Chapter 14 Leticia
LETICIA
THE PAWN OF THE PLAN
I’m about to open a photo from Royal, but Dad bellows from somewhere in the main portion of the penthouse.
“Leticia!”
Berto said he and Dad weren’t coming back before they left for the airport . . .
Is Berto okay? I rush down the stairs as fast as I can.
Dad is standing at the door to his study wearing his usual look, the same one Berto has adopted, black suit with a white shirt, no tie, and his shoulders back.
This time, though, his fists are clenched, and I hesitate to approach.
He’s always been so unpredictable, but it’s been a while since he’s even really raised his voice at me.
It’s been since before Antonella came home that he last hit me. Almost a year maybe?
“I don’t have all night, Leticia.” He gestures toward his open office door.
I am never invited into Dad’s office.
I’m allowed to deliver items to him in his office, but I’m never there for any intentional business purpose.
Well, tonight’s the night, then.
I straighten and cross the open space, my flats beating against the cold terrazzo floor all the way to his office, and then I try not to wince as I step across the threshold.
Berto is staring out the large window, which looks out at Lake Michigan, with a pensive expression and his glass of malt liquor halfway to his mouth. It’s dark outside, so I don’t even know why he’d bother looking out at it.
“Take a seat, Leticia.” Dad’s voice is low and harsh as he points me to a chair.
Stiffly, I perch on a chair across from his desk, my skirt protecting me from the cool leather of the seat. The rich oak arms feel like a cage, and I don’t dare lean back into it.
Dad takes a moment to sit. The wood and leather of his chair creak in protest as he settles in. For a moment, the room is quiet with dreaded anticipation.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“Why is Ian Cavanagh inviting us, and you, by name, on a hand-delivered invitation to Christmas at their home?” Dad slides an invitation across the desk.
I don’t pick it up, but I glance and see all four of our names, not just mine, spelled out in a fancy metallic font.
Why wouldn’t they invite me? I want to question and be assertive, but that’s not me. That’s Antonella.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Then who is it that you’ve been exchanging texts and phone calls with? It started within the last two weeks. One of them, I’m assuming, is Antonella, but there is this other one you speak to at all odd hours of the day and night.” Dad presents the phone bill from across the desk.
I don’t reach for it either.
“Royal Cavanagh,” I answer honestly and quickly.
The truth will come out, and there’s no shame in it. We’re just friends.
Berto sputters on his next sip of liquor. “What?”
“Royal Cavanagh? Leticia, now is not the time for one of your silly little jokes.” Dad talks down to me.
“I’m not joking.” But I also don’t remember the last time I told a joke. I don’t bring that up. “I called Clark Enterprises to get someone to give me Antonella’s new number, and I connected with Royal. We’ve been chatting since then. He’s nice.”
“Nice.” Dad scoffs. He narrows his eyes at me, pinching his lips tightly. “Hardly.”
“Leticia, he isn’t nice. He’s using you.” Berto speaks with false sympathy that’s amplified by a pitying scowl.
“He’s not using me. There’s nothing to use. We don’t talk about anything family related unless talking about what I’m cooking for dinner is some sort of secret now.” I force myself not to clench my fists.
“Leticia.” Dad scolds me, and I expect escalation. But he draws a breath and sits back in his chair. His voice holds a cutting precision. “You’ve said nothing about anything we do here? Even a small detail.”
“Are you kidding?” The question slips out with uncalculated frustration, but I push through and try taking a page from Antonella’s book.
“What would I even know to tell him? No one tells me anything. I didn’t figure out until dinner the next night that someone had attempted to kidnap me from the university. What could I even know to tell Royal?”
Dad’s jaw drops, and he looks at Berto. Since he’s looking at Berto, I look at him too.
Berto shrugs. “She has a point.”
“This has to stop.” Dad swings his gaze back to me. “It’s a risk, and it’s improper. You’re to be pure for marriage.”
My fists clench despite my efforts to stay calm, but this accusation of impropriety cuts. “We’re just friends. There is nothing improper about it. We determined there is no risk because I don’t know anything.”
