If she could just get to it . . .
A few steps from the top stair, a beefy hand clamped around her ankle and the man jerked her feet out from under her. A terrified scream tore from her throat as Ryann fell—hard. Air exploded from her lungs when her chest slammed into the stairs. Her head cracked against the top lip of the staircase and blackness swamped her vision, stars bursting behind her eyelids as a tidal wave of dizziness crashed into her and dragged her into a sea of oblivion.
CHAPTER
26
Welcome home, Mr. Kruze.”
Aiden froze. The delay in translation from English to understanding left him standing there a moment, staring at the doorman like a complete idiot. God, he was a wreck. Unable to get his mind off Ryann, and how royally he’d fucked things up with her, left him feeling and no doubt looking like a cast member of The Walking Dead.
“Thank you, Fredrick,” Aiden mumbled in passing. “Wish I could say it was nice to be back.”
Forcing one foot in front of the other, he felt like he was walking toward a prison cell instead of approaching his four-million-dollar pad. Stopping in front of the elevator, he hit the Up button, and when the doors slid open he shuffled inside. Turning to the keypad, he entered the six-digit code to his penthouse and stood there numbly waiting for the elevator to take him to the thirty-second floor.
He should call Ryann. See how she was doing and tell her he was sorry for what he’d said. Since leaving her place, he’d been wracking his brain, trying to decide his best course of action. How could he make things right with her? She deserved a hell of a lot more than an apology for doubting her. He’d been hoping he could continue seeing her while he was in town, but before he’d gotten around to asking her, he’d let his suspicions get the best of him. Note to self: Don’t accuse your girl of lying to you without hard-core proof. And whatever you do, don’t bring up her past mistakes. That shit’s the curse of death right there.
“Fuck . . .” he groaned, dragging his hand through his hair and looking up at the ceiling. His gaze caught the red light of the camera in the corner. “Hey, that you, Roz?”
“Good evening, Mr. Kruze,” the feminine voice called over the intercom. “Is everything all right?”
“Just peachy.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, sir, I hardly recognized you. I see you’ve done some redecorating.”
He grunted a humorless laugh and subconsciously tongued the hoop through his bottom lip. No doubt he was a sight: piercings through his brow, his lip, his ears, and sleeved in tattoos exposed by an ill-fitting, grungy V-neck. His reflection in the steel doors proved his hair was a wild mess after he’d dragged his hand through it a hundred fucking times since dropping Ryann off. Unless he was heading to the gym, hardly a day had gone by that he hadn’t stepped onto this elevator without wearing a suit and looking anything less than 100 percent put together. Right about now, he’d be lucky to hit 30 percent.
“Is this not working for you, Roz?”
“I umm . . . Well, it’s just . . .”
Aiden chuckled, a half-hearted rumble in his chest at the woman’s shock and obvious discomfort. The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. “See ya later, sweetheart.” He gave the camera a saluting wave and stepped into the hall.
“Good evening, Mr. Kruze,” she responded stiffly. “It’s good to have you back.”
He wasn’t back—well, not for long, anyway. Aiden entered the code to his front door and stepped inside. Kicking off his shoes, he walked into the dining room and emptied his pockets into the decorative bowl in the center of the table—keys, wallet, cell phone . . . Shit, he should really call Ryann. Later, he decided, because yeah, he was pussying out and hoped a little time might help her cool off a bit. Moving on, he took an assessing lap around the place. Everything was just how he left it—still spotless. Good to know the monthly cleaning fees weren’t going to waste. The penthouse was so immaculate, there was a do-not-touch vibe all over it, not that the place was warm and welcoming on its best day.
Pristine white walls with an occasional abstract painting placed here and there by his interior designer, adding a splash of color to the otherwise cool and impersonal dwelling. He wouldn’t call it a home. There were no family pictures lining the mantel of his fireplace, no personal effects lying scattered around. Aiden stopped as he passed the glass wall in the living room, pausing a moment to take in the Manhattan skyline.
It was one of the few things he loved about this place, and it was the sole reason he’d purchased it three years ago. It was an impressive sight to behold, and one that resonated someplace deep inside him. It was times like this, late at night, where he would stare out the window at the towering buildings, the lighted bridge stretching across the water, and imagine how easy it would be to just disappear. This beautiful view was the one thing he would miss . . .
The phone rang, fracturing the first moment of blessed peace he’d had in days. Muttering a nasty curse, he turned from the window and crossed over to the couch and dropped into a lazy sprawl before lifting the receiver from the docking station on the end table. Caller ID confirmed what he already knew. “Hi, Mom.”
“Aiden, you’re home. So nice of you to let me know you’d arrived.”
Ignoring the barb, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn, he was tired. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Ryann in his king-sized bed and sleep the next two days away. The thought of her sent a pang of regret arrowing into his heart. He really needed to call her. This was ridiculous.
“I just got back. Whatever you want, can it wait until tomorrow?”
“I was calling to let you know the reservation for Pret was moved to ten a.m. Your father has an early meeting—”
“Of course he does.” Good to know some things never changed.
“Well then, I’ll see you at ten.”
“Yep.”
