Glass Ceilings (12 page)

The album took me through her pregnancy, and Nicholas's birth up until his first birthday last month. She watched as I took my time, slowly flipping page by page and examining every picture I saw. There was picture after picture of him being held by Eve, Jase, and others that I could only assume were her family. From the looks of the photos from that day, my son was surrounded by love.

Feeling left out, I closed the book and turned to face her on the couch. “Take me through what happened once Ronnie found you.”

She sighed and sat back against the couch. “I have to admit, assuming that you were involved with someone put me in a really bad mood. After the shock wore off, I knew I had to try again, and I did. I stalked your apartment a few times, waiting for another opportunity to approach you. I no longer gave a shit whoever you were with, and I knew I needed to see you again. I hated how much I had to see you again, and at that point it had little to do with Nicholas.” When she leveled me with her gaze I couldn't stop my body from responding to the spark of jealousy clearly evident in her green eyes.

“So, Ronnie then found you?” I prompted the conversation back to his murder, and away from my growing arousal.

“Yes, the phone calls and texts started up again. He knew I had a son, he knew where I lived, worked, and he even knew that Eve was here in New York with me. I didn't care if he was Al Capone's son, I was sick of his bullying…but I was also terrified for Nicholas's safety. The only thing he didn't mention was you. It was strange that after he had sent me those photos of your slashed tires you completely dropped off his radar.”

“You knew he slashed my tires?” I asked incredulously.

She looked away, embarrassed, and nodded. “He sent me pictures before I left Chicago.”

I tried to put aside my resentment over yet another thing she'd kept from me. “He probably discovered who I really was.”

She considered my theory. “Maybe he figured we weren't together, so why poke a hornet's nest. Anyway, after only calls and texts, a few weeks later Ronnie paid me a visit one afternoon at the store.”

“What did he want?”

She let out a sarcastic huff. “He had the nerve to say he forgave me for betraying him. He loved me, wanted me back, and would do anything to make it happen. The man was seriously delusional. I asked him again, why me? Apparently, I fit the mold perfectly. His father, although an animal, valued tradition. He wanted Ronnie to settle down and prepare to take over his legacy and his fortune. His father liked me. I was Ronnie's golden ticket. He then said he'd adopt Nicholas, and treat him as his own. After he left, I panicked and called Luca.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, my fists clenched, my jaw tightened at the thought of that pig even mentioning my son. As I unclenched my fists, Angela placed her hand on one of mine.

“Nick, I would never let him get near our son. Trust me, I would have killed him myself. Luca felt the same, and told me to call the cops and file a restraining order. So I did, the very next day. The next day we also had my alarm system put in, and Eve increased security at the store.”

Thank fuck for Luca. “Did Ronnie know about Luca?” I asked, suddenly grateful for this stranger who had the common sense to protect what was mine…what I should have been protecting.

“We're not sure. Luca thinks if he knew, then we'd know that he knew.”

Ironically, I'd once used that same philosophy on Ben regarding his wife, Ella. It was a proven theory we in the FBI often banked on. “And you still don't know if Delarro had anything to do with your uncle's death?”

“I don't know that for sure, but I can't speak for my cousin.”

Luca Cavello was the only person who could fill in the gaping holes in her story. Time was ticking by, Nicholas would be awake soon, and I still needed to know what happened up to the point of Ronnie's murder. My lack of patience for the lost time, my lack of information, and my confusion toward old feelings resurfacing were all making me irritable.

“Is your brother home?”

“Yes. He finally got home in July. He's out of the military now. Having David back, and hearing less and less from Ronnie helped me feel a bit better, enough to want to contact you again.”

“Okay, so that brings us to July? It's now October and I never heard from you. Why's that?” I asked, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.

“Luca asked me not to contact you yet.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“I don't know, but I trusted him!” We glared at each other, neither of us wanting to back down. I caved first, closing my eyes, trying to calm myself down. “I told him I needed to tell you. He said you'd understand, but by contacting you we'd be bringing what we knew so far to the FBI, and he wasn't prepared to do that yet.”

“Who else knew I was FBI?”

“Just me and Luca.”

I turned toward her, taking a desperate hold on her arms. “Angela, you're not helping me.”

