Dark Justice

by Kristi Belcamino

  I tried to hide my disappointment.

  “I’ll keep digging,” he said.

  A bit later, I was about to get in the shower, when Dante called.

  “Yo, I’ll be there in an hour,” he said.

  “Where’s this meeting anyway?”

  “The restaurant. Skyview.”

  I already knew that.

  “Wear the Versace pantsuit I had sent to you.”

  “What pantsuit?” I glanced over my shoulder.

  “Should be in your closet.”

  I leaped up. “What the fuck? If I’m going to stay here, nobody better come in my suite when I’m not here. That’s bullshit.”

  And sure enough after I raced into the bedroom and glanced in the closet, I saw a freaking white pantsuit hanging from a hook.

  I thought of the weapons I had stashed when I first arrived. I’d used my Aunt Eva’s special lined suitcase to bring them from Europe. It had secret compartments and was made with a material that withstood any type of X-ray machine—total spy stuff.

  “It’s a hotel, Gia.”

  “Right now, it’s my home!”

  “Just tell them not to come in, no biggie.”

  I glared at the pantsuit.

  “Gia, be ready. I’ll be there at five sharp, and we’ll head upstairs.”

  I gave the offending pantsuit another look.

  “White’s not my color.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just wear the pantsuit.”

  I made a face and hung up. Fuck the pantsuit.

  I was admiring myself in the mirror when there was a knock at my door.

  I hated to admit it, but as usual, Dante was right.

  The white pantsuit looked fucking amazing on me. Who knew?

  It fit like a dream. I wore the supple blazer without anything underneath, and it was cut low enough to reveal some skin but no boob. Excellent. The flowing pants were perfect with my gold stiletto sandals, and I looped some thick gold chains around my neck. They gleamed against the bronze skin of my chest.

  Maybe white was my color.

  There was another knock.

  “Coming!”

  I scooped up my bag and headed to the door.

  When I flung it open, Dante stood there in a sharp black suit with a black shirt underneath.

  “Hello, sailor!” I said enthusiastically, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “You look positively edible.”

  “I’m gay, Gia,” he said dryly.

  “Whatever,” I said. I leaned over and licked his cheek.

  “Ew.”

  “Oh, please,” I said. And then I stepped back and twirled. “You done good, D. Real good. It’s hard to believe, but you’ve become even more of a fashion plate since you married Wayne. How much do the two of you spend on clothes anyway?”

  “Close to the GDP of a small country, I’d imagine,” he said without blinking.

  He stepped back to admire me and let out a low whistle.

  “Wow. I did nail it. Hit it out of the park. I might quit the restaurant business and start dressing celebrities for kicks.”

  I mock glared. “No way. You’re all mine. I’m your only Dress-Up-Barbie-Bitch. I don’t share.”

  “Thank God you listen to me,” he said. “At least most of the time.”

  “The only reason I’m not wearing my “Fuck Authority” T-shirt is because Rose stole it from me.”

  The first time we met with my father’s companies’ board, I wore the shirt. Dante was furious.

  Now, we both burst into laughter at the memory and then quickly sobered. I missed that girl.

  “What’s the news on Rose?” Dante asked, his brows knitting together.

  I exhaled and shook my head. “She’s alive. She was in Florida recently. She’s tapped into her inheritance, so I don’t have to worry about her starving to death.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Dante asked.

  “Yeah. I just miss her.”

  “She never calls?”

  I scoff. “No. Well, she did call Eva. That’s how I heard she was in Florida.”

  Dante reached over and enveloped me in a hug. “She is just working some shit out. It probably hurts too much to be in touch with you right now.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “I never pressure her in any way. I can’t think of anything I did to make her upset with me. I just don’t understand.”

  “She’s carving her way in the world, Gia,” he said. “That girl has gone through the worst sorts of hell. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just give her time. And love her.”

  “It’s impossible not to,” I said. “I just can’t help but worry about her and miss her.”

