by Soraya Naomi
“I did?” I thought I only mentioned that to Michael, but I could have.
“Yes, and it just so happens that Luca’s realtor has an apartment for sale at the Ivory.”
“The high-rise across from the Blackhall? I think that’s a little out of my price range.” I’m sure I can’t afford an apartment located on one of the most expensive streets in the heart of the Loop.
“This is where we come in. See, the apartment isn’t listed yet and the owner needs to get rid of it ASAP, so you could get it for a very low price. It’s a one-bedroom boutique style apartment with high ceilings, a large terrace, and floor-to-ceiling windows. And Luca knows how much you make; he said you can afford it if we have the realtor negotiate for you.”
This gets my attention. “Really?”
“Yes, this is why it’s good to have connections. We could go look at the apartment, and if you want it, the realtor can buy it and get the paperwork done.”
“But I’d have to check with the bank to verify how much I can borrow; they’ll probably want to see my contract with Palermo.”
“The realtor will take care of all of that and file all the paperwork for your loan. Don’t worry, he’s a realtor for the rich and famous and is used to handling everything. All you have to do is view the apartment, and Ivo will take care of the financial details.”
“Wow, decadent. I’m going to become lazy this way,” I say, feeling the first smile in days pulling at my lips and realizing that I want to move out yesterday.
Also, apartment hunting will make me forget Michael – I hope.
“The realtor is here too, which is why I came to get you,” Fallon adds as she looks over my shoulder.
I turn around just when a tall man with a brown crew cut and a neatly trimmed beard comes up to us, wearing a silver-grey suit that shows off his lean frame. I can’t deny he’s not bad on the eyes as he holds out his hand, and I accept it.
“Hey, you must be Brielle. I’m Ivo, Fallon’s realtor. She informed me you might be interested in the apartment at the Ivory?”
This is all going fast, though it doesn’t bother me. “Yes, I’d like to see the place.”
“I can make an appointment for Monday.”
“Before two p.m. because that’s what time my shift starts.”
“Okay.” He fishes out his phone. “Can I have your number?”
“Sure.” I hold out my palm, and he frowns before handing it over so that I can type in my number.
Then I call myself once and hang up, returning it and explaining, “So that I have your number.”
He grins. “Maybe I didn’t want you to have mine yet?”
“If so, you’re not a good realtor, and I’m not sure I should work with you.”
He barks out a laugh as I note Fallon glancing curiously between him and me, and Ivo winks at me.
Oh, he’s flirting with me!
Although I feel foolish for not recognizing it, I do smile back, wanting to chase away the void inside me. Then I decide to bury my unresolved feelings for a man who’ll never be mine because he’s already Rachel’s.
Unfortunately, I don’t forget Michael, and when he does finally come back at the worst possible time, everything has changed.
CHAPTER 24
Brielle
I LEAN MY ELBOWS ON the railing of my spacious terrace as I stare at the sweeping view of the pier and the yellow city lights of the Loop. The April breeze brushes my cheeks, but I shiver a little since I’m wearing my black strapless dress that ends at my shins.
Swiveling around, I move past the turquoise lounge set to the sliding glass door that leads into the living room of my one-bedroom apartment. I walk into my large kitchen, a baker’s dream that’s equipped with two ovens, and my heels click off the grey tile floor as I let my fingers wander over the marble countertop.
Sometimes I still can’t believe how lucky I was that Ivo purchased this apartment for a good price within four weeks after viewing. As promised, he took care of my loan, which I questioned at first, but Fallon told me not to worry, because my income is high enough, and she was right. I’m starting to learn that connections are very important in this world, especially in this decadent Chicagoan world I’m now a part of.
So now that I’ve lived here for two weeks, I feel more at home in Chicago. The lively street that’s jam-packed with galleries, restaurants, and clothing stores make this a posh area, and it’s also great to have Fallon living close by. I owe her a lot for assisting me with the realtor and getting this place decorated quickly. Just as I’m thinking about how thankful I am to her, she messages me.
Fallon: Where are you?
