I’m outdoorsy. Topiary art and diving and exploring.”
“You dive?”
“Yes. In fact, I did on the Seychelles. I have pics.” She picked up her phone and selected the correct album. The first was a selfie of her in a wetsuit. Figuring he’d get bored after a few screen swipes, she got up for a bottle of beer and left him to it. When she returned, she heard people speaking.
Her voice…and who was the male?
“…why Luca Tarantino’s golden boy would enlist you.”
Rick Smoltz.
Izzie rushed to the sofa. “Give me the phone. You don’t want to know this way.”
Milo held the phone away. “What the fuck is this?”
“Milo thinks his father wants to find me. He believes I have something Luca wants.”
“Give me the damn phone, okay?” She reached, and when she made contact, he let her take it away. “Milo, I ended that deal with him. He’s a creep and he’s shady—”
“Yet you had a deal with him to begin with.” He stood up, walked the perimeter of the sofa. “When did you end the deal?”
“Uh…”
“The truth, goddamn it.”
She glared. “I ended it today, but I didn’t tell him anything except what you told me about Luca’s attorneys resigning as his counsel.”
“The news that blew up every sports news station today?”
“Rick said his people didn’t leak it. It had to have been the person from the law firm who leaked the phone records. Rick is sleaze but I don’t believe his paper was behind this.” She tried to come forward but he moved back. “Look, I’m sorry, Milo.”
“You said I could trust you, but you had backdoor deal with that Smoltz bastard. No, Izzie. Fuck, no. This isn’t going to work. You won’t let it work.”
“I won’t? I’m standing here listening to you tear me to shreds, and I’m waiting for you to finally admit that you had me tailed to the Seychelles. You didn’t suddenly remember my Valentine’
s vacation. You had somebody find me, right? And they were so thorough, weren’t they? Reporting to you that I brought along purple suitcases? And why weren’t you surprised to find out I was addicted to valium?”
“I’m not going to lie about it—Yes, I knew. But I didn’t seek the information. A man approached me with a file in his jacket. He had your life on paper.”
“Who?”
“The only name he gave me is Remy.” He appeared repentant and unapologetic. How could that be? “I went to the Seychelles to find my father. That was my purpose, and it was why I was desperate enough to do what I had to do to find you. Yeah, I’d take the information if it meant getting to my father.”
Izzie shoved her phone into her jeans pocket. “It pisses me off that you’d let me go on about how much I valued your honesty when all along you were lying to me.”
“I had to do it to find my father.”
“And I had to do what I did to get a job and support myself. That was the deal I had with Rick Smoltz.”
“You’d work for that asshole? After what he said to you? I’m angry with you right now, and I’d still fucking kill him for treating you like that.”
“Stay out of it. Like I said, the deal’s over. And, sounds like we’re over.”
“Yeah, Izzie? What were we before tonight, before I found that recording on your phone?”
“Friends. But my friends don’t stay. So go.”
“We were not friends. We were more than that, and you fucking know it.”
“Go,” she said again, moving past him to open the door for emphasis. When he walked out, she shut the door and it almost broke her that she and Milo couldn’t seem to be apart or together.
She retrieved her phone again. How had people screwed up their lives before cell phones and social media, anyway? She didn’t want to delete the recording for the very reason she’d recorded it to begin with. But she wished she and Milo had started off honest and whole, instead of self-protective and scarred.
She absently scrolled the recent calls. Her mother had phoned again, and once again she hadn’t left a voice message. This time, Izzie dialed her back.
“What can I do for you, Mom?” she said when Daphne answered.
“We—Roscoe and I—we’ve been thinking about you. A while ago you mentioned you were playing with the idea of visiting?”
“No, I’d said I wanted to come home and you clearly didn’t find that to be a desirable idea.”
“Oh.” Daphne gently cleared her throat. “Izzie. Would you like to come home? Your father and I could accommodate you.”
Here her mother was asking her to come back to Illinois, yet she was spinning it as though Izzie had called her for a favor. “Of course, Mom. I’d appreciate that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Uh—tomorrow?”
“Yes. Warn Daddy.” Izzie hung up, gripped her phone. And when she sank back into her sofa in her quiet Las Vegas apartment, there was no one there to offer her a shoulder as she cried.
Chapter Ten
Luca prayed for sleep. With his rosary in his grip, he lay awake on the makeshift bed in his room above Tonio’s market and stared again at the ceiling. It looked so tired, almost as tired as he was.
He’d been tired for so long that he no longer felt it. His aged body had adjusted to the physical fatigue and mental weariness. He maintained strength to complete his chores, could eat his meals and appreciate liquor and partake in card games that continued to test his gambling abilities. But in the late hours Anne didn’t come, and he missed her.
In the late hours, he could clearly recall what he’d done in the States and why he’d let Antony help him find an underground escape from the falling consequences. He recalled the events with as much lucidity as he had the afternoon that stranger—Remy, was it?—had come to him with photos of his ex-fiancée and his son. Luca had left Milo in such an angry state the last time they’d spoken. And Izzie Phillips…Luca hadn’t known what to do with the woman’s vivacious, ambitious spirit but to douse it. But that’d been a long time ago.
