by Nele Neuhaus
Alex enjoyed Sergio’s undivided attention the entire evening. He made her laugh time and again with anecdotes about the people around them. The seven courses of the gala menu were exquisite, and the accompanying wines were wickedly good. After the official speeches were given, Sergio asked her to dance. Alex wasn’t a particularly good dancer, so she was glad that they could hardly do more than turn on the overcrowded dance floor.
“Did you see Vince Levy’s face when he saw us together?” Alex giggled. “What do you think he’s thinking?”
“He probably thinks the same thing as everyone else here.” Sergio smiled. His blue eyes examined her with an intensity that triggered a familiar sensation in her body. “Namely, that we’re sleeping together.”
Alex managed a relaxed smile.
“If I had known that you had such a bad reputation, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with you,” she said.
“Really?” Sergio raised his eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t care about my reputation.”
“Indeed, I don’t,” Alex said with a smile. “But I do care about my reputation.”
“That’s what I like about you, Alex,” Sergio responded with amusement. “You remind me of myself. You’d do anything to reach your goal.”
“Certainly not anything,” Alex countered. “I might be ambitious, but there are definitely limits.”
“And what are those?”
“Why don’t you find out?” Alex stared deep into his blue eyes. Sergio returned her gaze. His hand slid from her waist to her bare back, and he pulled her closer to him. How had she managed to keep him at a distance for six weeks? She longed for him with every fiber of her being.
“You know I will,” he murmured. His voice so close to her ear sent a shiver down her spine. “I want to find out everything about you.”
They danced for a while without saying a word, until the music abruptly ended and the band took a short break. Sergio held Alex tightly in his arms, gazing at her while the other couples left the dance floor. They turned back to the table, her holding his arm. Time and again, Sergio—who apparently knew everyone there—stopped to introduce her to someone. Once they’d reached their table, Alex felt Sergio’s body flinch at her side and stiffen for a split second. She followed his gaze. Paul McIntyre and Senator Hoffman, a white-haired giant, were talking to another man who looked vaguely familiar to Alex. The man stood up and put on a thin smile when he saw Sergio.
“Ah, good evening, Sergio.”
“Good evening, Mayor Kostidis,” Sergio responded smoothly.
Of course! That was Nicholas Kostidis, the mayor of New York City, who was incredibly popular but controversial. She had seen his distinctive face often enough on television and in the newspapers. Before he became mayor, he made a name for himself as a district attorney who prosecuted many investment bankers and who also earned a reputation for being America’s most successful Mafia hunter. Alex studied him with curiosity. He was about the same age as Sergio, yet he wasn’t as good-looking in a classic sense. He would have seemed almost insignificant at first sight—compared to the imposing appearance of Senator Hoffman, Paul McIntyre, and the handsome Sergio Vitali—if not for the forceful intensity of his fiery, almost-black eyes that impressed and unsettled Alex. Kostidis’s posture exuded self-confidence and power. Sergio and the mayor sized each other up with cold looks. Alex could almost physically feel the tension between the two men, who were quite similar, despite their completely different appearances.
“Alex,” Sergio finally said, “have you met our esteemed mayor, Nick Kostidis?”
Kostidis turned his gaze toward her. His eyes, both cool and burning, hypnotized her.
“No, I haven’t.” She returned his gaze with a smile. “My name is Alex Sontheim. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sergio raised his eyebrows mockingly as she spoke. Kostidis’s face showed skeptical interest as he extended his hand and held hers for a moment.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said politely, leaning closer to her. “It’s always nice to see a new face among the all too familiar crowd.”
Sergio interrupted before she could respond.
“I hear that you managed to bring the Zuckerman case up to the investigation committee,” he said casually.
“Oh, yes!” Kostidis smiled, letting go of Alex’s hand. “It took a lot of effort to convince them, but I think that it’ll be worth it.”
“I highly doubt it, but I wish you the best of luck,” Sergio replied, also smiling. Alex looked back and forth between them in confusion. Pure hatred was boiling beneath their politeness.
