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After paying the driver, Dante leaped from the cab, heading toward his parents’ posh apartment, intending to find out what the hell his father had actually done on his behalf if anything. Once inside the lift, he ground his teeth together in frustration. He retrieved the ornate key and opened the front door without knocking - something his father loathed, but his mother encouraged.
The tinkle of ice against crystal let him know his father stood at the bar in the elegant front room, beyond the living room wall. Before heading into that room, he cocked his head and listened, certain he’d heard his name mentioned.
“Did you know your son is dating that Swift girl?” his father said.
“The one he had a tantrum over on our European vacation after he graduated?” his mother asked, incredulity lacing her tone. “The vacation where you tried to smooth your affair under the rug? Between Dante, Damien’s seizures and you, that was my least favorite vacation. One I don’t care to recall.”
“I told you, it was a mistake.”
“And yet still, ten years later, you persist. I’m not an idiot, Richard. I can tell the difference between my expensive perfume and your cheap tarts’ cologne.”
“We’re talking about Dante, not me,” his father said in clipped, even tones. “I’m worried this is his latest act of rebellion. The girl fell in with a royal family in South Africa. There was some trouble. She came back to the States and got into rehab.”
“What?” His mother’s voice came our shrill and sharp. “Another addict? What’s wrong with him? He needs to make better choices. Did you only come home to spread your usual cheer? If so, fix me a drink, too, will you, please, darling?”
Dante pictured his father’s rigid jaw as he plucked ice cubes from the custom chilled ice cooler, using the sterling, gold accented silver tongs and poured bourbon and water into his mother’s glass.
“His behavior’s gone down the toilet, as keeping with his profession. Have you seen Page Six lately?”
His mother let out a derisive sound. “I never stoop to that level. Otherwise, I might have to read about you, dear.”
Oh, my parents’ slicing and dicing conversations. Dante remained still, his breath held in his chest, as he listened.
“Anyway, I did some digging into her background. The Swift girl. She did something to contribute to her prince’s demise and angered his twin brother, a prince named Iniko Khari in the diamond wholesaling business. Dante wanted me to call in a favor to get Prince Khari to leave the Swift girl alone. The prince had already booked a flight for the States. I think a whole shit-storm is about to rain down on our good family name if we don’t put an end to his latest affair.”
“Dante’s a good boy,” his mother soothed. “He’s done so much to keep your name from being besmirched. Please don’t do anything to cause him more grief. He’s been through so much.”
He’s done so much to keep your name from being besmirched? Unable to stop himself, Dante stalked toward the front room. “Yes, Dad, don’t do anything more to cause me grief. And by God don’t let me make my own choices because I’m a total idiot. We must keep the family name intact.”
His mother and father stood stiffly, like stunned, smiling statues.
“Dante, dear. I didn’t hear you come in,” his mother said. She proffered her cheek for a kiss, which he automatically administered.
“There’s a reason we have a doorbell, son,” his father said. “It’s for privacy.”
“Yes, something we all long for,” Dante said. “And some of us pay for.” He gave his father a knowing look, challenging him to say something in front of his mother.
“And we’re grateful for you keeping things quiet, dear,” his mother said.
“What?” Dante’s face furrowed in puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”
His mother’s gaze sliced toward his father’s and they exchanged a secretive look.
“You know, dear. The thing you do to keep you and your father’s indiscretions quiet.”
A deadly silence filled the room as comprehension dawned. His brain grew vacant as if shrouded in fog. Shaking his head, he gathered his jaw off the floor and said, “You know about the blackmail?”
“Why, yes, dear. We’re grateful you’re paying the Marquise to keep quiet.”
“And you know how Damien got that wicked head trauma?”
His mother’s manicured eyebrows pulled together briefly, returning her forehead to smooth, porcelain, non-wrinkled perfection. “Of course. He fell. Your father and I share everything. Except, of course, a bedroom,” she added with a hint of sarcasm and a facetious smile directed at his father. “I don’t need to share his diseases.”
“Damien fell? He fell?”
A glimmer of understanding flickered in his mother’s amethyst eyes.
“Ever since Maddy’s death, I’ve carried this burden, thinking I was doing you a favor, Mom,” Dante said, his voice cracking. “I did it to protect you,” he roared. “I did it to protect your name, not his.”