She hesitated a moment, giving him the sense she wanted to say something more. She must have thought better of it, because after a long pause, she said, “Good-bye, Aiden.” And the line went dead before he could respond.
When Aiden’s alarm went off the next morning, he glared at the piece of shit and sandwiched his head in between two pillows. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours all night, and at this point, he felt like he was running on pure adrenaline. Ryann was refusing to take his calls. He knew she was pissed, and rightfully so, but there was a part of him that hadn’t actually believed this was really the end when she’d said good-bye. Apparently, she was a woman of her word, because four phone calls, two voice mails, and three text messages all yielded the same result—nada. She wouldn’t talk to him.
He wasn’t used to being on this side of the coin. Usually he was the one doing the avoiding. Fuck, he’d become the clinger. Exhaling a frustrated sigh, he tossed back the covers and planted his feet on the floor. Well, not anymore, he didn’t have time for relationship drama bullshit. He had a day chock-full of unpleasantness as it was. He certainly didn’t need to add to his shit list of things to do. He planned to meet his parents for brunch, and have a meeting with Vincent Moralli where he’d settle up Ryann’s debt once and for all. Whether she cared about him or not, Aiden wasn’t about to let her drive herself into bankruptcy to pay her dead father’s debt. Once he squared things away with Moralli, he’d make it clear Ryann was hands off. With her issues put to rest, he could clear his conscience of any last remnant of guilt. Then he could focus on dealing with his own fucked-up mess, and Ryann could get back to her life. If she preferred to pretend he didn’t have a place in it, then that was her prerogative. He didn’t need a woman complicating his life any more than it already was—no matter how attractive, or beguiling, or utterly amazing she might be.
Aiden stood before the full-length mirror and tugged the slipknot of his tie into place, thinking he might possibly puke. Leave it to Madeli
ne to choose a restaurant he’d have to wear a suit to get in. He snagged the Armani charcoal gray pinstripe coat off the foot of the bed and shrugged it on over his shoulders. At one time, the suit had fit him like a glove—like the thing had been tailored especially for him. Oh, wait, it had been. But just like life here, it didn’t fit anymore. It was too tight—too confining. His movement was restricted, and the silk cloth around his neck was choking the hell out of him.
Muttering a curse, he reached up and yanked at the collar, gaining another inch of breathing room. Fuck, this sucked. Fastening the jacket button, Aiden stepped back and surveyed the results. His ink might be covered, but he refused to remove his piercings. It might sound crazy, but he felt as if the metal somehow anchored him to his new life when his old one was threatening to drag him back under. His ink and piercings signified who he was and what he’d become. It was bad enough he was back in a monkey suit, but after spending the last fourteen months breaking free of his parents’ control, he refused to let his actions be dictated by their approval again.
Dragging his hand through his hair, he let the short, dark strands poke out wildly and took one last look in the mirror. He rubbed his thumb over the red mark on the side of his neck, riding just above the collar of his shirt, courtesy of Ryann. Maybe his mother would be so distracted by all the metal in his face, she wouldn’t notice it. It wasn’t that he cared what she thought of him; he just didn’t want to sit there and have to listen to her carry on.
It pissed him off how much he was dreading this meeting. For crissake, he was a grown man—a middleweight MMA fighter who didn’t fear anyone. And here he was, looking at his reflection in the mirror and seeing that ten-year-old little boy all over again, who wanted nothing more than his father’s approval and to hear his mother tell him, just once, that she loved him. This was so fucked up. Exhaling a snort of disgust, Aiden turned away from his reflection and told the little boy to quit being such a pussy.
The drive to Pret should have taken less than a half hour, but by the time he navigated traffic, parked, and got inside, he was fashionably late. Before he could tell the waitress his name and which party he was looking for, the woman told him to follow her and led him toward the back of the restaurant. His mother was sitting at a small table for two, her security guards flanking her from behind. She was on the phone as he walked over, her gaze darting up and locking on his. She would be a beautiful woman were it not for that perpetually perturbed expression on her face. His mother didn’t crack so much as a smile as he approached. Without removing the cell from her ear, she lifted her wrist and made a point of checking the time before arching her brow at him.
Aiden thanked the waitress and seated himself across from his mother. The woman looked as impeccable as ever. Hair twisted in a tight coif, not a strand out of place. She wore a form-fitting white business suit with silver buttons and matching silver jewelry. As she sat on the phone, eyes that looked like his made a sweeping perusal of his face and a flicker of surprise registered in those dark amber depths before narrowing in disapproval.
“He’s here right now. At least I think it’s him.”
He rolled his eyes at her jab. Really? The waitress appeared out of nowhere and set a glass of lemon water in front of him. She offered him a menu but he waved it away. If he ate right now, he was pretty sure he’d puke. Besides, he wouldn’t be here that long.
“I will tell him.” Madeline disconnected the call and dropped her cell into her Louis Vuitton handbag. “Your father sends his regrets he could not be here. His meeting is running late.”
“Of course it is.” Was that bitterness souring his voice? Huh . . . he’d thought he was past this pettiness, past the stinging disappointment in having a father who cared more about his career than his son.