The ferocity and fearlessness in Kostidis’s eyes contradicted his friendly tone of voice.
“Thank you,” he said, “but in my experience luck won’t save you when you dive into a pool of sharks. In any case, I wish you a pleasant evening. Enjoy yourself. Miss Sontheim, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Alex simply nodded. Kostidis patted Paul McIntyre on his shoulder and moved on.
“Asshole,” Sergio growled once the mayor was out of earshot. He pulled Alex’s chair closer so she could sit down. She wasn’t quite sure whether or not she liked Nick Kostidis, but he was an extraordinary man in any case. This is what she told Sergio after they sat down at the table again. Sergio looked at her with a mysterious expression in his eyes.
“Nicholas Kostidis is the plague,” he said in a cold voice. Alex looked at him in astonishment. “He is a power-hungry, ruthless fanatic who is obsessed with the idea of turning this city into a children’s playground.”
“But safety and a lower crime rate are good things.” Alex, who’d heard about the mayor’s no-tolerance policy for combating crime, objected innocently. Sergio gave her a piercing look for a moment and then laughed.
“They certainly are.”
“Kostidis is a demagogue and an agitator,” Vincent Levy noted after ensuring that no one else was listening to him. “He’s dangerous because he doesn’t accept anything but his own truth. He is so popular with ordinary people because his truth is so simplistic.”
He lowered his voice.
“He has turned this city into a police state and—”
“Kostidis can do whatever he wants,” Sergio interrupted him, casually waving at a waiter, who immediately refilled their glasses. “Even with his tailored suit and silk tie he’s nothing but a pathetic little Greek from Bed-Stuy, with a bark that’s louder than his bite.”
Both men laughed disdainfully.
“What investigation committee was he talking about?” Alex inquired.
“It’s Kostidis’s new obsession,” Sergio said dismissively. “He’s been after me for years. He keeps trying to intimidate my employees, hoping that someone will reveal a dark secret in my past and serve it to him on a silver platter. His hatred of anyone who has an Italian name is pathological. Maybe he was beaten up by an Italian bully as a child.”
He laughed carelessly and raised his glass.
“Here’s to our mayor and his incredible ambition, which will someday do him in.”
Alex saw the cold sparkle in Sergio’s eyes, but she preferred to keep silent. There was no reason for her to side with Kostidis.
A half hour later, she excused herself. She smiled as the motion of the crowd ushered her through to the foyer; she had almost forgotten about her encounter with the mayor. It was a great pleasure for her to belong among these privileged people who don’t think twice about spending more money on a dinner than an average worker earned in half a year. She wandered around the long corridors of the Plaza for a while before she realized she was lost. She found herself in front of the entrance to the kitchen, turned around, and almost collided with two men who were moving quickly toward a door with a sign that read Personnel Only. To her surprise, Alex spotted Nick Kostidis. It seemed that the mayor was trying to leave the hotel through the back door.
“Oh!” Kostidis smiled once he recognized her. “Did you plan on inspecting the kitchen, Miss
Sontheim?”
He remembered her name! The other man’s cell phone started ringing, so he walked a little further away to take the call.
“No, I…I’m just a little lost,” she replied. Kostidis was only slightly taller than Alex. She couldn’t stop staring at his dark eyes. He had unusually long and thick eyelashes for a man.
“You’re not from New York, right?” he asked.
“No, I’m from Germany. But I’ve lived here for twelve years.”
“Germany!” Kostidis gave her a friendly smile. “The land of poets and thinkers! What brought you here of all places?”
“My career,” Alex responded.
“Do you work here?” He raised his eyebrows.
“What did you think?” She gave him a mocking look. “I’m not a rich heiress. I was with Morgan Stanley for six years, and now I work at LMI.”
“Aha. Banking. The big money.” Kostidis laughed, but his eyes remained serious and inquiring.
“I like my job.” Alex suddenly felt the need to justify herself. “I like this city, too. New York is so alive.”
