by Nele Neuhaus
“Just wait a moment,” she interrupted him. “Please. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Nick still hesitated, but then he nodded. Alex disappeared into the tiny bathroom and dried her wet hair. When she returned after a few minutes of primping, Nick was stretched out on the bed, sound asleep. Alex felt a deep tenderness for him. Should she wake him? No. He was so tired, so exhausted. She carefully took off his shoes, loosened his tie, and covered him with a blanket.
Then she sat on the floor, leaned against the wall, and wrapped her arms around her knees. So this is where they’d ended up. Nick Kostidis, one of the city’s most powerful and famous men, and Alex Sontheim, clever and intelligent Wall Street star. Like Icarus, they’d aimed too high and crashed. What was left of their former glory? Alex could hardly comprehend what had driven her to work those hundred-hour weeks. There wasn’t much left of the enticing feeling of success besides a bad aftertaste. Fueled by her ambition, she had refused to look beyond the shiny facades of material success. She had ignored every warning. Alex thought about Mark, Justin, and Oliver—who had confessed his love to her…Should she go to Maine with him?
Nick shifted a little. Asleep, he looked more relaxed and peaceful than she’d ever seen him before. He was no longer a stranger to her, but this had nothing to do with their night of passion. Their friendship had just gotten deeper that night. Alex felt safe and comfortable in Nick’s presence. She trusted him like she’d never trusted anyone before. She didn’t have to pretend around Nick; with him, she could be who she really was. And although Alex knew that she loved him, she was aware of the wide chasm that divided them. All of New York City stood between her and Nick Kostidis. She needed to turn her back on this city if she wanted to have a future, and that’s exactly what Nick couldn’t do. New York was his life, and Alex had accepted that long ago.
It was almost midnight, and Alex was so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. She switched off the light, and the bright moonlight cast a dim glow over the room. Alex lay on the bed next to Nick. She felt his body’s comforting warmth, and as he moved in his sleep, she wrapped an arm around him. She was determined to stay awake to enjoy these precious hours, but after a few minutes she fell asleep.
Sergio Vitali sat between a princess from Monaco and Cassandra Goldstein, billionaire Simon Goldstein’s widow. He was in a splendid mood. His table guests included New York construction tycoon Charlie Rosenbaum, the oil billionaire James Earl Freyberg III, Secretary of State Oliver Kravitz, Senators Ted Willings and Fred Hoffman, Governor Rhodes, Time magazine publisher Carey Newberg, and Hollywood diva Liza Gaynor.
Lloyd Connors wasn’t particularly surprised to see Tate Jenkins also sitting there. The deputy director of the FBI certainly was astonished to see the US attorney coming up the small stairs leading to the gallery. Jenkins turned pale. Connors stepped toward the table, and the orchestra stopped playing abruptly, as though it had been given a signal.
“Mr. Vitali?” Connors cleared his throat. He noticed that his nervousness had disappeared. He had imagined this scenario hundreds of times. He felt like an actor playing a well-rehearsed role at the premiere, but the play had become reality. Sergio Vitali looked up indignantly.
“Lloyd Connors from the US Attorney’s Office in Manhattan.”
“I know who you are,” Vitali replied, his smile failing to reach his cold eyes. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the guest list.”
“That’s right,” Lloyd Connors said, “I’m here on official business. I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw the awkward faces of Governor Rhodes and Senator Hoffman—both of whom would have loved to crawl into a hole in the wall. Vitali didn’t seem to be particularly disturbed by the US attorney’s appearance. No one could have ratted him out.
“Can’t you see that I have guests?” he said condescendingly. “I’m busy now. But help yourself to the buffet. It would probably be a welcome change from the cafeteria at the US Attorney’s Office.”
Only Charlie Rosenbaum and James Earl Freyberg III laughed.
“I must insist that you—”
“Listen, Connors.” The mask of friendliness fell off of Vitali’s face. “I don’t have time right now.”
