by Pamela Aares
“But I want to talk to you.” His voice was tight with restrained emotion. Normally he loved the way she stood up to him, the way she didn’t defer to him just because he was her boss. But not now. “I spoke with Enrique.”
Her eyes widened. “He shouldn’t have told you.” She motioned him inside. Her stiff posture said more than words could.
“You should’ve told me something as important as this.”
“His grandmother could die. Surely you can understand the urgency.”
Adrian wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “His grandmother? What does Enrique’s grandmother have to do with anything?”
“If you prosecute him and he goes to prison, there’s no one to help her. And if they flee to Colombia, he’ll be killed by the drug cartel. And then she’ll die. Her blood would be on your hands.”
“Prosecute Enrique? Why would I do that? And what does Colombia have to do with anything?” He touched a hand to her arm, and she flinched. “I’m talking about the man that’s stalking you, threatening you.”
Her face paled and went blank. Evidently the conversation he’d had with Enrique wasn’t the one she’d surmised they’d had. He felt like he’d entered a play in the second or third act.
“Natasha, take a breath. It’ll be all right. We can sort this out.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“The man threatening you?”
“No, Enrique. This whole thing is my fault. He never would have had access to your accounts if I hadn’t given it to him. But without him, I couldn’t do the damned job.”
Suddenly he understood that she was talking about the missing funds. “Enrique took the money?”
She crossed her arms and hugged her elbows in tight, as if holding back her emotions.
“See what happens when you try to control people? You think you can just sail in and adjust them, like… like they were puppets in your grand scheme. Well, that doesn’t work.” Anger had edged into her voice. She pointed her finger at him. “You can’t make choices for others.”
She wasn’t holding back now. But he’d rather hear her angry than sad.
“None of us would’ve been in this situation if it weren’t for you forcing me into this job. I can’t read. I can’t do accounts.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have dissociative dyslexia.” She put her hands to her hips as if squaring for a fight. “Numbers and words swim off the page. Especially when I’m upset.” Her chin went up. “I can’t read, Adrian.”
Her words landed in his brain and shot straight to his heart. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want your pity. And I needed the job. This man Enrique told you about—he’s Tyler’s father. A man Tyler has never met. A man who didn’t know Tyler existed before a few weeks ago. Yet now he could take my son away from me. All the courts need to see is that I was on welfare, that I landed my son in a homeless shelter, that I lost two jobs in less than a year. That I can’t read.”
His head spun. “Aspetta. I would never have fired you. I never would. You can hire someone to do the things you can’t.”
He should’ve seen the signs. He remembered her not reading the park pamphlet and that she’d had him read the program to her that night at the ballet. He’d been an ignorant, arrogant ass, seeing only what he wanted to see.
But right then all he could focus on was the man threatening to take Tyler from her, threatening her.
“I’m more concerned about this man you’re speaking of—Tyler’s father. What’s his name?”
If he was going to help her, he needed information.
She blew out a breath. “Eddie. Edward Markiston the third, to be precise. He said he wanted to be a part of our lives. That he wants to marry me. To give Tyler a father.” She slammed her palm down on the table, startling Adrian. “But he didn’t wait. Why he’s in such a hellfire hurry all of a sudden, out of the blue, I don’t know. He’s already sent a court summons.” She drew her brows together and bit at her bottom lip. “He saw us on the big screen at the Giants game last month. Right now I hate baseball!”
And then the tears he’d expected finally flowed. He pulled her to him and though she let him hold her, she felt stiff in his arms. But as the sobs racked through her, she slowly melted against him. Adrian smoothed a hand over her hair. “Tell me about this Eddie,” he prompted in a quiet, calm voice. A voice that didn’t reveal the anger boiling in him at the prospect of her marrying the man she’d described. A man she feared. The thought of Natasha marrying the guy floored him. Hell, he didn’t want her marrying anyone except him. The realization slammed into his brain, mocking him for ignoring what his heart had known since the first days he’d spent with her. But now was no time for addressing what he wanted, what he needed.
“I was eighteen.”
She shuddered against his chest. And the story of the night she conceived Tyler spilled out of her in a torrent. Adrian didn’t need to hear the gruesome details—he felt the effects in her body with her every word. And with every revelation, his anger became harder to control.
She’d been beaten and then left pregnant by the bastardo, a man she could never go to for help. And now the same man was after Tyler.
“Eddie told me he’s changed; he’s in some sort of program for veterans. He wants to make a fresh start. Some part of me believes him. Actually, most of me believes him. But that doesn’t mean I want him anywhere near Tyler.” She rubbed at her eyes. “There’s something else going on, something he’s keeping from me, and that more than anything has me frightened.”
Though Adrian believed people could change—could overcome trauma and lead better lives—he wouldn’t believe this guy had changed until he had convincing proof. Proof that Natasha couldn’t get her hands on.
But he could.
There were advantages to having a father with a career as an undercover agent. Adrian was about to tap those advantages for better or for worse.
And though he knew Natasha could again accuse him of thinking he knew best, of manipulating lives, it was a risk he’d have to take.