“Nick, if it weren't for my cousin, I don't know where I'd be right now,” she said in a quiet, calmer voice. “Even though Luca had been relentless in digging up anything he could find on Ronnie and his father, and he was very careful while doing so, he was still taking a huge risk. He purposely left me in the dark, only telling me what he felt I needed to know. He did it to protect me and Nicholas.” Her eyes never wavered from mine the entire time she spoke.

Frustrated beyond belief, I let go of my hold on her. “Please tell me what you do know from Luca.” She hesitated for a moment, and I placed a hand on her knee. “I need you to tell me everything, Angela. Please. I can't go into that room tomorrow without knowing everything you know. I can't protect you if you keep anything from me.”

“I'm afraid if I tell the FBI what Luca did, he'll be in trouble.”

I could feel her pain and her fear. Gently taking her hand in between mine, I waited until she made eye contact. “Angela, I meant it when I said I wouldn't let anything happen to you or Nicholas. I'll decide what it is the FBI needs to know, but to do so I need to know it all.”

“Nick, I know your involvement with me is going to make trouble for you in your job.”

“That's my problem, not yours.” When she looked down at our hands, I lifted her chin until our eyes met again. “I won't lie to you. Once you tell my colleagues this info, yes, Luca will be questioned. I'll always be grateful to your cousin for keeping you safe, as well as my son, but, Angela, you and Nicholas are my priority. You need to tell me what Luca did.”

She watched me remove my hand from her chin and frowned before continuing. “David put Luca in touch with his best friend, Silas Steele. Silas was ex-Army, CIA, and, with his brother Noah, ran Steele Security out of Miami. Silas immediately agreed to help them. They assured me that the Steeles had Ronnie firmly on their radar.” She stopped abruptly, lost and confused. “Nick, I'm scared for Luca and David. They instigated a war between Ronnie and one of the other families.”

“How?”

“Luca said that Ronnie's sudden presence in New York would be the way to spark a war over territory control. All I know was that Silas followed Ronnie and took very incriminating photos that he sent to the other family.”

“You know the family name?” I asked, not wanting to offer any information on the subject.

“Yes. The Pucci family ran New York while Ronnie's family ran Chicago. After my conversation with Luca, I heard from Ronnie less and less with each week that went by. The day before his murder he suddenly called me, and it made me extremely nervous. Next thing I knew, the FBI were at my door.” She paused enough to drag in a ragged breath. “So, now you know it all.”

I released her hand and propped my elbows on my knees, processing what she told me. My mind spun as I tried to come up with a plan that would keep them safe while not jeopardizing my job.

Through the door we heard Nicholas calling for Angela. She glanced at the clock before heading in to get him. Two hours had passed, yet it felt like no time at all. Chunks of time were disappearing and forcing the clock closer to the proverbial hour of truth. Each second that passed only increased my panic.

I truly had no fucking clue how to handle this. I always knew how to handle a case. Going in levelheaded, facts above all else, along with a keen ability to read personalities, made my job much easier than it should have been. It made me cocky, confident over the years. In one fell swoop, in one day, every ounce of confidence I had once possessed dissipated into thin air.

It wasn't just about possibly losing this case, or my job, or even my sanity. It had everything to do with losing her again, and Nicholas.

Angela emerged holding our son. He hadn't fully woken up yet, causing him to cling to her. She sat on the couch beside me while rubbing his back. His breathing evened out, making me wonder if he'd fallen back asleep.

She took advantage of my silence and whispered, “Can I ask
you
something personal?”

Choosing to stare at my hands instead of her, I said, “Sure,” and waited for her question.

“Last night at the café when I admitted seeing you with a woman, you assumed I was referring to a blonde. Nick, I need to know, are you seeing someone?”

Her question shocked me. We were supposed to be talking about Ronnie's murder. I paused, conflicted about what I should say, knowing the more I shared with her the more that she would with me. I looked over, and our eyes met. “I am.”

She looked down while chewing on her lip. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Stacie. She's a flight attendant, and we met about a year ago.”

“I don't know why this surprises me, I mean look at you.” She looked utterly defeated when she asked, “Is it serious?”

“We have a lot in common.” I sighed and shrugged, adding, “It started as a friendship that evolved into something else. Her schedule has her traveling a lot, and mine has me working around the clock.”

“Are you still with her?”

“Yes, I'll be seeing her this Sunday.”

I watched as Angela became emotional. She sucked in a breath before asking, “How will she feel about Nicholas?”

I reached over and smoothed a hand over his messy hair. “I don't know. I think she'll be happy for me, and sympathetic to the situation. She's very caring and warmhearted.”

