49. Tomas
49
TOMAS
A hostess leads us to a small private room in the back of the restaurant. We barely step into the doorway when a man jumps to his feet.
Ali’s father. Vidone Laurenti himself.
“Alina,” he booms. “Daughter.” He opens his arms wide and folds her into a hug. “I’ve waited so long to meet you.”
That’s a strange thing to say, given Laurenti just found out about her existence less than two weeks ago. I file that away for reference and focus my attention on Ali. She’s a little stiff in his embrace, and she pulls away as soon as she can without being obvious about it. “I’m so glad you were able to make it to Valencia. It was such short notice, so I thought?—”
“As if I’m going to pass up the chance to see you.” He directs his attention toward me and his eyes narrow. “Who’s this?” he asks, his voice significantly less warm than before.
“I’m Tomas Aguilar,” I reply, holding out my hand with a cordial smile. “Good to meet you, Signor Laurenti. When Alina told me you were coming to Valencia to meet her, I couldn’t stay away. I’m her fiancé.”
We’ve decided that, at least today, we’re going to approach this meeting without any threats. I’m not planning on telling him that I know who he is, and I’m not bringing up Gabriel’s support, either. Tonight, I’m going to give Alina’s father one chance to just be a parent, and it’s up to him if he takes it.
Sabrina Laurenti might have died in a car crash, but she wasn’t Laurenti’s only daughter. If he can put his agenda aside, he’ll have a chance to have Alina in his life.
“Her what?” Vidone’s face turns red. He pivots to Alina. “I thought you said you were single,” he says accusingly.
She wets her lower lip with her tongue. “No, I said that it was complicated.” We’ve rehearsed this answer, so the lie comes easily to her lips. “I wasn’t sure where our relationship was going, and then Tomas asked me to marry him. When that happened, I knew he had to come to Valencia. I wanted the two of you to meet.”
She smiles happily, and for a moment, my heart wants to believe it’s all real. That she’s delighted to marry me, that she cannot wait to spend the rest of her life with me.
But last night, when I more or less confessed my feelings, she didn’t say anything. And this afternoon, when I suggested naked wrestling in my house, she was on board.
She wants to keep things casual. How much more evidence do you need?
It’s not casual for me. I don’t know if it’s ever been. And if we want different things, we should part ways. As much as it’s going to wreck me to never see Ali again, I cannot be in another one-sided relationship. I was able to bounce back from Estela because deep down inside; I knew she was the wrong woman.
Ali though…
My dolcezza entered my life like a hurricane, and she’s laid my heart to waste. And even if she never feels for me what I feel for her, it’s worth it. Even knowing the outcome, I would do it all again. I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve had with her for anything.
Focus, Tomas. I drag my attention back to Laurenti, who is looking from me to his daughter and back at me again. He realizes I’m still holding out my hand, and he shakes it quickly. “Good to meet you, Tomas.” There’s a smile on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Alina, you didn’t tell me you were bringing your fiancé when we talked.”
“I didn’t?” She blinks innocently, which is again part of the plan. “I’m so sorry. I guess I was so overwhelmed that we were finally meeting that I forgot to mention him.” She offers him a conciliatory smile. “It’s not every day you find the father you never thought you’d meet.”
“No, it isn’t.” He finally gathers himself. “Where are my manners? Please, sit down, both of you.”
This isn’t my sort of restaurant. The furniture is starkly contemporary, all white leather and metal. Alina sits on a straight-back chair, her shoulders stiff and her jaw tense, and I settle on the chair right next to her and lace her fingers in mine. She squeezes my hand back.
I’m here, dolcezza. Lean on me.
In the light, I examine Laurenti. He looks like he’s in his mid-fifties. He’s lean, almost thin, average height, his black hair liberally peppered with gray. A pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his long nose. He’s dressed all in black. Add a clerical collar, and he’d pass for a priest.
I’m not the only one staring. Laurenti is examining his daughter with narrowed eyes. “How old are you?” he asks abruptly.
“Twenty-five.”
“That’s not—” He stops himself. “What can I get you to drink? Some prosecco to celebrate the engagement? Or cava since we are in Spain?”
When we were discussing how to approach this meeting, Alina asked me if her father would try to drug her again during dinner. I reassured her that Valencia is neutral ground, and Gabriel would consider any attempt to abduct her as an act of war. It all seemed a bit fantastical to her—no violence at all because Gabriel d’Este deemed it so—but she went along with it.
She still doesn’t trust him, though. “Just water for me, please,” she replies. “I’m not drinking tonight.”
He shoots her a sharp look. “Are you pregnant?” he demands.
Seriously? He might have contributed the sperm that helped give her life, but he’s been absent ever since. He hasn’t earned the right to ask her personal, probing questions. Alina seems to agree because her grip on my hand tightens. “No,” she says tersely. “I’m not.”
Okay, time to lower the tension. I lean forward, pasting an idiotic smile on my face. “I would love some prosecco or cava,” I tell Laurenti cheerfully. “Whatever you have open is fine.”
Dinner gets underway shortly after that. Laurenti seems to realize he’s doing a great job pissing off Alina, so he eases up during the meal. He keeps the conversation light and does his best to be charming and funny. It’s only when we’re lingering over dessert and coffee does he return to the topic of our engagement. “When’s the wedding?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “Have you set a date?”
“No,” Ali says. “We just got engaged.” She sips her coffee. “I’m sorry your wife couldn’t be here tonight. I’d have loved to meet her.”
