“You should’ve seen the other guy,” he said dully.
“Where’d you learn to be so tenacious? He just kept whaling on you while you were holding him against the wall.”
“Water polo and basketball in high school, rugby in college.”
“You’re a hero.”
He laughed, and it hurt his lip, just as it should. “Keep on believing that for as long as you can, sweetheart.”
“Well, at least now we know who’s been following us, and why.”
Johnny grunted.
“But frankly, I don’t think Raphael got much of a private investigator for his money. At first, I thought he might be the same man who recently checked into the spa, but I’ve never seen him before. You, however, spotted the guy following us a while back. And then, he didn’t know your real name from the name of someone who lived in your house ages ago.”
“You caught that, did you?” He’d known she would. Hadn’t he thought earlier this evening that she was too smart for his own good?
“Mm-hmm. He called you both Johnny Magee and Giovanni Martelli.”
“Johnny Magee or Gianni Martelli.” He wished he was the kind of man who could continue scamming her. Without the P.I.’s intrusion, he didn’t know how long he would have been able to ignore the outside pressures and live in the highly-sexed and highly pleasurable present with her, but now it was definitely over, baby, over. He was Gianni Martelli as well as Johnny Magee, and the latter had been raised to treat well the ones who trusted him.
He remembered her fingers curling around his in the tiki room tonight.
Téa trusted him.
She had, anyway.
Run, Téa, run, he whispered to himself. Get away before this ends ugly.
“Johnny Magee or Gianni Martelli,” she repeated, her voice puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
He looked at her again and could see the wheels turning in that bright and beautiful head of hers, but he knew she couldn’t possibly see this coming.
“That’s who I am. The name on my original birth certificate, anyway. Gianni Martelli. Giovanni was my father.”
Thirty-one
“Frankie and Johnny”
Lena Horne
More Than You Know (1946)
Téa stared at the stranger she’d been sleeping with. Minutes ago, she’d thought someone was out to hurt her to get the Loanshark book, but this—this was so much worse. “Giovanni Martelli is your father?”
“Yeah.” He lifted his hip to pull a handkerchief from his back pocket and then daubed it against a cut on his lower lip. “But my parents were divorced when I was a baby. I went by Magee after Phineas married my mom.”
She still didn’t understand. “Why did you move to Palm Springs? Why would you move to that house?”
Johnny, no Gianni, looked down at the handkerchief in his hands, then back at her. One eye was nearly swollen shut, the other was its usual unreadable blue. “I have questions about my father too, Téa. His murder has gone unsolved for sixteen years.”
She recoiled as she started to make sense of what he’d revealed. Though Giovanni Martelli’s murderer had never been caught, the common belief was that he’d been killed in retaliation for the hit on her father—killed in retaliation by someone associated with the Carusos.
“You thought I would know something about your father’s death?”
He frowned, and his lip started bleeding again. “Of course not. What happened sixteen years ago has nothing to do with you. I said that—the day you came to the house and told me about the family connection.”
A connection he’d already been fully aware of.
“That’s why you contacted me about the job, isn’t it?” Not because she’d impressed him with her credentials or was swayed by her design ideas. “You thought somehow I’d help you find those answers you want.”
“I didn’t know. I thought…maybe.”
Rising to her feet, she wrapped her arms around herself, holding her purse to her chest. Not only had she shared with this man, this stranger, her secrets, she’d shared with him her body and her passion.
What should she feel? Horror? Revulsion? Instead she was numb. There was a block of ice in her belly and its cold was moving outward through her blood and to her limbs. Already her heart was frozen.
“So you went to bed with me, knowing my family probably murdered him.” She took a step back. “You went to bed with me, knowing that the rumors say that your father murdered mine.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said quickly. “He was no killer.”
His words barely penetrated as she took another step away. “You went to bed with me, knowing that the rumors say that your father murdered mine and that then my family murdered yours.”
He closed his open eye and rubbed a hand over his hair. “It’s a little like Shakespeare, isn’t it?”
Her voice sounded cold now too. Icy. “It’s a lot more like betrayal.”
“Téa.” His good eye popped open and he moved, reaching toward her, but she shuffled back.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me.” The ramifications of what he’d done and what she’d let him do to her were swirling in her head. How could she take it all in? Not here, not now, not when she was anywhere near Johnny.
“I don’t ever want to see you again.” She’d become expert long ago at hiding humiliation, but even she wasn’t up to this. Her feet stumbled back another few steps. “I never, ever want to see you again.”
With that, she whirled in the direction of the spa, and escaped. He didn’t try to stop her.
Her mother’s living room was a feminine haven. The peach and vanilla upholstered chairs and sofa had been picked out by her mother. Téa had spent a Saturday with blue painter’s tape and two different cans of paint to create the walls striped in mocha and cream. Tonight, the room was filled with the scent of hot tea and the voices of her sisters and her mother.
Téa slipped into the room, managed a brief greeting, then poured herself a cup of tea and took a seat in the farthest corner. Apparently Eve had redirected Joey’s anxiety about the arson with an argument over what the fire meant to their eightieth-birthday-party plans. Eve wanted to cancel the whole thing, while Joey refused to consider the possibility.