“Yes, indeed it is.” Kostidis nodded. “My parents came from Greece, but I was born and raised here and never had the desire to live anywhere else. I spent some time in Washington DC for professional reasons, but I felt like I was in exile there. For me, there’s just New York. I love this city despite all of its shortcomings. And I put all my energy into making New York a more beautiful and livable place.”
Alex stared at Nick Kostidis. She was amazed at his sincere excitement and passion. He gestured with his hands when speaking, and his lively mannerisms captivated audiences. She remembered again that Levy had called him a demagogue and thought about Sergio’s contemptuous words. Now that she had met Kostidis in person, she was no longer surprised at how he had won the mayoral elections with such an overwhelming majority. He had an almost magical magnetism and the rare talent of making a person feel like the most important human being in the world. The people of New York loved and worshipped him because his words were followed by actions. He had done more for public safety and improving the quality of life than his predecessors had accomplished in ten years.
“Nick?”
The young man with the thin blond hair and the smug look on his face had finished his phone call and was coming toward them. He eyed Alex with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
“Are you coming, Nick? We have to go.”
“I’m coming,” Kostidis said, without averting his penetrating stare from Alex. “I’ll catch up with you, Ray.”
“Okay.” The man obeyed reluctantly.
“My babysitter.” Kostidis smiled regretfully. “One appointment chases the next, and Mr. Howard makes sure that I show up everywhere on time and stay long enough. I don’t envy him.”
He extended his hand to Alex.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Sontheim.”
“Yes, I…I think so too,” she stuttered and sensed to her chagrin that her cheeks were turning red like a schoolgirl’s.
“Allow me to give you some advice, even though we hardly know each other.” Kostidis leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “Be careful with your choice of friends. Though it may be exciting, swimming with sharks is dangerous. Unless you are a shark yourself, which I don’t believe.”
He let go of her hand and smiled again.
“By the way, you’ll find the restrooms by going downstairs from the foyer.” He winked at her one more time before opening the door and disappearing. Alex was stunned. She dealt with important and influential people on a daily basis and had long stopped being easily impressed by them, but Nicholas Kostidis just managed to do exactly that.
Sergio Vitali entered the warehouse at the Brooklyn docks. The sign above the entrance door said Ficchiavelli & Sons—Italian Wine and Food Company. The last thing he wanted was another pointless discussion with his wayward youngest son, but Cesare had screwed up big time once again. Nelson had bailed Cesare out of jail that morning, and Sergio ordered him to bring the boy to Brooklyn. The offices, warehouses, cold-storage rooms, and loading ramps were deserted on this Saturday morning. There were three men waiting for Sergio in the front office. He greeted Silvio Bacchiocchi and Luca di Varese with a nod and scrutinized his youngest son, who looked back with a mixture of defiance and fear. He remained seated with crossed arms while Silvio and Luca stood up. Cesare was twenty-one, a handsome young man with the same blue eyes and sensual mouth as his father, but unfortunately, he didn’t have the slightest inclination toward any kind of work. In contrast to his older brothers, Massimo and Domenico—who both graduated from high school and college with determination and now worked for their father’s company—Cesare wasn’t particularly bright. Besides that, he had an unpredictable temper that got him into trouble. Sergio was often forced to use his connections to help Cesare. Over the years, he’d donated large sums of money to seven different schools in hopes his son would at least manage a high-school diploma, but all his efforts were in vain.
“Hello, Cesare,” Sergio said. He was not in the mood to deal with this spoiled brat.
“Hi, Papa,” Cesare responded.
“Stand up when I talk to you.”
Cesare raised his nose and remained seated. Sergio’s expression turned as cold as ice. His cheek muscles tensed. Silvio Bacchiocchi was particularly familiar with this expression and he feared it. Silvio was in his late forties, blond and blue-eyed like so many of his Northern Italian ancestors, and had a tendency to gain weight. He had worked for Sergio for twenty-five years. Thanks to Sergio, he’d become a wealthy man, and he showed his gratitude with unconditional loyalty. No one who knew the friendly and constantly cheerful Silvio would have thought it possible that he managed his boss’s business fearlessly and with a iron fist, stopping at nothing.