Brielle: On my way to Palermo.
Fallon: Okay, see you soon.
Grabbing my keys and denim jacket from the island, I go through the arched kitchen doorway and into the entry where I stop at the large window and look at the glass high-rise across the street. As always, I check the apartment on the left side of the fifth floor of the Blackhall, but the lights remain off, like they have been for six weeks.
While I often wonder what happened to Michael, I’ve never dared to message him, and he’s never contacted me. No one at Palermo speaks about him, and I get the sense that he resigned from his job. Nonetheless, I’ve hidden my heartbreak over my one-night stand with him and haven’t asked anyone about his whereabouts, forcing myself to move on.
At this point, I just want to forget how I foolishly fell for him, so as I gaze at Michael’s dark apartment, I slide off my bracelet and go into my bedroom where I put it into my jewelry box. It simply reminds me too much of Rachel, Michael, and my mom, and since my mom’s in my heart, I really don’t want the constant reminder of Michael. Grabbing a gold bangle, I slip it on my arm because I’m accustomed to wearing something on it.
Then I leave my apartment and take the elevator downstairs to walk outside. The bright sun hangs low in the sky, so I put on my aviator glasses and set out toward Palermo. However, as usual, I get the uneasy feeling that I’m being watched. But when I peek around, no one’s paying me any attention. This sense, which has never gone away, worries me, yet this is such a safe neighborhood that I keep tamping it down.
After I round the final corner, I reach Palermo’s red carpet. Stepping inside, I greet the host, who smiles at me, before I carry on through the noisy restaurant toward the second floor, the scent of spices wafting around.
I stop at the VIP area’s main table where everyone’s gathered with Fallon sitting at the end, waving at me, but I get distracted by one-and-a-half-year-old Amalia, Adriano’s daughter, as she jumps up from his lap and reaches for me.
“Blielle!” she shouts cheerily, and I hug her tiny body to me, loving how well she knows me since I’ve joined Palermo’s Tuesday management dinners with their families.
In truth, this isn’t just a workplace. This is a place where we all look out for each other, and they’ve welcomed me. I happened to attend once with Fallon, and then Adriano and Luca invited me to join every week because I barely knew anyone in the Loop.
“Where’s your date?” Adriano asks, and when he scoots back the chair next to him, I sit down and remove my jacket.
“On the way,” I answer as Fallon beckons me over and looks...panicked.
But she’s at the other end of the table with four people between us, so I motion that I’m coming.
Amalia climbs off my lap when Logan’s son, five-year-old curly blond Adam, hops up to us. But he passes Amalia, who runs after him and then falls on her knees, her lips puckering. Adam stops yet hesitates, and with the cutest fake glare, he drags his feet back and helps her up clumsily. Amalia grins from ear-to-ear and clutches his hand as they take off. Obviously, she has a crush on him, and he’s surprisingly sweet to Amalia.
At that moment, I glimpse at Fallon who jerks her head forward. I look back and my breath lodges when a tall, imposing man in a fitted black suit with a white dress shirt and thin black tie comes sauntering up to us, stopping right at o
ur table. The stubble across his angular jaw doesn’t hide the bronzed tan of his skin, and his hair is a perfect disheveled mess, which gives him his customary lethal edge. He’s schooled his expression, but then he glances down, his ashy-grey eyes piercing through me, and the world seems to slow and stop.
When I least expect it, I come face-to-face with the man who captured my heart and broke it before we even got a chance to get started.
CHAPTER 25
Michael
I DROP MY LUGGAGE ON the floor and hit the switch next to the door to light up my apartment after being in California for six weeks. Letting out a relaxing breath, I head over to the terrarium and scan the greenery and soil, searching for my chameleons that Fallon took care of, and I catch one that’s turning green, positioned on a branch.
“Glad to see you’re still alive,” I comment, grabbing my suitcase.
As I move toward the cedar staircase that runs up to the mezzanine level, I notice a huge palm in a terracotta pot by the windows. It’s situated between the two seating areas and fits in perfectly in the living room. Knowing that it’s probably Fallon’s doing, I smile inwardly, realizing I’ve actually missed my home.