It made a strange sort of sense that Milo and Izzie would heal each other. A man didn’t kiss a woman that way and mean nothing behind it. A woman didn’t hold a man so tightly if she intended to immediately let him go. A couple didn’t come together the way they appeared in the photos if there was no pull between them.
But it’d happened while Luca was preparing to go to the Seychelles and reclaim his money and Izzie. All she’d had to do was stay on her holiday, and once he’d found her, he would’ve been able to convince her to either come with him or silently watch him go.
Remy, who’d reeked of an unspoken agenda, had been right.
If you can’t trust your son, who can you trust?
Luca couldn’t trust either of his sons. Jeremiah had transferred his loyalty to his woman, Waverly. Milo had touched Izzie Phillips. No…he’d claimed her, naked and willing. It was all there in the photos.
There was no one to trust anymore. He couldn’t trust himself not to get himself killed in a tiny Italian fishing village. Clarity faded in and out during the day, but it had felt terrifying and fortifying to recall and convey Antony coming to him with a business proposition when Anne had died.
The grief will pass when your percentage of the money comes in. The bigger the payout, amico mio, the less pain you’ll feel.
He’d taken the highest risks he could, had capitalized on those risks for a time, but soon the losses had begun to add up. Antony had guided his hands at every step, yet the man was free to operate his exclusive casino in Las Vegas, while Luca was here and praying for sleep.
In sleep, he would find Anne. She was all he needed now, as he sat up and let his gaze chase the shadows of the room. He began to mourn her again. Mourning hurt more than the fear that Antony would retaliate against him for talking to Remy. Antony wouldn’t understand the beauty of unburdening oneself when the end of struggle was close enough to brush with your fingers. It was rapture.
Luca scratched his scraggly beard, slowly getting to his feet. The bed, one thin mattress stacked on top of another, groaned and complained. He walked on shaky legs to the door, opened it, and took the stairs carefully into the darkness.
At the bottom, he started to turn on the lights, but someone else did it for him.
Tonio had timed him right. Though the room was now illuminated, all of a sudden Luca couldn’t see clearly.
“Antony Grimaldi wants you relocated in the morning,” Tonio said, his breath rattling against the phlegm in his lungs working its way into his throat. He sat on a stool with a slab of luncheon meat within reach and his hands folded on his round belly. “I don’t think you want that trip.”
Luca briefly closed his eyes. The stranger named Remy must’ve traveled back to the States and shown Antony the recording. He shouldn’t have talked, but Anne had been in the room and he’d wanted to explain how he’d become enfolded and engulfed in something he couldn’t escape.
“Luca… Luca, come closer.” Tonio reached up to fold his paws over Luca’s shoulders. “He says you’ve been in Sicily too long. The woman you depended on left the island early and when Antony checked on the account you claimed she had, he found out it was closed. There’s no money. He can’t take more risks for you. He says you have information you can’t be trusted to keep quiet.”
Antony didn’t know that Luca had talked. But he was having him “relocated” anyway.
“Antony’s my friend,” Luca whispered, bewildered.
“I want you to think about something tonight.” Tonio nudged a tiny wrapped bundle across the counter. “Unwrap it.”
Luca’s fingers worked slowly, but finally he had the bundle open. A razor blade.
Tonio pointed to Luca’s chin. “Clean yourself up. Run a bath, make sure it’s warm.” The man got up and shuffled over to kiss Luca’s cheeks briskly, then he waddled to the door. “Take a walk,” he said meaningfully. “When you walk,
go down the road. Don’t cross the street.”
Tonio left and Luca carried the blade upstairs to the little bathroom with the cracked mirror. He would shave, and Anne would see him smooth-faced with his hair dark. She might see the man she married, and her smile would shine in her bright blue eyes.
Luca shaved carefully, going slowly to avoid nicking his skin. When he was done, he nodded and looked toward the stream of daybreak intruding on him. Bending toward the tub, he ran a warm bath.
He started to put on fresh clothes and a pair of shoes to go to sleep dignified. Yet his mistakes had drained the dignity from his life, and he deserved no dignity in death.
Lowering into the tub, he watched the warm water engulf his legs, and when he submerged his arms, the hair on his wrists peeking out from the cuffs of his shirt darkened against his tanned skin. Considering his wrists, he pushed up the sleeves.
Down the road, Tonio had said. Not across the street.
Luca positioned the razor blade. One cut to each wrist. One cut an apology from a father to each of his sons.
***
A car was waiting at Chicago Midway International Airport to collect Izzie and escort her directly to her parents’ sprawling Georgian-style house in the Highland Park suburb north of Chicago. She’d packed for a three-night stay—couldn’t imagine Roscoe or Daphne insisting that she linger any longer than that.
But she would enter their home with a positive outlook and faith in her heart. Because she loved her parents, despite their feelings toward her and their inability to mesh as a family during her formative years. Perhaps they’d gotten past their frustration with her, and that was why her mother had made efforts to contact her.
Izzie couldn’t fight her smile as the luxury car slowed in front of the mansion she remembered. Oh, that’s right. Once this had been her home, too.
She checked her makeup in her compact mirror. No one could tell she’d cried last night over losing her friend to Iowa and then breaking up with her someone.
The Hook Page 17