Natasha pushed away from him but didn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. That’s more than you probably wanted to know. And I shouldn’t have lashed out at you about my promotion. I should’ve just told you the truth. I should’ve—”
“Shhhh.” He handed her his handkerchief. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should’ve consulted you. What I did was wrong in every way.”
“Not in every way,” she said as she wiped the handkerchief across her cheeks. “You meant well, I know that. But on top of all that, I was mad that you assumed that I was a thief. Hurt that you didn’t talk to me before coming to such a damning conclusion.”
“I was concerned about you, not about the money. I wasn’t thinking straight. I jumped to conclusions, and I’m sorry for that. I wanted to fix whatever was wrong, to help. It’s a stubborn trait.”
“There are far worse traits to have. I try never to lie. But one day, when you have a child, you’ll understand the ends you’ll go to, even against your better judgment. But I am sorry for not telling you the truth.”
He reached for the handkerchief. She looked first at him, then at the cloth. His fingers brushed hers as he took it and dabbed it lightly against her cheek, drying the last of her tears. His mind was already spinning into action. She still needed help, help he could provide. Help she might not accept. Help that might anger her but which he would provide anyway.
“May I see these papers you received from the court?”
She nodded toward the kitchen counter. He was reluctant to let her go, but he had to read the summons, had to know what she faced. And he had to get the information the document contained.
His anger flared as he flipped through the pages. If family law in the States was anything like in Italy, unless this guy Eddie was a real reprobate, he’d be able to secur
e visitation rights. But he didn’t have to marry Natasha to do that.
She tapped his arm. “I could pay back the money Enrique took, a little at a time,” she said. “He’d help too, I know he would.”
Enrique. Maybe there was more to Natasha’s relationship with Enrique than Adrian was allowing himself to see. He cursed himself silently; maybe he’d just better stop jumping to conclusions.
“You have bigger problems than Enrique. I’ll handle him.”
“What will you do?”
He hated the accusatory look in her eyes.
“I need to talk with my father, but we’ll take care of it. You focus on you and Tyler.”
The front door banged open.
“Yo! Adrian!” Tyler’s voice boomed as he barreled into the apartment. “I saw your car.” He looked at his mother’s red-rimmed eyes. “You okay, Mom?”
“I just caught my finger in my car door,” Natasha said convincingly. “Why aren’t you in school?”
She was a woman who could lie when she had to. And now that he understood her reasons for hiding the truth, Adrian sure couldn’t blame her for protecting the boy she loved. He’d do the same.
“We had a half day, remember? Teacher conferences. Can I go over to Brandon’s? He’s having a pool party. They rented a snow cone machine.”
“I’m headed across town; I could drop you off,” Adrian said. Though he didn’t want to leave Natasha, the summons had set a clock ticking. If he was going to help her, he’d have to act quickly.
“I’ll grab my swim trunks.” Tyler looked to Natasha. “I mean, can I go? All my friends are going.”
“I’ll pick you up in time for dinner. And then it’s homework time.”
Adrian had to admire the way Natasha had pulled herself together and back into mom-mode fast.
Tyler screwed a silly smile up to Adrian. “Bet your mom wasn’t so tough.”
“Tougher,” Adrian said with a forced laugh.
Over Tyler’s head he saw the worry in Natasha’s eyes. And his inner voice, the voice he trusted, told him that Eddie Markiston had hidden motives for returning to Natasha’s life. Whatever the guy’s plan, and whether she wanted him to or not, Adrian swore he’d limit the damage any way he could.
Tyler chattered all the way to his friend’s house. Adrian had forgotten the joys of being a child. Before he could stop himself, he’d made promises to show Tyler his polo horses, to take him and his friends out riding in the hills, and to let them come at harvest time to help stomp the grapes. If the drive had been longer, God only knew what else he might’ve thrown in.
Adrian went around to the trunk to get Tyler’s gear bag. Before he could lift the bag, Tyler caught him in an awkward hug.
“Mom can be really nice,” Tyler said, backing out of the hug. “And she’s a really good cook. She makes me pies too. You should come to our house for dinner sometime.”
Tyler’s innocent lobbying on behalf of his mom cracked Adrian’s heart open. He’d grown to love the boy with a love he really didn’t understand. He’d never imagined being a dad, wasn’t sure he was cut out for it. His brother Rafe, and maybe even Gaetano, would be great fathers.
He waved at Monica and pulled away from the curb. A block down the street, he nosed his car to the side of the road, pulled his notebook and a pen from the glove compartment, and wrote down every relevant detail from his conversation with Natasha.
Edward Markiston had better have a perfect motive for making Natasha’s life hell.
Chapter Twenty-Four
SITTING IN A GROWER’S CONFERENCE WAS not the way Adrian had hoped to spend the past two days. Although securing the appellation for the wines grown in the coastal gap had once been at the top of his wish list, it sure wasn’t anymore. At least not today. He drove straight to the Casa after the final meeting of the day. He’d given his father a copy of the court summons and had asked him to turn up everything he could on Edward Markiston. Two days wasn’t much time, but he had faith in his father’s team of sleuths. That they might bend a few rules getting information didn’t matter. Helping Natasha was the goal, and he wasn’t letting go of it.
