Chapter 33
33
T o Leslie’s surprise, instead of leaving the library, Bella plopped down next to Leslie on the couch. Her eyes held a touch of rebellious spark, hinting at the complex mix of emotions that adolescence often brought. She was close, closer than she needed to be, but Leslie didn't mind.
"Hey," Leslie greeted her. She didn't miss the quick glance the girl shot towards the doors Alex had exited from.
"Hi," Bella replied, her eyes trailing back to Leslie. There was curiosity there, mingled with an apparent interest that Leslie found endearing.
Bella looked around, spotted something in the bookcase, then got up to retrieve it. When she sat down beside Leslie again, she opened what appeared to be a photo album. Leslie pretended interest in the book she had on her lap even though she practically strained her eyes to look at the photos that Bella was flipping through.
She realized the photos were almost exclusively of one woman. At one point, Bella stared at a large picture of the woman long enough for Leslie to truly take her in.
The woman had dark hair and light blue eyes. She had the type of smile that drew you in and made you want to share in whatever secret joy she possessed. Her eyes weren’t just pretty, they were eyes that had seen laughter, tears, love, and loss, yet retained an undeniable sparkle that was enchanting.
Her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, fell gently around her face, enhancing her ethereal beauty. It was effortlessly styled, with loose curls softly framing her radiant face, giving her an allure that was both sophisticated and approachable.
She was beautiful, yes, but more than that, she was vibrant, alive, and radiant in a way that was deeply compelling.
“She’s my Aunt Mia,” Bella said and Leslie’s gaze jerked up to hers.
“Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”
“It’s okay. I don’t care and neither would Aunt Mia.” Her eyes grew distant, lost in memories. "She's dead."
The weight of Bella's statement cast a hushed shadow over the library and Leslie immediately felt the young girl’s pain. She offered a gentle nod, an unspoken promise of understanding and silent condolences. Bella's lips parted, her mouth opening as if to let loose a torrent of words, then abruptly shut.
"Did you spend much time with your aunt?" Leslie asked tentatively, careful not to push too hard, yet driven by an instinctive need to comfort and understand.
Bella seemed to consider this, her gaze flitting around the room before landing on a photograph nestled amongst a myriad of others on a nearby shelf. She rose from her chair, crossing the room to gently pick up the picture frame. Her fingers traced the edge of the photograph lovingly as she mustered the courage to speak.
"Yeah... but I was pretty young. Grandma reminds me of the good times we had though. We used to do fashion shows in her bedroom with her clothes.” Bella let out a soft chuckle, a touch of warmth seeping back into her voice. "Grandma said I always ended up tripping over her heels. Aunt Mia would laugh and call me her little 'fashion disaster'."
There was a pause as Bella's eyes clouded over with reminiscence. A sad smile danced on her lips, a clear testament to the deep love she held for her departed aunt, or at least the spoken memories of her.
"Sounds like you two had a lot of fun together," Leslie commented, her voice gentle.
“We did. I wish…I wish I remembered more of her, but I was only eight when she died.” A mix of emotions fluttered across her face – sadness, longing, and a hint of something else... caution, perhaps? Her lips parted as if to continue, but then she seemed to reconsider, shutting her mouth firmly and casting her eyes down to the photograph she was still clutching.
Leslie watched her closely as Bella set the album down and put the frame back where she’d found it. She picked another book from the shelves. Hesitantly, she held it out to Leslie. “Have you ever read this?”
Leslie recognized the high-end fashion publication. “I have. So you do have an interest in fashion?”
Bella nodded.
Leslie smiled and opened the familiar book. “This is one of my favorite pieces in here. Look at this," she said, gesturing to an avant-garde gown with a complex silhouette. "I love how this designer isn't afraid to play with structure and form. See how this tiered ruffle skirt is asymmetrical? It breaks convention, but still maintains an exquisite balance."
Bella's eyes flickered to the page, studying the image with interest. "The colors are bold too," she said, pointing at the vibrant shades of red and gold woven into the fabric of the dress, "Not many designers could pull this off without it looking tacky."
Leslie grinned, appreciating the insightful observation. "That's true. It takes a lot of skill to use bold colors in a way that complements the design rather than overpowering it. This designer does it well."
“Cool,” Bella said. She sat down next to Leslie again.
Eager to keep the conversation flowing, Leslie continued. "When I'm working on a collection, I often find myself drawn to the textures first. I love how the right fabric can completely transform a design." As she spoke, she found herself sketching imaginary patterns in the air, her passion for her craft shining through.
“You make designing sound not just interesting but fun."
Encouraged by Bella's growing engagement, Leslie talked about her design process, recounting the joy she felt when her ideas transformed from abstract thoughts to tangible creations. Bella chipped in, sharing her own experiences with the fashion she wore.
Bit by bit, their conversation unwrapped layers of common ground, drawing Bella out of her shell.
“Who's your favorite designer, Bella? If you had to choose, I mean."
The teenager gave a slight, almost shy shrug. "I don't know much about designers... but I saw a runway show on YouTube once. The designer was... Elie Saab, I think. His gowns were beautiful. Flowy and embellished with lots of intricate beadwork."