Angela abruptly stood and went into the kitchen while still holding Nicholas. I watched her take a bottle of water from the fridge, and drink from it with a shaky hand. Nicholas lifted his head motioning toward the fridge. She reached inside and handed him his plastic cup.

When Angela returned to the couch, I asked, “Can I hold him?”

“Of course.” She passed me the baby before drawing her knees up and defensively wrapping her arms around them. He squirmed, wanting to be put down, but I needed to smell him, hold him for a bit. When I handed him my cellphone hoping to distract him, he thrust the cup he held toward his mom. She watched with a smile as he tapped the screen with a chubby little finger.

“You haven't answered my question.” When I glanced her way she added, “Is it serious?”

I waited a pause before answering. I wanted to say my draw to Stacie was because she reminded me so much of her. She filled a void that all the other women that I fucked these past twenty-two months simply couldn't. The faces of the women I'd screwed all flipped through my mind. Except for Stacie, not one of them meant a thing to me. Stacie was pure, sweet, and the perfect distraction, but I couldn't commit to more. Maybe in the back of my mind and deep in my heart I was holding out for the possibility that Angela would someday come back to me.

“Her schedule kept things from truly progressing.”

“If she suddenly quit her job and moved to New York, could it be?”

“I don't know,” I answered truthfully. I honestly couldn't answer that question. If Stacie suddenly relocated to New York I know that we'd absolutely have gotten more serious, but would we survive Angela coming back into my life?

“What about you, Angela? Has there been anyone else since me?”

Based on the look in her eyes, the love she felt for me was unmistakable. Closing them, she took a calming breath before admitting, “Nick, the last man I've been with was you. The last man I've loved was you.”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” she said softly.

“You didn't,” I was quick to respond.

Actually, it was just the opposite. Her admission warmed me in a way that I hadn't been for a long time. Did I feel the same way as she? In the beginning I thought that I loved her. After she ended it, with time that love turned into something else. At the time I thought it was hatred, but having her here now I realized in spite of everything I could
never
hate her. Maybe “victimized” would be the right word?

Slowly, clarity helped me look toward myself as part of the problem, and I decided I needed to own some of the blame. Although she was the one to give up before even giving us a chance, it wasn't all on her. My pride had stopped me from chasing her, and that was probably the biggest mistake of my life.

She pinned me with her big, emotional green eyes. “I know that I dumped a lot on you last night and today. Now that you know everything I can only hope that you can forgive me, Nick.”

By just staring at me she caused my insides to ignite. Angela Cavello affected me in every way, then, now. There was no denying this woman got under my skin, and the sick part was after all that happened to widen the divide between us, I still wanted her.

I
wanted
her.

The resentment that I felt toward her just a few hours ago was slowly ebbing away, replaced by desire and need. Several times since last night, she made it clear that she still loved me. The question that remained was did I love her, and if so, was it enough to forget what she kept from me?

She must have misinterpreted my contemplation and silence as something else because she suddenly stood and said, “Ready for dinner, little man?” She ruffled Nicholas's hair as he sat on my lap, still playing with my cellphone. Removing my cell from his grip and handing it back to me caused his face to pucker in disappointment. When she bent closer to lift him off my lap, her vanilla scent immediately brought back memories of her smooth skin and soft curves.

Nicholas was reaching for my phone with both arms out as she sat him on her hip. “Mine!” he demanded, making me laugh.

I handed it back to him and Angela scolded, “You can't give him everything he wants. He'll have you wrapped around his little finger and he'll know that he does.”

“He already has me wrapped around his little finger,” I admitted. This kid who I just met had completely fucked with my heart. He was absolutely adorable, from head to toe. I never really thought about procreation, but how could I not be in awe of this perfect little person that we made together?

She shook her head with a smirk on her face. “Once I start feeding him, I'll get it back for you. Although it may be covered in pasta sauce by then.”

I watched as she carried him into the kitchen and settled him into his high chair. He absolutely knew what was coming based on the way he bounced in his seat. She prepared his dinner, and placed it on his tray while snatching up my cellphone. He dove right in, mostly using his fingers and occasionally using the green plastic spoon Angela kept reminding him to use. While he ate, she initiated a conversation as if he were an adult. She brought up things we saw at the park, asked him questions, distracted him when he began playing with his food instead of eating it.