Adrian found his father with his feet propped on an ottoman in front of a fire in the Casa’s library. They’d had unusually cool nights, but so far, no frost. Frost would take out the budding grapes. Frost would be a possible disaster. But he hadn’t come to discuss the vineyard.
“Any progress on sorting out what happened to those missing funds?” his father asked. Santino Tavonesi was known for never beating around the bush.
Adrian drew in a slow breath. “One of our workers took the money. He got the passwords for the accounts from Natasha.”
“I never suspected her involvement.”
“You should’ve told me.” Adrian kicked himself. He should’ve known that with the network of intelligence available to his father that he’d have already traced the flow of the funds.
His father eyed him. “Some truths we have to discover for ourselves.”
Adrian told him about Natasha’s disability, how she’d hidden her dyslexia from everyone out of fear. And then he told him of Enrique’s dilemma. His father was no stranger to the ruthlessness of drug lords. A Colombian cartel had murdered Santino’s best agent.
“I don’t want to prosecute Enrique,” Adrian added as he paced the carpet in front of the crackling fire. “I want to give him a chance to make a new life, offer him the number-two position in the native garden business. He can pay the money back gradually—as he can afford it.”
His father kept his face placid, unreadable, the face Adrian remembered from days long ago when as youngsters, he and his siblings pelted him with questions, questions he hadn’t answered.
“I want to build a program that attacks scarcity head-on, to provide opportunities for men and women to get on their feet, learn job skills, improve their lives,” Adrian continued.
Santino liked facts. Adrian had loaded up on just the sort of facts he was sure would sway his father to support his plan.
“I’ve studied the research—scarcity begets scarcity. People with a mindset of ‘not enough,’ of poverty, make bad decisions in the moment, decisions that create a never-ending cycle. Stress overtakes them and forces more bad decisions, makes them think there’s no way out. Enrique made a bad decision because he was stressed. I want to change that.”
“There are social programs for that, Adrian.”
“But social programs don’t see people—we can help real people, identifiable individuals and their families. So maybe it’s only a few, but we can help. Hands-on programs have the highest success rates. I’ve thought this through. I want to create ten positions, temporary, but long-term enough to help workers in the program build skills. Once they’ve mastered key skills, we can help them find the next position, positions suited to them, permanent positions. People can learn here and then move on stronger.” He was repeating himself now, his father would see that.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, son, okay. It’s a good plan. Calls to integrity. I like it. And I admire what you’re doing here, what you’ve accomplished in so little time. I see the light in your team’s faces. More than hope, you’ve given them a tool for reaching toward their futures, a stake in the stream of resources they might never have had.”
He shifted so he was facing Adrian full on.
“But in the end, Adrian, people have to save themselves—they have to step up. You can only offer the opportunity. There will always be individuals that you can’t help. Enrique may be a good soul under it all, but there are others who aren’t. There are those who don’t care who their actions hurt.”
“I know that.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
Santino stood, strode to the fireplace and idly poked at a log already burning well.
“You can’t always be a step ahead of such people, Adrian. The powers that drive them are deep, hidden, hard to imagine. I worked in the
shadow world. Maybe for too long. Working in such a world can make a man cynical. I admire your optimism, but you have to balance it with the facts of the real world, where dozens of factors influence actions and choices.”
His father’s words hit home. In his driving desire to help, he hadn’t seen what was happening under his nose. He hadn’t registered Natasha’s actions, hadn’t imagined Enrique’s.
Some truths slice deep. He’d seen what he wanted to see, not what was.
“It’s true. I ignored the facts.”
“You ignored the facts because you don’t want to believe that true evil exists. I wish recognizing the powers of the dark side were a lesson no one had to learn, especially one of my children. But what we ignore can be harmful, especially if it’s driven by a cut-off part of ourselves. You have to look hardest at what you don’t want to see.”
He let out a deep sigh as he turned from the fire and faced Adrian.
“Our family paid a price for my blindness to my own shadow. My anger put blinders on me. I ignored that anger and put the family at risk. I should never have agreed to head the team that investigated the Gualdieris. I was unbalanced by my grief after your mother died, but that’s no excuse. I was gripped by a dark force, by the blinding drive for retribution, and I let it rule for too long. If Vico Gualdieri had harmed Zoe…” He dragged his gaze from Adrian’s and looked into the fire. “I can’t even think about that night, not even now.”
“Retribution? Retribution for what?” Adrian and his siblings had always wanted to know what had driven their father to take such a personal risk, to accept a mission that brought danger into their home.
“Let’s just say that though Vico couldn’t have known the outcome of his scheme to steal bank funds, his scheme destroyed my best friend’s life and drove him to suicide. I was crusading when I took that job, trying to make up for wrongs of the past. My anger and my hunger for retribution, for revenge, blinded me. It took Vico attacking Zoe for me to see that, for me to change.”
Santino returned to his chair. He’s slowed down, Adrian thought. The troubles of the past year were catching up with him. His father was their rock. But it was time to relieve him of some of the burdens he carried.