  “Normal.”

  He glanced at his watch.

  “Darn! We’ve got to scoot,” he said.

  “You’re so cute when you swear.”

  He rolled his eyes as I locked up behind us.

  We stepped into the elevator, and he held up a keycard to the scanner. When he did, a new floor I’d never seen appeared. “Skyview.”

  “That’s magical,” I said.

  “When we take over, we’ll give some people VIP cards to come during certain hours. We can program and issue cards for private events, we can hold high-level, top-secret business meetings. We will offer everything. We’ll be booked years ahead of time. It’s going to be awesome.”

  “I love it,” I said.

  “Now, this meeting is where I’ll introduce you to everyone as my colleague. Only a few people knew about our bid to buy the restaurant, so we’ll keep it under wraps.”

  “Fine,” I said. Then thought of something. “I hope there’s booze during the meeting.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why not?” I said in a pouty voice. “It’s at the restaurant, right? Restaurants have alcohol, right? If I would’ve known that, I would’ve ordered drinks from room service before I left. This is lame.”

  “Gia.” His voice sounded weary.

  “If I’m going to sit through a yawn-worthy committee meeting, I need some booze,” I said. “If I would’ve thought of it, I would have brought a flask and secretly poured it into my coffee. Come on, Dante. I need something to take the edge off. These types of things bore me to tears.”

  “What are you, twelve years old?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Fine. You can have a drink. One drink.”

  “Oh please.”

  “One. Drink.”

  I scoffed. “Sure. One drink.”

  The elevator doors whooshed open, and the first thing I saw was a fully stocked bar across the room. The second thing I saw was James sitting in his wheelchair.

  I froze. Dante froze and uttered a slight, surprised, “Oh.”

  James’s eyes met mine, and a huge grin spread across his face. He looked older but not much. His black hair was tinged with gray. Smile lines extended from his eyes. His mahogany skin was flawless otherwise. But his smile was contagious. I could feel the grin spreading across my own face. James! Here. Now. My James. A beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair stood behind him, holding onto the handles of his wheelchair somewhat possessively. I frowned. Where was his wife?

  I’d soon find out.

  “Well, I guess this isn’t going to be so bad after all,” I said and made my way over to James.

  Eight

  Charles watched her walk in, the bimbo in the white pantsuit.

  He’d heard she was some rich bitch joining the fundraising gala board.

  Fresh blood was what the board needed. Literally.

  He needed more victims. He needed an easy kill.

  She would be perfect.

  Then he saw her walking over toward the gimp cop in the wheelchair, and his heart raced. Were they friends?

  She leaned down and kissed the cop.

  Hmmm. The last thing he wanted was for the cop to have more motivation to solve the murders. If they killed this woman and she was the cop’s friend, it might provoke a larger inves
tigation than he wanted.

  Even from across the room, he could feel Nicoletta bristling at the intrusion from the brunette. He didn’t like that. Nicoletta was with the cop for one reason and one reason only—to make sure the cop didn’t suspect him.

  Nicoletta turned and met his eyes, and he knew all was well.

  Nicoletta fucking loved him. She just tolerated the cop, who wasn’t even a real man, anyway, was he?

  He’d never asked Nicoletta if they had fucked, because he couldn’t bear to hear the answer. Just like she never asked what he did with his dick when they were apart. I mean, obviously, she knew, but it was a forbidden subject.

  As he watched, one man after another came up to meet the bitch in the white pantsuit.

  He hated her on sight. She was the type of woman who would bust his balls if he said anything flirtatious to her. He could tell. He liked his women soft and feminine like his Nicoletta. She wasn’t afraid to be a woman. He could grab her ass and tits all he wanted and she liked it.

  He tried to hide his disgust with the other woman, standing there like she fucking owned the place. Bitch. He exhaled as someone came up to him, smiling. He stuck out his hand and responded to the greeting, turning his back on the scene across the room.