“She’s very disappointed to miss you,” he replies. “Serena is on the board of the art museum, and there was a meeting this weekend that she couldn’t miss. She’s hoping there will be other chances to connect.” He attempts a paternal smile. “As do I.”
Ali glances down at her coffee. “Tell me about my mother,” she says softly. “How did you meet?”
“At the beach in San Vito Lo Capo,” he replies. “Do you know the town? It’s in northwestern Sicily. I was there for work. I went to the beach during a break, and there she was. Your mother.”
“She was young when the two of you met.”
He nods. “Seventeen,” he says. “I wanted her the moment I laid eyes on her. She was beautiful, with her hair blowing in the wind and laughter in her eyes.”
In his letter, Laurenti said he fell in love with Teresa the first time he saw her. Today, he says he wanted her, and that’s a lot closer to the truth. I spent a long time staring at the photo he sent Ali, looking for anything that might be a clue. Vidone was smiling widely into the camera, blissfully happy, but Teresa wasn’t. Her eyes were haunted.
I haven’t told Ali my suspicions. What’s the point? Her mother is dead, and she’s having a difficult enough time with things as they are. Telling her now would only cause her distress.
But it seems like I can’t keep my mouth shut. “She was seventeen,” I say casually. “How old were you?”
His grip on the wine glass stem tightens. “Thirty-one. There was an age difference, yes, and her parents didn’t approve of me at first, but I won them over.”
Ali is following the conversation, her forehead furrowed, but at the mention of her grandparents, she leans forward eagerly. “You know her parents? Do they live in Sicily too? I’d love to meet them. Do you know how I can get in touch with them?”
“They’re dead,” Laurenti says shortly.
Her face falls. “Ah well,” she says. “It was worth a try.” She gives him a forced smile. “What was my mother like as a young woman?”
“She cooked well,” he replies.
Two years together. Two of the happiest years of his life, if I’m to believe what he wrote in his letter. And the first thing that comes to mind to describe her is, ‘She cooked well?’
“She loved the water,” he continues. “She was always on the beach, staring out at the ocean.”
“That never changed,” Ali says sadly. “She loved the beach. We went to Ostia at least once a week. Even when she got sick, her best days were when I’d take her there. What did she cook?”
“I can’t remember. It’s been twenty-five years.” He sets his glass down. “Enough of the past. Tell me more about yourself, Alina. How did you and Tomas meet?”
“We own the gym together.”
“That’s interesting.” His eyes rest on me, a little too aware, and I wonder if he’s looked up when I bought my share of the gym from Simon Groff. Daniel promised the records wouldn’t be made public, and the lawyer is ferociously competent. “It’s not usually a good idea to mix business with pleasure. Do you like working with Tomas?”
Alina laughs for the first time. “We clashed at the start,” she admits. “A lot.” She exchanges a smile with me. “But Tomas won me over.”
Did I? Hope raises its head again, and I quell it. Ali and I really need to talk. At this point, I have no idea what’s real and what’s fake.
“But, of course, you won’t still be involved with it once you’re married,” he says. “I can’t imagine that fighting will be good for your body when you’re pregnant.”
Ali blinks, stunned. “I have no intention of giving up the gym. I won’t fight if I’m pregnant, of course, but that’s a long way off. I’m only twenty-five. I’m in no hurry for children.”
“And what does Tomas think of that?”
Is he trying to drive a wedge between us? Is that what this is? Wow, he is not good at it. Then again, Vidone Laurenti rose to power by being the most violent and unhinged man in the room. You take away his biggest weapon, and he is floundering.
“It’s Ali’s body,” I reply blandly. “Ali’s decision.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “Young people nowadays.”
Before he can launch into a rant about how my generation is failing him personally, Ali changes the subject. “I’m so sorry about your daughter,” she says softly. “You must miss her very much. Do you have any photos of her?”
Grief clouds his expression. He didn’t love her enough to let her marry whoever she wanted, but he did love her a little. Or maybe he’s just mourning his lost alliance with the Russians. “Yes.” He pulls out his phone and flips through it until he finds the photo he’s looking for. “This is Sabrina and Damir. They were going to be married.”
Ladies and gentlemen, Damir Malinov has entered the chat.
Alina looks at the screen and then passes it to me. I’ve seen photos of the Malinov heir before, so I focus on his former bride. Sabrina is pretty in a washed-out way. Malinov’s got his arm around her waist, and she’s smiling at the camera, but to my eyes, her smile looks more than a little strained.
To be fair, I’m not exactly an impartial observer.
I hand the phone back to Vidone. He looks at the screen once more before setting it down. “While you’re in Valencia, Alina, I’d like you to meet Damir.”
Of course you would. “Why?” I ask bluntly.
He gives me a hostile look and addresses his remarks to his daughter. “He’s a good friend of the family,” he says. “And he is grieving. I thought seeing you would bring him solace.”
“I understand,” Alina replies. “But I only have this weekend here, and I’d like to focus on us.”
Vidone’s expression softens. “I’d like that too.”
Nicely done. If I didn’t know who Vidone Laurenti was, I’d almost be convinced. He’s mostly doing a good impression of a father awkwardly meeting his grown daughter for the first time.
But I know how much hinges on his alliance with the Russians.
Laurenti desperately needs Alina to marry Damir Malinov. He’s met her now. He’s taken her measure. As soon as we leave here, he’ll be plotting his next move.
This is the kind of strategic chess game that Gabriel, Antonio, and Dante live for.
Me? I don’t care about the machinations. I have just one goal, and that’s to keep the woman I’ve fallen in love with safe.