22. Time to collect on those favours
Once the police car is out of our driveway, I hurry back inside and call Nico. He answers on the first ring. “What happened?”
“Andrea’s been arrested for Mia’s murder. Taylor was just here.” I sound distraught even to my own ears. While I pace back and forth in the living room, our cooking dinner taunts me, the sauce boiling out of its simmering pot and plastering the counter the same colour as blood.
The sky decides it’s the perfect moment to plunge into thunder and drop torrential rain in our already lush garden. The rain patters loudly against the roof when Nico enters the house through the backdoor, drenched. His dark eyes hold a promise of pain that echoes in my soul.
“What do you need?” he asks, never one for useless words. At this moment, Nico seems younger than his twenty-six years. I can see in his eyes the steel determination, but he’s never had to make decisions without Andrea. His brother shielded him from the most difficult part of this life. Nico might be a killer, but he’s lost without his brother. I’ll be his strength.
“Send me DeRossi’s number. There are new recruits at the station, and…” My phone chimes with a text from Nico with the solicitor’s contact. I appreciate the sense of urgency. “Thanks. Two men were here with Taylor tonight and one of them, I just… I have a bad feeling about him. Can you look into that? Could you also tail Addams and Carmichael? Just checking where they go, who they see?”
It’s unclear who is pinning this murder on Andrea, but I don’t see many other options.
Nico nods and I continue. “We need to put a pause on the search for the missing personnel, at least until Andrea comes home. I’m gonna call on those favours I’ve accumulated over the years. Andrea will be with us within forty-eight hours.”
He hesitates, but walks closer to me and takes my hand into his. His dark eyes land on mine and he nods again, reassuring me without words that we can do it.
How I could ever think Nico was an unfeeling prick is beyond me. He just shared with one look all his brother means to him, and I’m more determined than ever to get Andrea back with us in record time.
The good thing about this mess is that Andrea’s record is clean. How he managed that considering all the illegal shit he sticks his fingers into is worth admiration. It’s something the magistrates and judges won’t be able to ignore. I’m hoping it won’t get to that and the custody officer will already give us bail. Then, we can have the charges dropped altogether before the court hearing.
I call on the solicitors and high-ranking law makers I know in London one by one, noting the ones who dodge my calls to repay them in blood later.
When I was in university with Lana, I spent more time in clubs and bars than on the benches of classes, but it gave me a network worth the headaches of all-nighters before exams. Some of these people I haven’t talked to in three years; some I sporadically checked in on to keep relationships alive for this very situation.
Shelly Clarke is the one I’m counting on. The blond bombshell who couldn’t stop hitting on me was working at a corporate firm specialising in representing political clients when we met. She’s now well on her way to become a penal judge and is as respected as she is feared.
“Giulia.” Her voice is low and sultry. “Tell me you’re back in the UK and ready to let me invite you to dinner.” I always refused to have her pay for our meals together. She’s a shark and would have held it above my head. She knows how to get what she wants.
“Not exactly, baby,” I reply, insisting on the playfulness of our interaction before I hold what I have on her over her head if she refuses to cooperate. That’s what happens when you ask your friend-in-the-mafia to ship you your own supply of Y for years. The drug our family makes and sells all across the Mediterranean Sea is hard to come by the UK. Lucky for Shelly, she has me.
“I need your help. My husband’s been arrested. He’s being wrongly accused of murder and I need you to get him bail and have the charges dropped. His solicitor is Mr. De Rossi, I think you know him.”
She does. She goes against him often in trials and she knows he’s a dog with a bone. They’re a match made in professional heaven and my key to Andrea’s freedom.
She whistles on the phone.
“De Rossi? Don’t tell me your husband is Capaldi’s prodigal son?” Humour tints her voice, and though it’s the last emotion on my range right now, I give her the banter she craves.
“Don’t tell me you got bad blood with my man, baby.”
“Not with him. With De Rossi, though? I dream of crushing his windpipe every now and then. You know how it is. So, you need me in West Hill?”
“Yeah, I need you in West Hill. He just got into custody. I want him out in less than forty-eight hours.”
“I’ll be there in the morning. Call De Rossi and meet me at Capaldi’s office. I know where it is, and it’s probably the most secure place for the conversations we’ll have. I’ll see you in the morning, bella.”
I thank her again and catch my breath for the first time in the past hour.
Cleaning the dining table and going through my routine doesn’t settle my nerves and the deep-seated feeling that we’re missing something. Nico’s gone for the night; the house sounds abandoned. No life moves through the walls. The air is stale; the corners draped in shadows make me jumpy and untethered.