“I have good news for you, Aiden,” she continued, ignoring his bristling comment. “The wedding is off.”
“You say that as if you actually believed it was on. But pray tell, why is it now suddenly ‘off’?”
“Cynthia Moralli disappeared three days ago and has yet to return. Apparently, the willful chit wasn’t any more excited about the idea of an arranged marriage than you were. Seems she fancied herself in love and eloped. Of course Vincent is furious.”
“I’m sure he is. Do you honestly think he’s just going to walk away from a ten-million-dollar campaign contribution?”
“He won’t have a choice. The dowry is nonrefundable. His daughter breached the contract. Not you.”
Aiden didn’t bother pointing out that in approximately seventy-two hours he would have done just that. Madeline leaned a little closer and dropped her voice to a hushed whisper. “Rumor has it she was secretly seeing someone from the Lion’s Den. Not only is his daughter gone, but he’s lost his best fighter. He has a lot more than ten million dollars at stake. He’s so furious, he’s got his people looking for them everywhere.”
Un-fucking-believable . . . But the sad thing was, you just couldn’t make this shit up. It was like he’d walked into a scene from The Untouchables. The Moralli name had roots in this city as far back as the Sicilian immigration in the late nineteenth century. Men like Vincent believed they were above the law, because people like Aiden and his father made them that way. They tied the hands of the legal system, making it damn near impossible for the courts to get a conviction on any charge, and that was assuming they could find a judge not on Moralli’s payroll to try their case.
“How do you know all this?”
“Your father has a man working for Moralli who keeps him apprised of certain business. Just because Bennett works with the man, it doesn’t mean he trusts him.”
“Father shouldn’t be working with him at all. The man’s a criminal.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please, Aiden, don’t be daft. You cannot hold the position your father has and wield that kind of power without brushing shoulders with the Cosa Nostra.”
“Is that the defense you plan to use in court, Mom? Listen to me. Vincent Moralli is doing things you don’t even know about. There is such a thing as guilt by association, and if Moralli ever goes down, do not think for one second he isn’t going to take Dad with him. Moralli may like to think so, but he isn’t invincible. All it would take is for him to fuck with the wrong person who knows just enough to ruin him.”
He let the threat hang in the air. She was a smart woman and her shrewd gaze narrowed on him. “Do not even think about it, Aiden.”
He gave a negligent shrug and raised his wrist, pulling back his sleeve to check the time and exposing several inches of ink. Ignoring her surprised gasp, he said, “I have a meeting with Moralli in an hour. It didn’t take long for him to discover I was back in town—imagine that. I won’t ask you how he found that out. Which brings me to the subject of Ryann. How did you come to hire her?”
Madeline sat back in her chair and busied herself with the napkin in her lap. “She was referred to me.”
“By whom?” Her delay in response was all the answer he needed. Fuck. It gave him no pleasure to discover he was right. Moralli was behind this. Question is, just how deep did this deception run? “You owe her payment for services rendered.”
Reaching across the table, she took hold of his chin and angled his head to the side. It was the first time she’d touched him in as long as he could remember and the unexpected contact surprised him, catching him off guard and rendering him momentarily speechless.
Unfortunately, the same effect wasn’t true for her. That hawkish gaze zeroed in on his neck, making him feel all of sixteen again. “That’s funny, I don’t recall servicing my son to be part of the deal,” she snapped, her voice rank with disapproval. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. Hell, he thought he’d be used to it by now. “Just look at you, Aiden. What in God’s name have you done to yourself?”
He jerked away from her touch as if she’d burned him. “You’ll pay her because sh
e did the job that no one else could do, and she needs the money. Then again, you probably already knew that. And as for this . . .” He pointed to his face. “This is who I am. And for the first time in my life, I was finally happy.”
She looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. “I don’t know who you think you are. But this—” she swept her disdainful gaze over him “—is not my son.”
Wow, that hurt a hell of a lot more than he’d expected it to. Pushing back his chair, he cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the swelling lump, and stood. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mom.”
As he turned to leave, she sighed. “Aiden, wait . . .”
But his steps didn’t falter, nor did he cast her the briefest parting glance as he walked away. There was nothing left to say.
CHAPTER
27
As Aiden headed across town to Vincent Moralli’s office, he tried once again to contact Ryann. This time her cell rolled right over to voice mail, which meant either she’d shut the thing off or it was dead. Shit . . .
“Hey, Ryann, I umm . . . Fuck, I don’t want to do this over a message, but it doesn’t look like you’re going to give me any other option here. Listen, sweetheart, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and umm . . . I’d like to see you. I’m about to head into a meeting with Moralli so . . . I’ll stop by when I’m done here.”
He disconnected the call just as he was pulling into the parking ramp. Whoever said crime didn’t pay obviously wasn’t doing it right, because this place was swank. Moralli lived in the penthouse and ran his business in the offices below. The guy had his hands in so much shit, he’d practically turned the Cosa Nostra into an enterprise. Some of his businesses were truly legit, which helped front for his more lucrative and illegal ventures. After years of working for the man, Aiden was confident there was a hell of a lot more going on than even he knew about. But back then, he preferred to keep it that way—deniability was key.
Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) Page 22