Chapter 23 #3
‘Bene, mio bellissimo,’ she murmured, offering a tired but warm smile as she pressed the button for the upper floors. ‘Don’t be too long. You need to eat too.’
I tracked the elevator indicator lights until the carriage cleared the lobby floor.
Swiveling around with wariness, my eyes locked onto the familiar yet unexpected face.
His face still bore a jagged scar across his cheekbone earned during our stint together inside state pen.
He and I shared an eight-by-ten cell for four months; the bleakest, most broken chapter of my youth.
Back when I was a raging, rebellious mess trying to outrun my own guilt.
I left him in the joint and was at a loss to imagine why he was here now.
‘Judah,’ my unexpected visitor rasped, his hoarse timbre cutting through the quiet reception area. ‘You’re a hard man to track down when you’re on the road.’
‘Ignazio,’ I gritted, leaning into caution, eyeing the man setting my senses off. ‘You’re a long way from the block. When did you walk?’
‘A few weeks back.’
I stood in front of him, hands crossed over my chest, wondering what the heck his play was.
‘What are you doing in Italy?’
‘Helping a friend with a favor, delivering a message.’
My skin prickled with warning.
‘What kind?’
‘I’ve got an urgent matter that concerns your new domestic setup, rock star,’ Ignazio muttered, his mouth twisting into a slick, greasy smile that made my stomach turn. ‘You might not want to discuss it out here where guests or perhaps even the paps might hear the details. Let’s take a walk.’
Puzzled, I raced through possibilities as I followed him to a secluded corner table.
It was in the rear lounge, far from reception, security cameras, curious eyes and ears.
We sat down on the mohair cushions, the tension between us thick enough to slice.
I crossed an ankle over my knees and gripped my boot, sensing I was not going to like what I was about to find out.
‘How’d a con like you get a visa?’ I joked.
He grinned. ‘I may or may not be traveling under my name. How d’you travel so much as a con too?’
‘Special waivers based on good behavior, mate,’ I growled. ‘Plus a kickass team of lawyers.’
‘Of course, Mr Money Bags.’
When had he become so disenchanted with life, I thought to myself, noting the lines of dissatisfaction on his face and a thinly veiled sneer.
Ignazio didn’t waste any time revealing his nefarious mission.
He leaned across the small table, his breath reeking of cheap grappa and stale cigarettes, and tapped his fingers on his knee.
‘I was finishing up my parole stint in Vermont when I ran into an old associate named Dario inside the county holding facility.’
Fuck, that was one name I did not want to hear.
‘He knows who your new wife is, Judah. He has a mountain of evidence on her past identity.’
‘As what?’
I gritted my teeth, the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
Ignazio inclined even closer and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.
‘As a high-earning stripper in Milan’s mafiosi-run clubs.’
Shock followed by disbelief washed over me, but I kept my face a mask of stone.
‘You’re full of garbage, Ignazio. Sofia worked long, brutal shifts in factories and hospitals in Milan. She never set foot in any shady club.’
Ignazio scoffed.
‘As soon as I saw her face I recognized who she was.’
My frown deepened.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’re aware that your woman, Sofia Antonelli, is a former Italian actress.
She’s known for her supporting roles in several hit soap operas, including La Tempesta dell’Amore and I Segreti del Mercato.
I had a freakin’ crush on her in her breakthrough lead role as Valeria Rossi.
A brilliant but penniless student with big dreams who enters a high-stakes underground poker circuit.
She fuckin’ saved her family from bankruptcy in Le Carte del Destino.
She played Mariana Soli, a mechanic forced to work for a snobbish, billionaire racing dynasty in Cuori d’Acciaio, Vite d’Oro.
She was famous, fratè, until she disappeared a few years ago. ’
A jolt punched me in the gut, and I stared at him, mouth agape.
‘You didn’t know?’
I shook my head.