Leslie’s eyes lit up at the mention of the renowned designer. "Oh, Elie Saab is a master of detailing. His work is the epitome of elegance and sophistication. He has a unique way of making each piece feel like a fairy tale. Would you like to wear one of his gowns one day?"
A faint blush crept onto Bella's cheeks as she looked away. "Maybe... I mean, who wouldn't?"
"I bet you would look stunning in one of his creations," Leslie said warmly.
A shy smile played at the corners of Bella's lips. "Thank you," she said quietly. "That would be...nice."
As they continued to share and laugh over outrageous fashion faux pas, Leslie saw the same special spark in Bella’s eyes that she’d seen in the pictures of her Aunt Mia.
How did the woman die?
And had Alex known her?
Alex still hadn’t returned when Renee suddenly appeared at the library doors, her face tight with worry. She launched into rapid-fire Italian, her words tumbling over one another in a rush. The girl shot Leslie a fleeting, apologetic glance before getting up. “Bye, Leslie,” she said before saying something to her grandmother and leaving.
“I’m sorry if she bothered you,” Renee said.
“Oh she was no bother at all. She was keeping me company and we were having a wonderful conversation about fashion.”
Renee nodded just as Alex appeared. They spoke in Italian. Alex looked over at Leslie then winked. “If Leslie said she and Bella were having fun, she really means it. Don’t worry.”
Renee sighed, smiled again at Leslie, then said, “Oh! I almost forgot. The things you ordered are here, Alex. Let me get them for you.”
When Renee left, Leslie asked, “Is everything okay with your friend. Luca?”
Alex’s expression didn’t stiffen so much as go blank. “He’s digging into the men who attacked us. He has some information but he’s pursuing more.”
“Can you share what he knows? Are they enemies of Branden?”
Slowly, Alex came to sit beside Leslie. “I was hoping to have more information before I shared this with you, but you deserve to know. Leslie, the men who attacked us were with the Russian mob and they were hired by Lucy’s stepfather, Judge Ed Pearson, and his cohort, Stephen Anderson.”
At Alex’s shocking words, Leslie’s heart galloped.
“The Russian mob?”
Her mind raced, trying to reconcile the image of what she imagined the Russian mob would entail—shadowy figures, relentless pursuits, and unforgiving brutality—with the pictures she’d seen of Pearson and Anderson in the news. The distinguished looking men looked like your average politicians, so it had been hard enough imagining Pearson doing what he did to Lucy. Now she was trying to picture the man exchanging cash with members of the mob.
“Why send them for me?” Then understanding spread through her. The Russians had referred to her as Alex’s girlfriend. Alex had been the one to rescue Lucy from Pearson’s clutches. “This is payback? Revenge on you through me? He was going to kill me because he thought it would destroy you?”
Alex took her hands. “It would kill me, Sunshine. But we don’t know for sure he wanted to kill you. He might have wanted to use you as leverage. Make me or Logan work the system from inside, lose evidence, discredit Lucy, that type of thing. But regardless of what his motives were, he failed to hurt you, and I’m so fucking thankful for that.”
Leslie took in a deep shuddering breath. “He only failed because you were on your way to me. If you hadn’t shown up…”
“But I did show up. And now we’re here together. You’re safe. And soon this will be over.”
Leslie frowned. “Is that what your friend told you? That this will be over soon?”
With a final squeeze, Alex dropped her hands and sat back. “He said he’s in talks the people involved.”
“The…people…?” Leslie shook her head. “Wait a second. This Luca. He’s in talks with Pearson?”
“No.”
“Then with the Russian mob?”
Slowly Alex nodded.
“But how? How can that be? Unless…” Suddenly, Leslie looked around them. She remembered how heavily fortified the compound was. The amount of wealth it would take to secure it and upkeep this luxurious paradise.
Renee. Nico. The girls. They were Italian.
And Alex seemed to speak that language fluently.
She stared at him, never believing in a million years that she’d ask Alex what she was about to ask him.
“Alex, are you part of the Italian mafia?”
At first, Alex looked offended. Then he looked amused. “I’m not a mafioso, Leslie.”
“But these people. Your friend….”
“ I’m not in the mafia, but Luca is.”
And he said that so calmly. As if he wasn’t referring to being friends with someone in organized crime.
“How do you know him?”
A wary expression took over Alex’s face. “Our paths crossed when I was in the military.”
“Your paths crossed, but also yours and his family’s? Renee. Nico. The girls?”
Alex shook his head. “Marie wasn’t born. Bella was a toddler.”
Mia. What about Mia? she wanted to ask, remembering the gorgeous woman from the pictures in the photo album that Bella had been looking at. For some reason she couldn’t express, however, she held back.
“Listen, Leslie. I know it’s shocking, the idea of me being friends with the head of the New York mafia. And we’re not friends exactly. But due to our past together, he reached out to me. He’s the one that told me one of the men I killed was the son of an officer of the Bratva.”\
“Alex!” Leslie covered her mouth with her hand in horror. “Does that mean they’re after you?”
“They are. According to Luca, they’re asking about me. Fortunately, they haven’t approached your family, most likely because of the security we have around them. But Leslie, as soon as I’m able to and I know your safe, I’m going to have to stay away from you. I’ll—”
“No! No, Alex. You’re not leaving me!”