“Carusos never back down,” she declared.
Téa tuned out the discussion, cupping the teacup in her palms and wishing the heat could warm her. Or maybe not. Maybe this frozen, numb state was preferable to anything else.
Johnny had lied to her. He’d surprised, shamed, shocked, and betrayed her.
He was Giovanni Martelli’s son. My God.
Giovanni Martelli’s son.
And she was Salvatore Caruso’s daughter.
Maybe it was a little like Shakespeare.
“Téa? What do you think?” Joey appealed to her from across the room.
She blinked. “What do I think about what?”
“Party or no party? We’ll have to find a different location, but hey, it’s just a matter of finding some outdoor space where we can set up tents like we were going to do at the Desert Star. How hard can that be in golfing’s world capital?”
“It doesn’t matter to me whether you go ahead with the party or not. I told you I won’t go.”
“But it’s different now,” Joey insisted.
“Different how?” Téa asked. I’m different now. I know what it can be like in a man’s arms. I know what it can be like when you really let go. When you let go and lost control of your heart. She shook off the thought. “Nothing’s different now. Nothing.”
“More’s at stake. We need to show the world the Carusos stick together. Mom said even she might come to the party if we decide to go ahead with it.”
Téa’s gaze jumped to her mother. “Mom?”
She gave a little shrug. “Cosimo’s retiring. Maybe it’s time I retired my…discomfort too.”
This wasn’t right, Téa thought. Everyone around her was either changing their minds or
changing their spots.
Her mother was willing to associate with the Carusos.
Her Johnny was Giovanni Martelli’s son.
How can that be?
How can that be?
Giovanni Martelli’s son.
All at once, anger exploded inside her. It melted the ice and evaporated the anesthesia that had been affecting her emotions. The teacup dropped from her hand, shattering against the hardwood floor.
“Are you all right?” Her mother started forward with a napkin.
Seething, Téa stared down at the mess and wondered what they’d think if they knew she’d let go of the thing in lieu of throwing it. “No, I’m not all right,” she said. “Not nearly all right.”
Something in her voice must have warned them all.
Her mother halted mid-stride. Eve’s head jerked sharply toward Téa. Even Joey stopped talking, her mouth hanging open.
Téa was not all right. She was furious.
She’d lost the design job that was a wonderful artistic opportunity.
She’d lost the chance to build her professional reputation into something to be proud of.
She’d lost the man she might have loved.
She hated him now. Hated him!
His face popped into her mind. Full of humor as he laughed with her. Tender as he leaned down to kiss her. Battered by the Hollywood P.I.
She should have hit him herself.
He’d wanted to get close to the Carusos, so he’d found a way to get close to her.
Bastard.
She rose to her feet and the anger rose with her, starting at her toes and filling her with an unyielding strength until she felt a hundred feet tall. Powerful. Royal.
A woman determined to find a way to pay back the man who’d done her wrong.
“Téa?” Eve said softly, in a voice you’d use on a wild animal. “Do you want to tell us what’s going on?”
I lost my father, I lost a man I could have loved, but I’m not going to lose anything else.
“Joey said it,” Téa told her sister. “Carusos never back down.”
“Oh-kay. And that means…?”
She wasn’t sure. Not yet. But then—
Yes. Oh, yes.
“Joey also said you’ll have to find another place to set up the party tents. And that some place like a golf course would do?”
Eve narrowed her eyes. “A golf course would do fine.”
The course at Johnny’s had always been well-maintained and the new landscaping team had done wonders with the rest of the property. She could put a rush on the inside workers and get a lot more of the interior finished in the next ten days. If they held Cosimo’s party at Johnny’s, she’d make sure the press was given a tour to show what her firm had done to the house. Mid-century modernism was a pet love of Palm Springs, of all Southern California these days, and was certain to get attention.
The publicity would be the kind of advertising she couldn’t afford, and enough of a plus to overcome the downside of the Mafia association.
The association was what she’d always worked to avoid, but what Johnny had done made it clear that she would never escape the Caruso connection. So now, by God, she was going to use it to her advantage.
If only he would agree. If only she could face him again, and again and again, until the job and the party were over.
“Carusos never back down,” she murmured to herself. She’d been doing that for years, backing down, backing away, hiding her true nature and turning from what she’d learned from her father.
But she was going to embrace his ruthlessness now.
She could face Johnny. And if she did, she knew he’d agree.
He wanted to get up close and personal with the Carusos after all, and here was his chance. Not to mention the fact that he was a gambler by trade.
Surely he would see that, in this game, everybody won.
Téa had turned into Boss-zilla, Rachele thought, watching the other woman supervise the placement of an Eames leather lounge chair and ottoman in Johnny Magee’s new home office. Though it was amazing what a little intimidation could do. In the past nine days she’d gotten out of the workers twice the hours and four times the labor. The only part of the property that wouldn’t look its best by party night was the murky lagoon with its crumbling retaining wall. Téa said she didn’t like the water feature anyway, and had ordered some temporary trellises to obscure it from view.
