Forty-One
Aspen
It’s been almost four days now, and all I’ve had from Kaiden is an email sent three days ago from a hidden address, so I can’t even respond. A message sent via my website, not even posted personally, saying he’ll be out of touch for a little while.
How the hell long is a little while?
Days? Weeks? Longer?
Kai is already asking questions, and I can see the quiet fear in his eyes that his father might have abandoned us again.
Or maybe I’m projecting my own, but either way, the fear is real.
Why the fuck did I do this to myself?
I knew I should have kept him at arm’s length.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I feel used and ashamed, and if there was only myself to think about, I’d retreat into myself, cut all ties, and quietly wallow in my own despair.
But I can’t because I have a little boy who adores his dad and needs me to stay strong for him. Strong enough to get some answers.
So I dial Kaiden’s number for the umpteenth time, despite the dozens of messages that have gone unanswered. Just like every other time I’ve tried, there’s a click, followed by a message.
‘The person you are calling is unavailable.’
It’s almost like…
I blink away the tears that spring up, unwanted.
...like he’s blocked my number.
The thought makes me physically ill. It’s too reminiscent of the last time he left; cutting all ties and disappearing from my life like he’d never been a part of it. Like we weren’t husband and wife.
I feel it all over again and barely make it to the toilet before I’m heaving, though nothing comes up. Just dry, wrenching sobs that leave me gasping against the cold porcelain. Thank God Kai’s in school and isn’t here to see me like this.
When I finally pull myself together, there’s only one option left.
I’m going to the Cosa Nostra compound. I’ve avoided the place for years. Never visiting my godmother, Therese, at her home there, because I never wanted to run into Kaiden while I was hiding the secret of his son.
But now, the gloves are off. He doesn’t get to pop up in our lives like the years he was gone meant nothing. He doesn’t get to claim his son, then ghost us.
I can’t live like this. In limbo with this creeping, destructive uncertainty.
The decision solidifies in my chest like steel. Therese has extended invitations for years that I’ve politely declined, but it makes getting into the guarded compound that much easier since I know I’m on the admittance list.
I’ll use that to my advantage to get some answers. Desperate times and all that.
I shower quickly, mechanically, then dress in charcoal-colored tailored slacks and a pretty dove grey sweater with understated pearl detailing.
Classy. Put together. Nothing that screams I’m falling apart.
Nothing to bring attention to myself. With that in mind, I pull my cloud of white-blonde hair into a low ponytail and ignore how my hands shake as I apply concealer under my eyes, trying to hide the evidence of too many sleepless nights.
As I head for the door, wondering if I’m doing the right thing, my eyes drop to Kai’s last school photo. The sight of his happy smile, the one that’s been absent too much recently, steadies me.
Whatever happens, I need answers. For him, if not for myself.
The drive to the compound takes forty minutes, but it feels like seconds.
My mind races faster than the car, rehearsing confrontations, preparing for the worst. What if he’s there with her?
What if everyone knows something I don’t?
What if I’m about to humiliate myself in front of the entire Cosa Nostra famiglia?
I grip the steering wheel tighter. I don’t care. Let them see me unravel. At least I’ll have the truth. Then I can get on with my life.
I picked myself up once. I can do it again. And this time I’ll have learned my lesson. The one that obviously didn’t stick before.
The compound looms ahead, all wrought iron gates and stone walls that scream old money and older secrets. Two guards flank the entrance, both armed, both watching my approach with the kind of casual alertness that suggests they could snap my neck without breaking a sweat.
One eyes me with barely concealed suspicion as I roll down my window, his weapon at the ready. The other approaches my vehicle, his expression neutral but assessing.
“Name and purpose,” he demands, not asks.
“Aspen Bianchi.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I’m on the visitor list.”
He exchanges a glance with his partner, then pulls out a tablet, scrolling through.
“ID,” he barks, checking my plates while I fumble in my purse, trying not to tremble as I hand over my driver’s license. I never had it changed to my married name. Something I was thankful for when I needed to keep my distance from Kaiden.
The seconds stretch like cooling toffee while he verifies my claim, his unsettling scrutiny ping-ponging between me and the seven-year-old likeness on the card.
Do I look that different?
Behind him, the other guy is eyeing me through narrowed slits as he talks on a two-way radio.
Finally, he nods. “You’re cleared. Mr. Rossi is expecting you.”
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or alarmed at that.
Mr. Rossi? Is that Mika or Salvatore? And why not Kaiden Brooks - my husband?
They don’t know that, I remind myself. No one does.
The inner gates swing open with an ominous creak, and I drive through, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The driveway winds through a manicured but open garden area.
Nowhere for an intruder to hide here. It’s hauntingly familiar, even though I’ve not visited for a decade, but I notice more than I did as a child, how everything here screams power. Control.
All things I don’t have right now.
I park in the circular drive near the main entrance. It’s an ominous, imposing building. A fortress masquerading as a glamorous home.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment, trying to gather what’s left of my courage. My palms are sweating. Am I making a mistake?
Momentarily, my courage deserts me. I should leave.
But then the door swings open and a figure stands there, waiting.
Not Kaiden. Mika Rossi. Son of the Don. Heir to the entire organization.
I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not the Don himself. That would have been awkward.