His eyes narrowed as he saw Gordon Engels coming up the stairs in the company of Spooner and Khazaeli. His gaze drifted to Tate Jenkins, but the man was staring down at the table looking petrified. All conversation around the table fell silent.
The US attorney shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, if you prefer it this way. Mr. Vitali, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“Excuse me?” Sergio Vitali froze, his face flushed. “You’re joking, pal! Leave with your people before I have you thrown out!”
Unmoved, Connors unfolded the paper.
“Mr. Vitali,” he said in a businesslike voice, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Stefano Barelli.”
It was dead silent around the table.
“What the hell?” Vitali’s face turned a darker red.
His guests avoided looking directly at their host. Spooner and Khazaeli walked around the table and stood behind him.
“US Marshals Service.” Spooner held his badge under Vitali’s nose. “Would you stand up please?”
Vitali gesticulated as if chasing away an insect, but he stood up.
“How dare you?” he exclaimed. “This is absolutely ridiculous!”
His face alternated between red and pale, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“Come with me, Mr. Vitali.” Connors said coldly. “You’re under arrest.”
Sergio Vitali turned toward his guests.
“This is a regrettable misunderstanding that will be cleared up very quickly.”
Spooner took advantage of the opportunity and clicked the handcuffs around Vitali’s wrists, causing him to turn around angrily.
“Come on, mister,” he said, “let’s go.”
“You have the right to remain silent…” Deputy Khazaeli started with the usual admonition, but Vitali interrupted him angrily.
“Save your breath,” he snapped. “I want to speak to my lawyer immediately!”
In the meantime, the news had gone around that something unusual was happening at the host’s table. A pin drop could have been heard in the gigantic ballroom.
“This will have consequences for you!” Sergio Vitali hissed as Spooner led him past Connors. The US attorney simply shrugged his shoulders. He was about to turn away, when Gordon Engels held him back.
“Wait a moment,” Engels said. “I need to take care of something else.”
Connors looked at Engels in astonishment as he headed toward Tate Jenkins.
“Mr. Jenkins,” Gordon Engels said, “you are also under arrest. You’re charged as an accessory to the murder of David Zuckerman and with aiding and abetting organized crime.”
The deputy director of the FBI stood up without saying a word. His expressionless face showed that he understood. They had his number. Connors stared at Gordon Engels open-mouthed.
“Deputy Khazaeli,” the US attorney general said to his officer, “arrest this man and read him his rights.”
“Gordon,” Connors murmured, “I don’t quite understand.”
“We have suspected Jenkins for quite a while,” Engels replied quietly. “Two nights ago, we tapped a phone conversation between Jenkins and Vitali. That was the final proof we needed. Jenkins has been Vitali’s man for years.”
“I can’t believe it.” Connors shook his head in disbelief. “Nick’s really been right all along.”
“Yes,” Engels replied, “Kostidis had been right all these years. But his hard luck was that he lacked hard evidence.”
The guests of the VitalAid Foundation’s charity ball watched in shock as their host and his guest were led though the large hall in handcuffs. No one moved from their seat, and the room remained dead silent until the men walked out to the foyer. Only then did peopl
e awake from their shock, and all hell broke loose.
Connors could hardly suppress a smile. His triumph was complete. Of course, he could have made his arrest more discreetly, but he had very deliberately created this humiliating scene for Vitali. The US attorney only regretted that Nick couldn’t witness Sergio Vitali’s arrest in the public eye.
Massimo Vitali suddenly appeared in the foyer. “What’s going on here?” he exclaimed when he saw his father and Jenkins in handcuffs.
“Who are you?” Lloyd Connors asked.
“I’m Massimo Vitali.”
“We arrested your father,” the US attorney said. “You should get him a lawyer as soon as possible.”
Vitali’s eyes flashed angrily at Connors; he was furious to be in this very unflattering situation. Deputy Spooner pushed him along.
“Papa!” Massimo exclaimed in agitation. “What should I do?”