I gasp, swallowing it down. I can’t believe I did that. Eyes wide, I look between Dad and Berto, waiting to be reprimanded.
“Leticia, you’ll be married soon. And it will be to someone worthy of what you are: a princess to my empire.” Dad starts with the lecture.
No. No. No. I chant it in my head, hoping that somehow this isn’t him taking away the tiny bit of joy I have in my life. But I cling to false hope like I clung to Antonella when she first came back home from New York, tight and begging for it not to go away ever again.
“You need to not spend your time talking to strange men.” Dad looks down his nose at me.
“And they don’t get any stranger than that weird Cavanagh nerd. The second son probably wishes he’d been born a girl rather than simply the spare heir.” Berto rolls his eyes. “Then he’d be worth something.”
“True,” Dad mumbles.
I bite my tongue, stopping myself from defending Royal, his uniqueness, and how loved he seems to feel. I can’t believe how mean they’re being.
“Wait —” Berto holds a finger up in the air. “What if we use this?”
“Use what?” Dad gestures to me broadly with an open hand.
“They’ll never suspect Leticia as a spy. She’s a woman. They may not be as careful about what they say to her. She could find out more about their entire operation.” A sly smile crawls across Berto’s lips.
I shake my head. “I thought we’re in a truce with the Cavanaghs. Why would we need to spy on them?”
Dad lets out a huffy, heady laugh before picking up his own cup of amber liquid. He pauses to take a sip. “Just because we’re in a sworn truce, sealed by your cousin’s marriage, doesn’t mean we can trust everything they say or do. Surely they don’t trust us.”
“It’ll be so easy.” Berto smiles as he sits next to me. “All you have to do is listen and report back what they say. You’re good at remembering things. Maybe be indirect and ask that punk Royal what he’s up to.”
“We don’t talk about his work.” I warn them, but I see an opportunity to get out of going to Italy, and I’m not missing it.
“But I could try. I know Mom really wants me to go to Italy, but if I stay home, I could maybe meet up with their family more. It’d be great to see Antonella.
Surely everyone will be there at Christmas.
Maybe the more I’m around, the more comfortable they’ll be? ”
“You’re awfully eager. Are you sure you’re up to this?” Dad’s eyebrows are raised, and he purses his lips. “What happens if they ask why you want to know something?”
“It’s curiosity. What’s the worst that could happen?” I fail to stop myself from shrinking into the chair. “They won’t answer, and we’ll move forward with conversation.”
“I don’t like it.” Dad shakes his head. “They don’t call Valor all those dark and terrible things for no reason.
It’s a small miracle he hasn’t turned his knives against Antonella already.
He’s a blood-thirsty killer, and the worst that would happen is that he’d kill you.
” Dad’s tone is sharp, cutting, and there’s a fire in his gaze as he stares at me.
It’s deep, and for a moment, I think it softens.
But then he adds, “You’re too valuable.”
“It’s the best opportunity we’ve gotten.” Berto argues on my behalf. “If you’re serious about wanting an in to make sure that they’re not doing anything against the treaty, then sending her to their house is the best bet. Their guard will be down.”
Silently, Dad mulls over the decision. He swirls his glass and takes a sip. Then he turns toward the window overlooking the lake. He stands from his desk and crosses the room to look out as if a few feet will help him see the other side of the expanse of water.
After a few more seconds of loaded silence, he turns and glares at Berto, shooting daggers at him with his eyes. “Alright, but at the first sign of danger, you’re coming home to be with your sister and keep her in line.”
“Understood.” Berto nods and turns to me. Through gritted teeth, he warns me. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“I won’t.” I shake my head.
My brain is buzzing, and I can hardly believe what is happening.
“Go get your mother up. She can leave with us tonight,” Dad orders, and I don’t hesitate.
I dismiss myself and walk as hurriedly as I can to the staircase and then up toward her bedroom.
They’re one hundred percent letting me stay home for Christmas.