At times she laughed at his mischievous behavior instead of reprimanding him. He flirted his way into getting more pasta. They had an obvious bond that sparked jealousy within me. Of course they would, but it was more than just a mother-son thing. They were a team, and watching them interact as they were made me feel like I was intruding.

Normally, I was a very patient person. In this situation, I wanted to fast-forward and cram everything I missed into this one day…but that was completely unrealistic. I had a lot to figure out, the most important one of which was where I wanted this to go and how I was going to handle the case.

He looked over at me with a smile full of pasta. “Ummy?” he asked, lifting a fistful toward me. I walked closer, looking to Angela for translation.

“He wants you to have some.”

“Thank you.” I nodded, pretending to eat the squished pasta he offered. He laughed and offered a second handful to his mother. She held his wrist and made munching noises as she pretended to eat from his hand. He belly-laughed, quickly scooping some into his mouth before offering her more.

“Okay, now you're playing around, Mr. Little Man,” she pretended to scold him. She cleaned him up, and set him down on the floor. He immediately scurried off like a little crab, aiming straight for his toy box. Angela followed him into the living room and turned on the TV to some kid show. The minute he heard the music, he started dancing in place. When he wiggled his diapered butt, I laughed out loud.

“I know, he makes me laugh so many times a day,” she admitted proudly. “He'll be entertained for a bit. I'm starving, would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I gotta go,” I said halfheartedly.

If she were to insist that I stay I would've, but she didn't. She merely nodded without argument. “Okay.”

My heart squeezed in my chest over leaving them. I already missed my son, and I hadn't even walked out the door. “Good night, my boy,” I said quietly before bending to kiss the top of his head. “Night, Angela.”

As I walked toward her door, she called out, “Wait, your phone.”

Shit, what was going on with me? Feeling like an idiot, I backtracked and took it from her hand, my fingers grazing hers as I did. “What's your number?” I asked, realizing I didn't have it. I dialed as she recited it for me. Once the call connected, the ringtone that began playing was “Auld Lang Syne,” causing my eyes to connect with hers.

“It reminds me of a happier time,” she said without apology.

The intensity between our gazes left no question that we were both seeing the same imagery. Standing in that crowded bar, kissing at the stroke of twelve, my hands on her face, my lips repeatedly tasting hers while creating our perfect first kiss. I didn't want to stop that night, and just thinking about it made me want to re-create it. In a way, that one sad song metaphorically represented our first and only night together. That night was the only memory I held on to these past years, and at times reliving it consumed me. I lost count how many women I'd pretended were her, imagining her face while fucking others.

She stood staring, her beauty causing my heart to slam in my chest like a sledgehammer. Driven by my thoughts and my desire, I pounced like a lion catching a gazelle.
Fuck it all to hell
was my last thought before I kissed her just as I had that New Year's Eve twenty-two months ago.

And just as it had that night, the kiss left me wanting all of her more than my next breath.

I felt like such a prick.

I attacked her, came to my senses, and walked out.

At least ten times during the course of the night I picked up my phone to call her, and at times considered just showing up at her door.

By the grace of some unknown force, I managed to avoid doing either. Instead of finding peace in my sleep, even possibly dreaming of her in the process, I sat up all night thinking of how fucked up my head was with every thought that was running…no, scratch that…with every thought that was trampling through it. I should have passed out exhausted after not having slept in two days, but why would things be that easy for me?

Like the Vegas-fucking-Strip my mind wouldn't shut down since the moment I walked out her door…nor would my cock. That one kiss unleashed over a thousand days worth of missing her. That kiss uncorked every drop of desire I worked my ass off trying to hold back, making it gush like Niagara-fucking-Falls…then add in my newfound torment of needing to be within five feet of my son.

My head was a mess, and I had to get it on straight before I met with my boss.

Not a cold shower, a pot of coffee, or even reading the case file and staring at photos of Ronnie's lifeless body erased the memory of her lips against mine.

Nothing. Fucking. Worked.

I was walking out my door when I received a text from Angela:
Sorry to bother you. Wanted to let you know that some man named George Whitney just called and asked me to come in at eleven to meet with Agent Rupert.

Just fuck me.
I had several missed calls and a few texts from George, and I'm sure he was not happy with me at the moment.

I dialed her number, not wanting to have this conversation via text.

“Hi,” she said timidly over the phone.

I should apologize for my behavior, but instead I said, “I'm not sure if I'll be in the room with you. If not, I want you to answer every question honestly. Don't offer any information unless it answers a direct question.”