‘Which is why the press will go mad for these photos when they hit the internet,’ Ignazio whispered.
He pulled a glossy manila envelope from the interior pocket of his denim jacket and slid it across the wood.
‘Former actress fallen into bad times and forced to shake her ass to make money. Worse, she’s now the wife of famous rockstar Jude Valenti.
Social media will eat it up. Dario has people on the outside who are ready to blast these images to every tabloid, rock magazine, and press outlet in the United States.
Unless you use your leverage to have the feds release them from lockup.
Dario, Luisa, and their crew want out of jail, and you’re going to make it happen.
Otherwise, your beautiful, former soap opera star wife becomes the biggest scandal in the music industry tomorrow morning. ’
I flipped open the envelope, my thumbs gripping the edges of the photo paper, and my chest emptied of air.
The three glossy prints revealed a woman posing in a neon-soaked nightclub setting.
Her features were unmistakable.
Sofia.
Her gorgeous, long-lashed, amber eyes gazed straight into the lens.
However, they overflowed with a glazed, haunting expression.
Her clothes were scanty, just skinny, next-to-nothing lingerie on a nightclub runway.
The lighting matched the contours of her collarbones, the shadows casting a seamless, terrifying realism across her skin that made my vision blur.
A sickening, gut-wrenching slam of disgust dropped into my stomach as my mind fractured.
A blinding, white-hot fury followed, flaring deep in my core, choking out the tenderness I felt for her just moments ago on the elevator.
She had stood in my mother’s kitchen, looked me in the eye, and fabricated some sob story.
About working long, grueling shifts in a factory, to play on my sympathy.
She’d omitted a huge chunk of her life, passing herself off as some innocent woman caught up in the mafia, rather than a sophisticated actress who was adept at the con game and was probably playing me.
The vulnerable woman I thought I was protecting was a liar.
I wasn’t mad about the stripping; I was angry she lied to me and placed my career in a vulnerable position, where I could be blackmailed.
The betrayal burned through my veins like acid.
My companion trucked on.
‘We’re also after mullah to make up for what Dario lost when the feds picked him up. All up, we’re after 5 mill. I’ve been instructed not to leave Italy without a fifty thousand dollars upfront deposit, mate.’
Ignazio sneered, leaning back and crossing his arms, confident that he had me cornered.
‘You’ve got twenty-four hours to obtain the cash, or the first email goes straight to your label’s public relations department, then to the Internet.’
I stared at the glossy prints in my hand, my jaw locked so tight it ached, while white-hot rage burned a path through my chest.
With a curse, I shuffled the photos back into the manila envelope, keeping my expression neutral, masking the storm howling in my heart and mind.
Ignazio leaned forward, his greasy grin widening as he anticipated a hefty payday.
‘I’m going to need some time to verify this garbage and arrange the logistics, Ignazio,’ I growled. ‘You’re not getting a single cent tonight. I’ll have to get back to you. Give me your number.’
Ignazio’s smile vanished, his eyebrows knitting together as his posture went rigid.
Then, with a sneer, he read out his details to me, which I punched into my phone.
‘Twenty-four hours, Judah. That’s the deal. I’m not playing games while my associates are rotting in a county holding cell. I’m staying here until you make the transfer.’
‘You’re quitting the premises right fucking now,’ I replied, my tone leaving zero room for negotiation.
I caught the eye of Enzo, the head of our band security, stationed near the archway, and gave him a single chin-up jerk.
Enzo, a two-hundred-pound Roman built like a brick outhouse, signaled his partner.
The two massive men materialized at our table within three seconds, their presence blocking out the lounge lights.
They gripped Ignazio by the elbows, lifting his lean frame off the sofa with effortless, professional efficiency.
‘Hey, you’re risking everything fratè!’
‘Fuck off, Ignazio. I’ll reach out when I have an answer for you,’ I growled.
The guards began dragging the irate man toward the hotel’s glass exit doors as my world detonated.