  He’d ask Nicoletta about the brunette later.

  Nine

  As I approached, I could feel the redhead’s eyes on me, but I ignored her.

  I only had eyes for James. We’d locked eyes. It felt like the rest of the room and the chatter had disappeared, and there was only this bubble with me and James in it.

  Walking across the room to him seemed to take an eternity.

  And then I was there. In front of him. I leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, and he curled his fingers in the back of my hair and kissed me on the lips. Then he grabbed both of my hands in his.

  I’m not gonna lie—sparks flew. It lasted about two seconds, but when I pulled back, my cheeks were on fire.

  “Long time no see, sailor.”

  “Gia Fucking Santella. You are a sight for sore eyes.”

  His grin was contagious. We just sat there for a few seconds beaming at each other like idiots.

  We were still holding hands. His wheelchair was tall enough that I only had to lean over a tiny bit.

  The strawberry blonde behind him cleared her throat.

  “Oh!” James said. “I’m so sorry. Gia Santella meet Nicoletta Van Cleef.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “The pleasure is mine,” she purred. Her voice was warm, but her eyes were cold as death. She didn’t like me. Fine. What else was new.

  I’d given up on caring whether other women liked me when I turned eighteen.

  “Nicoletta is playing the lead role in The Death of Engleberg.”

  “Impressive,” I said with a smile, having no idea if that was the right answer.

  She gave a delicate shrug. “It’s not my most challenging role, but it’s been entertaining so far.”

  “Great,” I said and then turned toward James. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about this schmaltzy opera singer’s career.

  “What in the hell have you been up to for the past decade,” I said.

  A shadow passed across his face. That’s when I knew.

  “Genevieve?” I asked in a small voice.

  I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and looked down.

  “I lost her to breast cancer five years ago.”

  “Oh god,” I said and leaned down to hug him. “I’m so sorry, James.”

  I breathed the words into his ear and he held me tight.

  “It devastated me and Janie.”

  I pulled back and searched his eyes. “That’s not fair. I’m so sorry.”

  I was also thinking, That’s why this strawberry blonde is eyeballing me. She’s territorial. She’s got her meat hooks into James.

  She wants to make sure I’m not a threat. Which I wasn’t. That ship had sailed a long time ago, honey. Me and James were destined to be friends. Even if the chemistry between us was off the fucking charts. It was interesting that with Bobby, the chemistry was good but it was more of a soul connection. With James, it was mostly the undeniable electricity between us. With Nico, it was both.

  James choked up telling me about Genevieve, so I gave him a few seconds before asking, “How is your daughter?”

  Thank God, his face lit up again. “She’s amazing. She just started her freshman year at Davis. She’s so beautiful and smart and kind, Gia.”

  “How could she not be? Look at her mama and papa,” I said in a low voice.

  Just then, Dante made an announcement for everyone to take a seat.

  I looked up and for the first time noticed the room we were in.

  The space was beautiful. Stunning. It possibly held the best views of San Francisco in the city. There was a 360-degree view broken up by three doors. One door was the elevator. I wasn’t sure what the other two were. Even the bar was set up against a window, the brilliant colors of the liquor bottles reflecting the light behind them.

  If you whirled in a circle, you’d see the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, the Bay Bridge, the South Bay, the Pacific Ocean and up closer, the city below.

  “Unfucking believable,” I said.

  Nicoletta shot me a wide-eyed look. I smirked. Miss Opera Singer was offended by the F-word? Just fucking wait.

  We took our seats at a banquet table that lined the window facing the Golden Gate bridge. I sat by Dante. James and Madame Butterfly sat at the other end of the table. An older gentleman sat on one side of me. He was very debonair and distinguished-looking, but he seemed frail.

  “Oliver Kingsley Hollingsworth at your service,” he said and bowed his lips to my palm.

  I raised an eyebrow and then fluttered my eyelashes. “Aren’t you the charmer? Giada Valentina Santella.”