After I climb the stairs to the bedroom, I take my suitcase into the closet and open it. Sitting on top of my black dress shirts is the book titled Regret is Useless, the pages worn since I’ve read it back to back. I set it on the glass table where the bracelet lies. Picking it up, I finger the silver, thinking about two women instead of only one. And all the days of being at the retreat pay off because I determinedly slide open the drawer to store the bracelet inside before closing it again.
I have to put the past to rest, Rachel, but I won’t forget you.
Then I continue to unpack my clothes and hang them on the rack. I take out all my black dress shirts and toss them into the laundry basket before removing my jacket and black shirt and putting on a white one – there’s no need for all black anymore. Lastly, I grab my gun before I walk out, and as I pass the full-length mirror, I see my old self.
A man who doesn’t feel regret or overthink things.
A man who’s back in control and needs to know how the Syndicate is doing.
So with a different mindset than six weeks ago, I exit my apartment to head to Palermo where the men are having dinner.
AS I ASCEND PALERMO’S staircase toward the second floor, I almost run into a man who’s fixated on his phone and blocking my path. When I stop, he stops too, showing me a scowl. At that moment, I note something familiar in his thin features, yet I don’t exactly recognize him. Slowly, I cock my head, wordlessly commanding him to get out of my way, and he steps around me, speeding downstairs as I continue up. But as soon as I round the corner, my gaze lands on a curvaceous blonde situated at the head of the table where the Syndicate members are seated.
First, what’s Brielle doing at our weekly dinner?
Second, stop staring...now.
Unfortunately, I’m unable to look away from the graceful way she’s sitting in a strapless black dress that’s snugly wrapped around her body and shows a lot of skin. Her legs are elegantly crossed, dragging my attention to the luscious bend of her hip. Her hair is flawlessly swept over one shoulder. Her lipstick is a deep shade of red that accentuates her bow-shaped lips. There’s something different about Brielle’s attitude, something more poised and mature.
When I’m halfway there, she turns her head and our eyes meet and hold – a lustful memory of me fucking her on my apartment floor flashes in my brain. All the inane laughter and chattering drift into nothingness; however, the second I reach her and am about to greet her, a man appears beside me, bends low, and kisses her cheek, very close to her mouth – an intimate gesture. Then I recognize Ivo, the Syndicate associate, in his silver-grey suit, but what the hell is he doing being so friendly with her?
As he straightens and dips his chin to me, I simply stare at Brielle, arching a brow, and she glances between us nervously. I wasn’t prepared for this. And when I notice Ivo opening his mouth to ask me something, I move toward Fallon and Luca at the other end of the table, saying hello to Adriano, Henry, and Logan as I pass them. I have to find out what’s been going on here.
As I reach Fallon and Luca sitting next to each other, she speaks in an accusatory tone, “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d be back today?”
Ignoring her question, I roll my neck, trying to hold on to the calmness I’ve recently found. “Apparently, I’ve missed some things.” I claim the seat beside her and unbutton my suit jacket.
Fallon watches me carefully, disregarding my comment, and after taking a bite of her chocolate cake, she remarks, “You look good, Michael.”
“I feel good.”
“So the retreat in California helped?” She leans to the side so that we can hear each other over the clanking of cutlery and the murmurs of others.
“Yes,” I reveal in all honesty, which makes her smile.
“Do you want me to say it?” I match her grin as she nods. “You were right: talking about what happened helped a lot.” I don’t disclose that the book Brielle gave me had the most insightful advice with paragraphs that Brielle had highlighted that taught me to let the past rest.
“Thank you for acknowledging my intelligence,” Fallon teases, and I bark out a laugh, detecting Brielle peeking sideways at me, although she quickly moves her focus to Ivo when I settle my gaze on her.
Meanwhile, I dismiss the uneasiness crawling up my neck and carry on talking with Fallon, “The therapy was difficult at first. The therapist annoyed me.”