“Come on, stand up when your father talks to you,” he said to Cesare, who obeyed reluctantly. Sergio looked at his son and noticed his runny nose and the thin layer of sweat on his forehead.
“You’re using that goddamn stuff again, aren’t you?” he asked. Cesare rubbed his hands nervously and wiped them on his jeans while evading his father’s gaze.
“Answer me right now!”
“Sometimes. But not much.”
That was a lie. Sergio had seen enough cokeheads in his life to recognize the tell-tale signs of abuse. He wasn’t even surprised. Behind his loud mouth and his brutality, Cesare was a weak person.
“You got yourself arrested, you idiot! Why didn’t you run away?” Sergio was enraged at his stupidity. “You actually still don’t get it? Your last name is Vitali. You know what that means. Why didn’t you throw the stuff away once the cops showed up? The press will jump on this, and once Kostidis gets wind of it, no one will be able to help you. You’re such an idiot, Cesare!”
There was complete silence in the small office. Cesare’s dumb, confused grin made Sergio even more furious. Kostidis had been after Sergio for years and was only waiting for a weakness, the slightest mistake, or a moment of foolishness—something like this—in order to strike. Sergio knew all too well that Cesare’s mindless behavior could shake his well-established power structure. When it came to assault, the cops sometimes turned a blind eye, but dealing drugs was a crime they addressed with full force. As a result of the fanatic mayor’s tough policies, drug dealing was almost considered worse than murder, and even small-time crack dealers from the Bronx or East Harlem were severely punished.
“Silvio will get a lawyer for you,” Sergio said to his son, “one who has no ties to us. Then we will see what he can do for you. If the cops dig in their heels, then unfortunately there’s nothing that I can do.”
“What does that mean?” Cesare’s grin vanished.
“That you’ll go to the slammer for a while.” Sergio stood up. It was pointless to talk to the boy any longer. He turned away.
“Hey!” Cesare grabbed his father’s shoulder. He quickly turned around as if electrified and pushe
d his son away. The disgust in Sergio’s eyes made Cesare back off. He had never seen his father so furious.
“Papa,” he began, “you can’t let me—”
“I’ve given you every conceivable chance,” Sergio said, trying hard to keep his composure. “I hoped that you’d grow up one day and understand what life is all about. But instead you get into fights like a child, snort cocaine. You drink your life away. You’re getting dumber by the minute. I despise stupidity. It’s the worst thing on earth.”
Cesare’s face turned red, and he clenched his fists. His father was the only person on this planet he feared. But he hated him to the same degree.
“Don’t act like you’re a saint!” Cesare yelled at him. “Do you think I don’t know how much money you make with this stuff? You don’t give a crap!”
“Correct,” Sergio said, looking at him coldly, “but I’ve never used it myself, and I have definitely never let myself be caught with drugs by the police. That’s the difference.”
“What am I supposed to do now? I’m your son! You have to help me!” Sheer panic shone in Cesare’s eyes. He’d been dead certain that his father only had to make some phone calls to straighten things out.
“I’ve come to the painful conclusion that all of my efforts to make a sensible human being out of you are a waste of time.” Sergio’s voice was gruff with contempt. “You don’t even consider for a second that you have endangered all of us. I don’t feel like rescuing you anymore. All that I have ever received from you in return was ingratitude. If you don’t want to follow my rules, then don’t expect me to help you.”
The corner of Cesare’s mouth twitched nervously. He was freezing and sweating at the same time.
“When they send me to prison,” he said, giving his father an anxious glance, “and ask me about you, then I’ll tell them everything I know.”
Sergio’s expression turned to ice. Silvio and Luca exchanged a troubled glance. That was the worst thing he could possibly have said. Cesare suddenly realized that he had made a huge mistake. His last remnant of confidence fell away, and tears sprang into his eyes.