“Call Bruyner!” his father shouted. “And…”
And? Nelson wasn’t there anymore, and Judge Whitewater was also gone. Tate Jenkins, his valuable connection at the FBI, walked handcuffed behind him, and even John de Lancie didn’t seem to be in his post anymore. The seriousness of his situation slowly dawned upon Sergio. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t get away so easily this time.
“Papa!” Massimo’s voice sounded desperate.
“Come on,” Deputy Spooner urged, “go, go!”
Massimo stared after them helplessly. Sergio’s security personnel and the hotel staff were also paralyzed, and the crowd of guests curiously gathering around the ballroom’s doors whispered in excitement.
“Is that really necessary?” Sergio Vitali protested as Spooner directed him toward the main entrance. “Can’t we at least exit through the back?”
“Oh no, sir. You’ll get the full program.” Spooner grinned with satisfaction. “Like a man of your status deserves.”
Vitali put on a grim smile and straightened his shoulders. He kept a stony face in the flurry of flashes, showing his contempt for the reporters, the TV cameras, and the gawking crowd. Royce Shepard opened the back door of the limousine, and Spooner pushed Vitali into the backseat.
“Don’t touch me!” Vitali snapped. “I’ll make sure that you’re writing parking tickets in the future!”
“I’m looking forward to that,” Spooner replied calmly. He joined Vitali in the backseat, while Connors gave a brief statement to the agitated reporters. Sergio Vitali’s face was frozen solid. As the reporters knocked against the window to get a good shot of him, he didn’t turn his gaze once. Lloyd Connors sat in the front seat as the car drove off with a flashing red light and wailing siren. Gordon Engels and Tate Jenkins followed in a second car, and there was a full convoy behind them.
Connors exhaled a deep sigh of relief. He’d done it! He had doubted the success of this operation until the very last second, but he’d finally accomplished what Nick Kostidis had tried for so many years: he had arrested Sergio Vitali—the secret godfather of New York City. The evidence was overwhelming, and the prosecution’s key witness was alive. The message that di Varese and Bacchiocchi had also been arrested came over the radio. Vitali didn’t react at all.
“You’re getting a big kick out of this, aren’t you?” he said after a while in a disdainful tone. “That pathetic bastard will piss his pants in joy once he hears about it.”
“Who are you talking about?” Connors asked coolly.
“That damned son of a bitch Kostidis.” There was a glow of murderous rage in Vitali’s eyes. “I likely owe this entire spectacle to him!”
“You’ve been arrested,” Lloyd Connors said as he turned around, “because you killed at least one person and brutally abused Ms. Alex Sontheim.”
“That’s bullshit,” Vitali said, shaking his head. “Where are you taking me? I have a thousand guests, and you’ve got nothing better to do than to arrest me because of a little whore who stole from me and lied to me! I’ll complain to the attorney general himself about this!”
“Complain to whomever you want.” The smile vanished from Connors’s face. He thought about Alex’s disfigured face. He thought about Mary and Christopher Kostidis, who had to die because Nick stood in Sergio Vitali’s way. He thought about David Zuckerman and Zachary St. John, both sacrificed by Vitali after they’d outlived their usefulness and possibly posed a threat to him. He thought about the lawyer in Los Angeles who had been murdered in such a brutal way, and the many other people who’d died because this man had ordered it.
“We’re going to take some fingerprints now, and a few pictures,” Connors said, “and then you can spend a night on the taxpayer’s dime. It certainly won’t be as comfortable as you’re used to, but maybe you’ll learn to like what’s waiting for you for the next hundred years.”
“I won’t stay in jail for more than twenty-four hours!” Vitali hissed, but his arrogance was gone and his anger had given way to a helpless embitterment.
“The judge will decide that tomorrow morning,” Lloyd Connors replied in a calm voice. “Not you and not me.”