Her face cracked again, revealing a glimmer of confusion. “That’s not what you told me, Richard.”
Dante turned on his father. “All this time I’ve spent a fortune to keep your fucking indiscretion and vile temper out of the gossip rags to protect Mom, and you told her some story about it?”
“It’s as much for my protection as it is for yours,” his father bellowed. “Think what this will do to your career if word ever gets out.”
“Fuck my career. How much do you know, Mom, huh?”
Perplexed, his mother said, “I know you got her pregnant, and—”
“I got her pregnant? Me? Guess again.” His words emerged low and deadly.
“You told me you’d had a vasectomy years ago,” his mother said to her husband, her eyes blinking rapidly.
“I did,” his father said, his face reddening.
“That came later,” Dante said, spitting out the words. “After Maddy.”
As understanding dawned, his beautiful mother’s face seemed to fissure into a thousand cracks.
He watched as she willed composure into her appearance, practically inhaling the tears dancing along her eyelids, like dainty, sparkling diamonds being sucked back into the earth. These are the bloodiest diamonds of them all, he thought. Family secrets. “I’ve been literally chained to Marquise. She’s used me. Manipulated me. I’m through. You can pay off your own damn debts, Dad. And as for you, Mom...” The sharp pain of betrayal sliced through his heart. Words failed to emerge. Enraged, he whirled and fled through the house, feeling as if he’d time-displaced back to a rebellious, angry seventeen-year-old, for an Oscar-worthy repeat performance.
“Do something,” his mother cried.
“Son. Stop,” his father yelled.
“Fuck you both,” Dante roared, slamming the door behind him. Out on the street, he sprinted block after block, nearly colliding with a taxi when he bolted into the crosswalk. Seeing it empty of passengers, he sprang inside and gave them Kennedy’s address. Figuring the police must be done with her, he texted her. Need you, baby.
When no response came, he pressed her speed dial. No answer. When he got to her apartment, he leaped from the taxi, still numb. He leaned on her buzzer. He scanned for signs of the police. Nothing. When an elderly person exited the front door, he grabbed it before it swung shut, briefly held it open for her to exit, and made his way into the lobby. He proceeded to the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.
When he got to her front door, it stood slightly ajar. A small, wet nose could be seen in the crack. He gently tapped on the door, pushing it aside as he did so. He crouched down to pet the kitty, used to animals liking him. Standing, he looked for her. “Kennedy? Sweetheart?” His heart fell as his gaze slid toward her couch.
She sat stiffly, staring blankly into space, as if comatose or in a dissociative fugue state, the kind he’d witnessed in his brother. She clutched a prescription bottle in her hand.
He reacted instantly, wanting to bolt from the addict, never to see her again, and desperate to make sure she was okay. Compassion won, and he scooted to her side. “Baby. Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
She gripped the prescription tightly, so tight, he had to pry her fingers from it.
He read the label. Oxycodone. “Shit,” he muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.” He tried to get her to snap out of whatever place she’d gone to. “Sweetheart. Did you take this? How many did you take?”
Her head shook quietly back and forth, but her eyes stayed fixed on some unknown place.
“You didn’t take any?”
She kept shaking her head.
“No? That’s good. Good girl. I’m proud of you. I’ll dispose of these and be right back. Stay there. Don’t move.”
The fuzzy gold cat jumped onto the couch and made its way to her lap, putting its paws on her shoulder and sniffing her nose.
“Good kitty. Watch over her.”
Kennedy continued her slow, robotic head shaking.
Dante bolted into the bathroom and poured the pills into the toilet. As he flushed, a type-written piece of paper laying on the floor caught his gaze. He picked it up and read, Hope these kill you before I do. “Fuck. Christ.” He dialed his piece of shit father.
“Dante,” he said, picking up instantly. “Your mother and I...”
“Save it. Call the chief again. Get the same police over to Kennedy’s right away.”
“I don’t...”
“Do it. So help me God if anything happens to her I’m holding you responsible.”
“Is she in danger?”
His answer was simple. “Yes.” Without waiting for a response, he hung up and hustled back to the couch, where she sat, still shaking her head like a motorized doll. “Sweetheart, listen to me. The police are returning. I saw the note. Do you think it’s Iniko?”
She remained mute. Tears fell down her cheeks from her unblinking eyes.