When I glide into my bed, my gaze draws to the club seat where Andrea should be. His absence weighs heavy in the room, the faint smell of him is but a memory in the air. I’m tempted to go to his room and sleep in his bed, but I know he never sleeps there, so the sheets won’t hold his scent.
I get up and get to his room nonetheless, showering with his gel to get him on my skin. In his closet, I find a pair of his sweatpants and a hoodie and wear them to bed. It’s too small a comfort, but I need to feel him somehow. I didn’t imagine my fake marriage would lead me to miss my husband barely a few hours after he’s gone and yet, here I am.
* * *
Ibarely slept, tossing and turning all night, but when the morning light flowed through the room, renewed determination flared under my skin. I prepared for battle, painting my eyes black and my lips red.
I stand by the bay window in Andrea’s office in my fitted white suit embroidered with red crystals, the red blouse underneath a deep contrast, highlighting the makeup I wear like armour. Even in here, I can feel him. I see his tastes in the comfortable dark green designer sofa, the rattan chairs around a reclaimed wood table with epoxy resin on top. I sit in the thousand-dollar leather chair behind his desk, waiting for Shelly and De Rossi, my black heels tapping on the floor with impatience.
My phone dings with text messages.
Nico
One of the officers from yesterday wasn’t even a pig. Fake identity. He infiltrated the service two weeks ago. He’s gonna get what he deserves.
Me
What does that mean?
Nico.
RIP emoji
Me
Nico, are you seriously sending emojis right now?
Nico
Thumb up emoji
What a dickhead.
Nico
Carmichael’s still behaving. At Addams now. Nothing changed. News hasn’t travelled.
News hasn’t travelled yet, but I know Addams won’t give up the opportunity to gloat and probably call the entire media on this, whether he is the one responsible or not. We need to act fast. I’m not sure we’ll be able to salvage Andrea’s campaign, but we can work on a Public Relations plan for his reputation, making sure the accusation doesn’t stick too much.
Ever since yesterday, I’ve been thinking about what this will do to his political ambitions and the prognosis isn’t good. Whether he did it or not, this will remain a stain on his career. People don’t vote for accused murderers even if the charges were wrong. Sexual assault and battery, sure, especially if they’re white men, but murder is where they draw the line, I guess.
Me
Meet me at the office downtown. De Rossi and Shelly Clarke will be here soon.
Nico
Who’s she?
Me
A friend and your brother’s new lawyer. She’s a shark.
Nico shows up a few minutes later, ten minutes before Shelly and DeRossi arrive, her in a navy suit and heels higher than a man’s dick, and him, looking perfectly coiffed like he just came out of a magazine’s photoshoot with a dark suit and severe dark-rimmed glasses.
The introductions are tense, but I take the time to embrace Shelly. At 5’10, she towers over me and the heels make her taller than both Nico and DeRossi. I’m sure she uses that to her advantage every day.
Her help is precious and though we’re not best friends and haven’t spoken in months, it’s good to see a friendly face in a sea of foes.
“What about procedural error?” De Rossi asks and Shelly snorts.
Procedural error would mean the police drop the charge because the evidence is inadmissible in court. The issue is we don’t know yet what said evidence against Andrea is.
“Our focus should be on bail, De Rossi.”
“You’re focusing on the next hour when court is what matters.”
“Are you saying you’re okay with Capaldi going to jail while we wait for trial?” Shelly’s voice is humorous but her gaze is icy, her blond hair tied in a high ponytail and bright blue eyes adding to the Ice Queen aura she’s got going on. I forgot how stunning she looked.
It doesn’t hold as much sway as it did three years ago now that my axis has been tilted by a whiskey-eyed God, but I can appreciate her beauty, expanded by the air of authority she projects.
DeRossi eyes her warily but concedes, though the goal remains to ensure the charges are dropped.
I knew she was a shark, but Shelly seems to have a lot of sway. She gives a call to someone and manages to get herself a hearing with the custody officer. He’s the one who’ll decide if Andrea gets bail. The meeting is planned for the next day at eight am.
Anxiety and fear linger at the back of my throat, but the weight on my shoulders eases to a bearable point. DeRossi excuses himself for the day.
“You okay?” Shelly asks and for the first time since I’ve known her, concern spreads over her features.
“Not really. But today’s been productive. I trust you with tomorrow’s hearing.”
She nods and purses her lips, then glances back at me. “Wanna talk about it?”
Yes, I do want to talk about it.
But not with her. There’s only one person I need right now.
“Thank you for offering, but I’m gonna head home. Can I walk you out?”