Nick Kostidis was startled out of his sleep in the middle of the night. It took him a few seconds to comprehend where he was and he realized in surprise that he wasn’t alone. Alex lay next to him sound asleep. Then he remembered that he had visited her. He’d simply fallen asleep in sheer exhaustion, and Alex had taken off his shoes and put a blanket over him. Nick smiled. The dial of his wristwatch indicated it was two thirty in the morning. He thought about Lloyd Connors. Had the US attorney managed to arrest Vitali? Nick got up carefully in order not to wake Alex and tiptoed over to the small bathroom. He closed the door and switched on the light. Stepping in front of the mirror, he stared at his face. He had spent the past six months in a world of nightmares, but now he had awakened from them and knew that he wanted to live again. And he owed it to Alex. The strong feelings he had for her seemed like a tender glowing light at the end of a long night, a thin, bright beam of hope that could lead him away from his vale of tears. In the face of these incomprehensible and irrevocable experiences, he had submitted himself to senseless self-pity for much too long. Now it was time to make a decision about the future. He wouldn’t go the US Attorney’s Office tonight as he had initially promised Connors. He didn’t want to see Vitali, and he didn’t care to know what had happened. It was strange, but he was really completely indifferent. He would hear about it all tomorrow morning.
Nick switched off the light and quietly went back to the bed. In the dim light coming in through the small window, he saw that Alex had woken up.
“Nick?” she whispered sleepily.
“Yes,” Nick said as he sat down at the edge of the bed and looked at her.
“I let you sleep,” she said quietly. “You were so exhausted.”
“Thank you,” he replied. Alex smiled. She really was enchanting.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Quarter to three.”
“In that case, we can sleep a few more hours.” She lifted the blanket, and Nick slipped beneath it.
“Do you think they arrested him?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Nick answered. “Probably.”
The church bell chimed the quarter hour.
“Nick?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He pulled her close. Thanks to this woman, his heart, which had turned into an icy block, had melted again. “I’m happy too,” he whispered, and carefully stroked her battered face.
“Will we ever be able to lead a normal life again?”
“I hope so,” he replied quietly. “I really hope so.”
Her eyes were close to his, and they looked at each other for a while, not saying a word.
“What are you going to do now?” Nick finally asked, though he feared her answer.
“I think I need to leave the city,” Alex responded. He nodded slowly.
“I understand that,” he said, his voice husky. “Where will you
go?”
“I’ll probably go home for a while to my parents in Germany. I need some time to think,” she said. “And Oliver invited me to go to Maine with him.”
“And? What will you do?” Nick didn’t feel pain or disappointment. He knew she would leave. She needed time to heal her wounds.
“Maybe I’ll go. Oliver is a really good friend,” Alex replied. “What will you do?”
“I’m still the mayor for another year,” Nick said. “Someday, all this will be water under the bridge. Life goes on, and I’ll keep doing my job.”
“You’ll never leave New York, will you?” Alex asked quietly.
“I’ve thought about it,” Nick admitted. “I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else, but after everything that’s happened, I sometimes think that it would be better to move away from here.”
“The city would lose the best mayor it ever had.” Alex reached out her hand and tenderly touched his cheek, “and you wouldn’t be able to cope for very long without the hustle and bustle, the noise, the skyscrapers, and all that.”
Nick laughed quietly. “You think so?”
“Yes,” Alex said and smiled. “This city is like a disease. Once you’re infected by it, you can’t get rid of it.”
“And what about you?” he asked. “Do you have the disease?”
Alex turned her face so that she could better look at him. Her smile had vanished.
“I think I have a different disease. It has a lot to do with this city.”
Nick felt his heart start pounding. “Aha. And what disease is that?”
Alex rested her face on her hand.
“I’ll tell you,” she said quietly, “if you don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t breathe a word. What is it?”
“I fell in love with the mayor of New York City,” Alex whispered.
“Really?”
Alex nodded silently.
“Imagine,” Nick said, his voice hoarse, “and he fell in love with you.”
An enchanting smile brightened her face, and he was suddenly filled with such a rush of happiness that it almost hurt. He leaned over and kissed her gently.