“Everyone annoys you a first,” Fallon points out, amused.
“True,” I concede. “But she grew on me and did start to make sense. She told me to accept that it was an accident and that once I found closure for what happened with Rachel, that didn’t mean I would forget her or that I hadn’t atoned for my sins, which was funny because I couldn’t say anything about our Syndicate life, so sometimes I had to laugh at her innocence. I don’t need to atone for my sins; I just wanted to move on.”
“Oh, god, I was afraid you’d laugh during therapy.”
“But I kept it inside, and I listened to her advice – eventually. I learned to accept what happened, like I do with the other criminal aspects of our lives, except somehow, I couldn’t with Rachel because I was still stuck in New York. The therapist said that I’m a good man, which also made me laugh. But at the end of the six weeks, I finally accepted that I did protect Rachel and it was her choice to be with me. So now I’m normal again,” I say, joking, and she rolls her eyes. “By the way, contrary to what you said, I wasn’t an ass to people who didn’t deserve it.”
“Wow, you’ve taken a lot of my advice; however, I was referring to someone else when I said that.” She glimpses at Brielle and then back at me and adds, “Did you also get over whatever that was?”
Lazing back, I cross my ankle over my knee. “There was nothing to get over.”
“Hmm,” is all she says.
Making the moment awkward, Brielle and Ivo stand up and approach us.
“I need a drink,” I grumble, and Fallon stifles a chuckle.
Ivo observes me while I ignore him. Though Brielle seems to be intent on ignoring me, because she avoids my gaze as she crouches next to Fallon’s chair and speaks to her. I keep studying her as Ivo frowns at me, which slowly becomes a sneer. But I don’t give a shit about him.
Somehow, the fact that Brielle disregards me bothers me, and my mind swirls with questions when Ivo entwines their fingers. At that exact moment, she looks up and our eyes lock for a split-second with no one catching it, yet she pulls back her hand and ends her talk with Fallon. I keep wondering what the nature of their relationship is and how the hell this came about.
Then Brielle rises and looks directly at me, yet I have a clenched fist and thank god, a waitress passes me, so I order, “A scotch on the rocks.”
The waitress greets cheerily, “Hey, Michael. You’re back.”
&n
bsp; Peering up, I register Marliya’s auburn hair, and since she welcomes me nicely, I answer, “Yeah. I just returned to the Loop.”
She collects the glasses on the table and relays my order to another waiter, who nods and walks over to the second floor bar. “How was your vacation?”
“Relaxing,” I play it cool but grip my neck when it begins crawl, and as I look to the side, I see that Brielle’s aiming a dirty scowl at me.
I squint at Marliya and then back at Brielle, wondering what prompted the look she gave me. That’s when I realize that Brielle may have been on the verge of saying something to me when I started talking to Marliya. However, when I open my mouth, Brielle’s lips flatten into a thin line and she turns on her heel, leaving me gaping after her – this is the first time I’ve ever been blatantly dismissed by a woman.
Thank god, that’s when the waiter comes to hand me my scotch, so I take a huge gulp and set it on the table with a bang, making Fallon and Luca frown at me.
Marliya gets called and hurries away as I rotate my glass on the table and watch Brielle strutting toward the first floor bar. Then I address Adriano and Luca seated opposite me, “Can someone fill me in how that happened?” I point downstairs toward Brielle and Ivo with my glass.
Luca finishes his drink before replying, “You told us to get her an apartment. I executed your plan.”
“I didn’t mean via him.”
Adriano and Luca’s eyes narrow as Adriano adds, “Since he’s an associate, we were able to forge the paperwork and get her an apartment quickly. What’s the problem?”
I never liked Ivo; it has nothing to do with her. “Nothing,” I say, wanting to know everything about the exact nature of their relationship but knowing damn well I should stop talking about her, which fails since I ask, “Did she question how the financial details were handled?”
“Not really, she did find it odd at first, but I told her we got the apartment for half of what was actually paid or else she would have known she couldn’t afford it with her salary.”