Think, Dante, think. She’s gone into some psychotic breakdown. Some dissociative state. You’ve seen your brother in this state a time or two. He scanned his brain for ideas. Ice cubes! Exercise. Shock her back. He rushed to the kitchen, opened the freezer door and found the ice bin empty. He seized a bag of frozen peas, tore open the bag, poured some into a teacup, ran water over them from the sink faucet, and hustled back to the living area. Dipping his fingers in the ice water, he flicked his fingers at her face.
She blinked, clearly confused.
He scooped some peas from the bag and held them over her cheeks, then moved them onto her neck.
She blinked some more.
“Come on, come on.” He dropped the now mushy peas into the bag, wiped his hand off on his jeans, and took her hand. “Up with you. Come back to me. You’re safe. You’re with me. Let’s move. We’ll do it together. Wave your arms. That’s it,” he encouraged as she began to come back to life. “That’s it, girl. Let’s do jumping jacks. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two,” he said, performing the exercise like a Marine.
Kennedy’s brain kicked in, and she ran in place, pumping her arms and legs furiously.
Dante mimicked her. “There you go, sweetheart. Let’s run. Let’s run back to life.”
As her legs pumped, tears streamed from her eyes. She sobbed, then her sobs turned into rage. She stomped around the room, yelling, frightening her cat, who raced from the room. “He wants to kill me. Kill me! He tried to do it before. He’s determined. He’s evil, Dante, evil.”
Alarmed at her swing in the opposite direction, Dante seized her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You’re safe. Be present with me.” He pressed his hands to either side of her cheeks, preventing her from looking away. “Look at me, sweetheart. Look into my eyes. Be right here. Nowhere else. You can do this, love. I’m here. Only me.”
Her head bobbed up and down as she met his eyes.
“You didn’t take any oxy, right?”
She bit her lip and shook her head from side to side.
“Good girl.” He wanted to ask Was it hard? Were you tempted? But held back. “That’s my girl. You’re safe, baby. You’re staying with me until you’re out of danger. No arguments, got it? I’ve got you. You and kitty. I’ve got the situation in hand.”
She nodded again, barely whispering, “Thank you.”
Dante gave her lips a chaste, reassuring kiss.
“I went right back to Africa,” she whispered. “I was back in the royal prick’s bedchamber, where he tried to get me to...”
Rage poured through Dante. “To what? Did he violate you?”
She shook her head violently. “No. He tried, but no.”
Dante wanted to ram his fist through the door at the thought of anyone taking advantage of his girl. Men can be such assholes.
The cat padded out and rubbed against her legs.
Dante picked it up and held it out to her. “Hold kitty. Kitty’s in your present. The prince is your past. Hold kitty. Grab your present and don’t let go.”
“His name is SoSo.”
“Pet SoSo. SoSo loves you.” And so do I, he thought, biting back the words.
The buzzer rang, and Dante swiftly strode to answer it.
“Ms. Kennedy? This is Officer McGlasson.”
“It’s Dante Vega. She’s here. Come on up.”
Before letting them in, Dante said, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do or say. Otherwise, I’ll stay on the sidelines. Just know I’m here for you.”
“No,” Kennedy said, fire alighting her eyes. “I’m back. I’m okay. How did you know what to do?”
He shook his head. “My brother. Too many episodes to count.”
“You’re a good man, Dante.”
He swallowed, remembering the scene at his parents. “Let’s deal with the situation and get you safe.”
The police took her new statement, as well as the prescription bottle, paper bag, and note. They chided Dante for pouring the pills in the toilet, saying they could have been used as evidence.
Officer McGlasson added, “This could be an international case. We’re going to contact other authorities and see if they want to get involved.”
They left, saying they’d be in touch.
When the apartment fell quiet again, Dante wrapped Kennedy in his arms. “Oh, baby,” he said into her hair. “We’re going to get through this...together. You, me, and the cat.”
“Thank you, Dante. I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t here.” She squeezed him tightly.
“You would’ve survived,” he reassured. “You’re strong. But I’m here. We’ll get through this together. Now pack your bags and let’s go home,” he said. The phrase sounded good. It sounded right. It sounded like something he longed for. It sounded like the perfect thing to say to the perfect woman...the woman he held in his arms. So why can’t I trust her with my story?