I force myself out of the car, legs unsteady as I approach. Mika meets me halfway, a welcoming smile on a face which is a fraction too pretty to be called handsome, like this visit’s not a surprise. What the hell?
It’s not like we know each other that well. Sure, I saw him occasionally when we were kids. He was usually present at the birthday parties I attended for Therese’s daughters, Safia and Cesca. They were older than me, so not playmates, but Mamma is godmother to them, like Therese is to me.
But the rest of the time, Mika was visibly absent. The Don being strangely overprotective of his son and heir. So much so that Mika rarely hung out, even with his cousins.
Then again, he’s younger than me by a good three years or so, so I guess he had nothing in common with a couple of girls a decade his senior.
“Aspen, welcome. It’s good to see you again,” he says, taking both my hands in his and kissing me on both cheeks in the Italian fashion.
“You’re looking well, Mika,” I say, his name slipping out before I have time to wonder if I should address him more formally.
Oh well. Too late now.
He tucks my hand into his elbow and escorts me into the building I spent so much time at as a child, and through the maze of corridors until we reach what I can only assume is his office.
“This is Ares, my bodyguard,” he tells me, gesturing to a handsome bald man with razor-sharp features and a rather scary disposition.
Ares nods, and I give a gauche half-wave.
Honestly, this is all kind of awkward.
Mika gestures to a comfortable looking chair on one side of the room, rather than sitting at the rather imposing desk, and I head that way, wondering what the heck is going on.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that Kaiden finally persuaded you to come here and talk to me about the proposition I have for you.”
Everything inside me freezes in that moment, and I’m glad he’s behind me so he can’t see my face, because not once has Kaiden mentioned such a thing.
“Actually, I came to see Kaiden…” My voice drifts off as I glance at the wall over the fireplace that the chairs are situated on either side of and get yet another surprise.
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Mika sweeps his hand proudly in front of the painting.
My painting.
The one I finished and shipped around about the same time as Kaiden stepped back into my life.
It had not been Mika Rossi’s name on the commission.
Either ignoring or possibly not hearing the mention of my husband, Mika continues, and every word from his mouth hammers another painful spike into my already battered heart.
“As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to speak with you personally, which is why I asked Kaiden to approach you.”
I sink into the wingback chair, thankful to sit before my legs give out from underneath me.
Mika asked Kaiden to seek me out. That’s why he’d waited so long after the Viper’s death.
He hadn’t really wanted to see me at all. He’d just been following orders.
And then, he accidentally discovered his son.
The realization crashes through me like a wrecking ball, demolishing the fragile hope I’d been clinging to.
Everything suddenly makes a sick, twisted kind of sense.
The timing of his reappearance. The persistence that felt so flattering at the time.
The way he’d pushed to be in my life despite my initial resistance.
All of it orchestrated by Mika fucking Rossi.
“Kaiden told me you might have some reservations,” Mika continues, settling into the chair across from me with an easy grace that makes me want to scream. “But I’m hoping once you hear the full scope of what I’m proposing, you’ll reconsider.”
Too damn right! I’ve steered clear of this world. As much for Kai’s sake as my own. Placed as much distance as possible between my family and the Cosa Nostra, as has my mother, though she had different reasons.
I sure as hell wouldn’t have entertained any kind of partnership with the LCN if Kaiden hadn’t charmed his way back into my life and softened my stance.
I force my face into something resembling polite interest while my insides churn. “I’m sorry, but perhaps you can explain. What exactly is this proposition?”
“I want to commission a series of paintings,” Mika says, leaning forward with an enthusiasm that feels obscene given the chaos raging inside me.
“For a new gallery we’re opening downtown.
Twelve pieces, initially, all curated to reflect your own vision.
Anything that calls to you. It would be exclusive work, of course. Very well compensated.”
I hear the words, but they barely register. My mind is stuck in a loop, replaying every interaction with Kaiden through this new, devastating lens. Every kiss. Every promise. Every moment I thought meant something.
All of it is tainted now.
“The gallery opening is in twelve months,” Mika continues, oblivious to my internal collapse. “Which I know is tight, but there’s a little wiggle room.”
He passes me a slip of paper and written on it is a figure with so many zeros it would set me up for life.
I make a decent living - no, a good one - but it’s never guaranteed.
If I went out of fashion tomorrow, if the commissions that are my livelihood dried up, then I would become like every other starving artist. Not to mention an exclusive event like this would catapult my name to the next level and make my work considerably more valuable.
I’m not so naive that I don’t realize this is Mika’s goal, but it works heavily in my favor as well.
Just a pity everything is currently overshadowed by finding out Kaiden always had an ulterior motive for reappearing in my life.
I struggle to separate all my thoughts. “I’ll need to check what I’ve already committed to before I agree to that many pieces,” I say, my voice seeming to come from far away.
But my husband doesn’t stay out of my thoughts. “And where is Kaiden?” I ask, my nails digging into the armrests as I say his name. “He seems to be out of circulation recently.”
Mika straightens his arm so his cuff rides up, then checks his watch. Pursing his lips, he glances at Ares. It’s his bodyguard who answers.
“I imagine he’s over at Prospect House right now.”
Mika absently nods his agreement, his mind already elsewhere, now I’ve responded to his request, so I stand, already feeling the unspoken dismissal. And that’s fine with me.
I have no idea where the building they’re referring to is, but I have Google Maps, and I know how to use it.