When she’s gone, I dial the person I love most.
“Hey G,” Lana answers on the first ring.
“Hi.” My voice trembles with emotion I barely dare speak into existence.
“Oh fuck, what happened?”
She always knows. Lana and I grew up together, as close as sisters. When my father neglected me and focused all his attention on my brother, Lana was my solace.
Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and a sob escapes my lips. “Andrea’s in jail.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“He’s being framed.”
“I’ll send you all my contacts for lawyers in the UK. Maybe I can even ask Maitre Duomo to help. I’m not sure he knows much about UK crime law, but that man knows more people than he leads on.” She sounds frazzled and speaks a mile a minute, ready to jump in and save the day as she always does. But this time, there’s nothing she can do. “Who’s doing this? Who do I need to kill?”
“It’s okay,” I snort, relishing in my cousin’s outrage. “I got Shelly on the case and Andrea’s solicitor. He’s good.”
“Shelly, huh?” she asks knowingly. “Bombshell-Shelly? That Shelly? The same Shelly you were too afraid to get involved with because she reminded you of your ex?”
I bristle at the mention of my ex. That bastard got what he deserved but years later, the memory of how much control he held over me makes me shiver in disgust. Not only for him, but also for me, for allowing it to happen. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I was sixteen. It wasn’t my fault.
“Yeah, that Shelly. She’s still hot.”
“But?” Lana teases, urging me to say more.
“But there’s someone else,” I answer truthfully, almost shy at my admission. Knowing what Andrea means to me and admitting out loud, even to Lana, are two very different things. But I can’t lie to myself or to anyone anymore.
“Fuck, those men are like catnip, aren’t they?” She should know, Andrea’s cousin Pierce claimed his seat as Heir of his family despite hating the mafia, just so he could marry her. Then he killed his own uncle to protect her.
“Yeah, they fucking are.”
“You want to talk about him?”
I tell her how much I’ve fallen for my husband. How I tried to make his life miserable, fucking up his bike, snapping at him all the time. How I got addicted to his scent, to his cooking, and to knowing he watches me sleep.
“That’s fucked up and sweet at the same time,” Lana laughs.
I keep sharing all the things I love about him.
Love.
Do I love him?
I sure don’t want to spend another night without him watching me. Watching over me. His absence is like a hole in the roof of our home. It slowly deteriorates the interior when the harsh storms come down to wreak havoc on what we built.
Lana and I talk for hours. I get a pathetic sandwich delivered to the office and almost cry when I gulp it down, reminded that I’m not eating food Andrea prepared for me.
When she hangs up to go to sleep, I mechanically walk to the bathroom adjoining Andrea’s office. His scent is faint in the space, but I smell it nonetheless and another wave of longing seizes the edges of my heart.
I don’t want to go to my empty home and sleep in my bed without Andrea, so I shower and decide I’ll settle for the couch in his office. It looks comfortable enough and if I’m sure I can find a blanket hidden somewhere. Andrea sleeps anywhere but in his bedroom, so there should be everything I need here. He’s a workaholic, no way he never slept here before. The thought comforts me.
I open the cabinet in the bathroom and discover a wardrobe. Two neat suits and dress shirts hang from the rack, and I pick one up to cover my body. It swallows me whole and makes me feel closer to him. The soft fabric caresses my skin almost as smoothly as he would and my body responds, my nipples pebbling to high peaks.
Glad to know my horny ass is still alive and well in this dire situation.
Get a fucking grip.
I open a drawer, hoping to find boxer shorts I can sleep in. Nico can bring me a change of clothes for tomorrow. I’m not too happy about him going through my underthings but dire times call for dire measures.
My eyes land on a tee-shirt that looks too small to be Andrea’s. It’s a grey oversized cotton tee-shirt with a pocket on the breast. Peeking from the pocket is the head of a cat. If you pull though, the cat’s paw is drawn as the universal middle finger.
My smile takes up my whole face, knowing Andrea got extra clothes for me here, just in case. In case of what, I’m not sure but the idea is so thoughtful. Fuck him for being so fucking perfect. I’m barely holding on by a thread. Without being here, he manages to do something to make me melt. To own my heart.
I look closer to the drawer and it’s full of clothes for me. Other tee-shirts and blouses that don’t need ironing, a pair of yoga pants and a pair of jeans, underwear, even golden hoops and skincare products I use at home.
I guess I won’t need Nico’s help then. My outfit for tomorrow will be casual but when he’ll see me in it, he’ll know, and the perspective makes the butterflies in my belly somersault with excitement.