Maybe her astonishing results had something to do with way she looked. Gone were the dull and drab suits, and though rumor was that she’d been evening gown-shopping with Eve, her day wardrobe had gone in the other direction. Each morning she arrived on the job in a T-shirt and overalls and within minutes was elbows-deep in whatever project needed an extra pair of hands. Right now, a red streak slashed across her forehead like war paint and her usually perfect hair was a wiggly mass she’d tied back with a yellow twisty from a bread-bag.
“Rachele!”
Rachele jumped and hurried over to Boss-zilla’s side. “You roared?” The good thing about this manic Téa was that her mood kept Rachele too busy to get into her own over her father. She was still in a suite at the spa, and though Téa’s mom, Bianca, had told her dad where Rachele was living for the time being, she’d yet to make any long-term plans for herself.
The fact that her father had so readily accepted her absence made it pretty clear he didn’t love her. Now she figured he’d never loved anyone.
“Rachele, go get Johnny,” Téa said, tilting her head to look at the chair from another angle. “It’s time we settled the issue of that mirrored ceiling in the bedroom.” Then she glanced over at Rachele and grimaced. “Please.”
Sighing, Rachele turned and marched off. Being in the same space with Johnny and the boss was bound to give her more than something to think about. It was going to be a headache, because the tension between the two of them was as thick as cheesecake. Though not nearly as sweet.
Two weeks ago they’d clearly been lovers. Now it seemed as if they were enemies.
It made her wonder if her father wasn’t right about lo—
No! She didn’t know what had happened to sour her father on the emotion, or if she ever would know, but she wasn’t going to let his attitude ruin hers.
Entering Cal’s cozy bungalow only made her more determined to remain upbeat. He smiled at her from behind the gaggle of monitors on his desk. She smiled back, then jabbed her thumb in the direction of Johnny, who was stretched out on a recliner and reading from a stack of papers piled on his chest.
Though the bruises on his face had faded to a barfy yellowish-green, he still looked model handsome. No wonder Téa was in a nasty mood.
“The Steelers in four,” Rachele called out.
He didn’t look up. “Steelers aren’t playing this weekend.”
“The Diamondbacks then. I’m getting a vision that they’re going all the way to the championship.”
“Not in football,” Johnny replied. “They’re a baseball team and this year’s World Series is over. Now boogie, kid. We’re busy. You can flirt with Cal later.”
Since she already had out her cell and was phone flirting with him that very instant—HI QT—she ignored the dig. “I’m here for you, old man. Téa requests your presence in your house.”
He grunted. “My house? It hasn’t been my house in days. That woman has completely taken over thanks to the damn birthday party.”
Which she’d somehow leveraged Johnny into hosting. Rachele didn’t know how or why, but it must be juicy if their attitude toward each other was any judge. “She’s talking about getting rid of the mirrored ceiling in the bedroom again.”
The recliner went erect in one mighty thwump, scattering newspapers to the floor. “I’m going to end this discussion once and for all,” Johnny declared. “I have very fond feelings for that ceiling and she’s not gonna talk me into removing those mirrors. This time, the victor of the battle will be me.”
Unwilling to
miss the show, not even for the migraine that might ensue, Rachele sent a last message to Cal—BFN, bye for now—and hurried in Johnny’s wake.
Thirty-two
“I’ve Got You Under My Skin”
Perry Como
Como Swings (1959)
Cal peered through the open bedroom doorway as Johnny worked at his bow tie. “Why do you have curtains on the bedroom ceiling?”
Johnny glanced over at the other man, surprised and amused to see him in dark slacks and a white dinner jacket. The ubiquitous black high-tops didn’t look that out of place with them either. “I think Téa called them draperies. Since I was grinding my teeth at the time, I can’t be sure.”
Cal seemed to accept the explanation. “They frisked me at the gate when I came back from the newsstand. A couple of goons with dark shades and metal detectors.”
“Security. They’ll be checking everyone.” He looked at his assistant again. “You didn’t have to come tonight.”
“Both of us could still boogie out of here and go for pizza.”
Johnny shook his head and straightened his black bow tie, then shrugged into his own white jacket. “I have things to do here.” He was scheduled to give reporters a tour of the new interior of the house and he was planning on being all-out poetic in praise of the job done by the design firm Inner Life and its owner, Téa Caruso.
He owed her that.
And she’d been happy to tell him so, the day after he’d revealed he was Giovanni’s son. Frankly, he’d been shocked as hell to find her on his doorstep that morning, and then he could only admire her for cornering him so neatly.
The man who’d betrayed her trust couldn’t say no to her—not about hosting the party, not about covering those memorable mirrors with the ridiculous drapes—even as he couldn’t come up with any good excuse for the betrayal in the first place.
All the rationales he’d dredged up for himself during the past few weeks had never rung true, not even to himself. There wasn’t one legitimate reason that he’d gone so far as to take Téa into his bed. He was probably as pissed at himself as she was.
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