“Should I have a lawyer present with me? I have no idea how to do this, Nick.”

“You're just a person of interest at this point, not a suspect.”

She let out a sarcastic huff. “Yet.”

“Angela, I may not be in the room with you, but George will walk you through procedure and keep you protected as best he can. I'll call you when I can.”

“Okay.”

The fear in her voice squeezed my chest with helplessness. I needed to help her in every way I could, I just didn't know how yet.

“Who will watch Nicholas?” I asked with concern.

“He's at daycare. Eve is prepared to pick him up if I run late.”

“Okay. You'll be fine, Angela,” I said before hanging up, wishing I could believe my own words.

I arrived at headquarters much earlier than I needed to. One would think it would give me time to prepare myself for possibly the most important meeting of my professional career. One would be wrong. When only fifteen minutes passed and I still hadn't come up with a brilliant solution, I regretted not going to the gym instead. At least then I could release some of this tension by pounding on something.

One hour before I was due to meet with Rupert, George walked into my office.

“Jesus, Nick. What the hell is going on?” He shut the door behind him, glaring at me from across the room. “I called you last night, and this morning. It'd be great if I knew what had you taking the day off yesterday. I can't keep promises that I made to you if you keep me in the dark.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” I pointed to the chair that faced my desk. “Have a seat, this is going to take a while.”

“I spoke to Angela. Rupert wants her here…”

“At eleven. I know.” He couldn't hide the surprise on his face. “I've been with her since we left here after her first interrogation.” He went to speak but I lifted a hand to stop him. “George, let me get this all out, we don't have much time.”

I gave a very quick, facts only, rundown of everything Angela told me from start to finish, leaving out all that had to do with Nicholas. I started with the pictures Ronnie sent her of my slashed tires, threats he made over the time we were apart, and that she withheld it all to protect me. I repeated Ronnie's conversation with Angela regarding her uncle's accident, that Angela went to Luca for guidance, and why she ran from Chicago to escape Ronnie. I ended with her explaining what happened once she arrived in New York, and her admission of what David and Luca did to start a war between the families. The only detail I purposely left out was Angela's uncle's possible involvement with the Delarros…only because I really didn't have anything concrete on that piece of the puzzle.

George sat silently, listening to it all, sometimes nodding, most of the time frowning.

“We'll need to question her brother and cousin since they could be responsible for all this new bad blood between Delarro and Pucci.”

“I know, and I told her the same.” Who the fuck could predict that as we, the FBI, were watching these Mob fuckers, the woman I thought I loved was simultaneously entwined in that dark world. “There's one more thing you need to know.” I scrubbed a hand over my face and looked him in the eye. “She has a son. He's just over a year old, and…he's mine.” George's mouth gaped open in shock. “I had no idea. She kept him from me because of Delarro's threats.”

“Did Delarro know he was yours?”

“We don't know. He found her again once she moved to New York six months ago. We have no idea why he would send her photos of my slashed tires, but then never mention me again. My gut tells me he figured out who I was, and decided to keep that to himself for a while.”

“You being in the FBI could be the only reason he didn't harm her.”

“I was thinking the same. Or he was about to, once he found her again.” The thought raised the hair on the back of my neck. “According to Angela, he had no idea where she was hiding until her arrival in New York.”

“How does she know that for sure?”

“He never contacted her in Ohio, but constantly harassed her cousin Eve.”

George rubbed the back of his neck, a move he only made when he was concerned about something.

“What are you thinking?” I prompted.

“I think she's innocent.” I felt the same, and hearing him voicing that out loud calmed me a bit. “I spent the day yesterday pulling the security tapes from Delarro's building. Rupert matched up each person coming and going with residents, friends and family of residents, deliverymen. She wasn't on them. There's a short list of people who came and left the day of his murder that none of the residents or doormen could identify. One person in question had on a hoodie and sunglasses, making it impossible to get a good visual even with the photo analysis software. It's definitely a man, built, tall, not a woman. We know she didn't kill Ronnie, and that's what we need to use with Rupert.”

“I'm not sure ruling her out will be enough to keep me on this case. He's going to pull me. If he does, everything I discover from here on out I'll need to disclose, or it won't be admissible. Everything I know up until this moment, Rupert will know. I just can't promise what I discover after today I'll be able to share with him, especially if my son is in danger.”