  It was rare for me to whip out my full name, but something about this man and his own pretentious-as-fuck last name demanded it. Then I noticed the man beside him.

  “This is Charles Wellington,” the older man said.

  Charles stuck out his limp hand, and I shook it. He was a looker. He had swooping dark hair, full, voluptuous red lips, and a beak-like nose that only made him seem more aristocratic.

  “Charles has the lead role in The Death of Engleberg,” the older man said and puffed out his chest.

  “How lovely,” I said. “I just met Miss Von Beef.”

  Charles furrowed his brow and didn’t answer.

  Interesting. Maybe the two didn’t like one another. That could make some dramatic chemistry on stage. It could be really bad. Or really good.

  “Yes, Nicoletta is a good girl,” Hollingsworth said.

  I didn’t smile. What a fucking schmuck. Good girl? An accomplished professional opera singer was not a girl. I was biting my tongue and finally couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “You must mean ‘woman,’ my dear Mr. Hollingsworth,” I said and plastered a smile on my face.

  He guffawed. “Oh, yes. I forget that ‘girl’ is no longer acceptable. My apologies, Miss Santella. I’m eighty-nine years old, and sometimes it’s hard to keep track of how things change. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

  I smiled back—a genuine one this time and dipped my head.

  Old fart managed to charm the fuck out of me and defuse my prickly side.

  I kind of liked him for it.

  “It’s definitely a lot to keep track of,” I said. “I always try to be aware of my words so I don’t offend anybody, and yet, when I had a teenager at home, she’d point out about every other day something I’d been saying for years that was now offensive. It’s definitely hard to keep track. I appreciate your open-mindedness to my comment.”

  “But of course.”

  The man on the other side of Dante stood up and cleared his throat.

  “I think we’ve all had time to catch up, so I’d like to start the meeting,” he said. “As many of you kno
w, I’m Dick Carriger, vice president of the San Francisco Opera Association.

  He was a distinguished-looking man with long dark hair in a ponytail and wore a three-piece black suit with a purple tie.

  “Before we get started, however, I do want us to take a moment to remember Samuel Glass. He was found dead this morning, as most of you know. The police are investigating.”

  A murmur ran through the group. I’d nearly forgotten. Fuck. Oops.

  But there were no gasps of surprise, so I assumed everyone already knew about the man’s death. People bowed their heads. I didn’t. I didn’t know the dude. I noticed that Nicoletta didn’t, either. She was staring at Mr. Hollingsworth. It was so strange.

  Then Carriger spoke again.

  “I’d also like to introduce our newest committee member, Gia Santella.”

  He gestured at me and I smiled. “She will be taking over Tiana’s role as the head of the speaker and entertainment committee now that Tiana is on maternity leave and busy with those two bundles of joy. Welcome.”

  “Thank you,” I said. As soon as everyone looked away, I shot Dante an alarmed look. I already had an assignment? Nice of him to warn me.

  “Our first order of business,” Carriger said, “should, sadly, be on filling another now-vacant committee head. Would anyone here have time to take on Mr. Glass’s responsibilities? I know that’s asking a lot, but I think since he’d already organized most of the auction items, it would just be following up. Do we have any volunteers?”

  “I can do it,” a handsome man with a deep tan said. He met my eyes and I looked away quickly. I was not in the mood.

  At that point, I began to tune out the meeting.

  It was pretty damn boring. I tried hard to pay attention, but was really only interested in sliding over to the bar and pouring myself a drink. At one point Dante caught my eye, and I jutted my chin toward the bar. He shook his head in exasperation.

  There was a short break called, and I walked over, stepped behind the bar, and made myself a tall tequila straight up. I downed it and was back in my seat before the meeting began again.

  Finally, what felt like hours later, the meeting was over.

  After, while I looked longingly at the bar with all the booze, we said our goodbyes as people filed past where we stood by the elevator.