Taking Jana (Paradise South #2) (7 page)

CHAPTER 7

H
er father was
asleep and her mother was glowering at her from her awkward fetal position in that armchair in the corner of the icy room. Jin had put on so much weight over the years, her fire hydrant stature made the chair look more uncomfortable than it probably was.

“Go home, Ma,” Jana commanded in a hush.

Jin pushed herself out of the armchair’s clutches and put up no argument.

“I sent the cab away because the driver wasn’t nice. Ask the registration desk to call you another one.”

Jin nodded,
red-eyed
and drained, but not too exhausted to mention before leaving, “The doctor asked about you, Jana. You should meet with him for a date.”

“A date, huh? Ma, how about I meet with him about Daddy, here in this hospital room? Go home and sleep. And don’t worry about the restaurant. I added ‘until further notice’ to the hanging ‘Closed’ sign, so you don’t have to open for a few days, at least.” Hoping in the end, she could still convince them to close permanently.

“Oh no, Jana, Daddy will never have that. I need to open every day. Every day! He made me promise.”

“Jesus, Mom. You can promise all you want, but you can’t function without him there, and from the looks of the place tonight, you can’t count on the staff either. They don’t give a damn.
I
wouldn’t eat there in its current state.” And she grew up eating the food cooked in that kitchen, never
spotless-eat
-
off-the
-floor of kitchens, but she’d never gotten sick. Now, though,
Jesus
. She wouldn’t send Ilana Simon to eat at the place.

“Jana, you don’t understand…we can’t make our customers mad. They count on us.”

“The numbers say that not too many people do count on you, Ma. And one or a dozen patrons, you don’t want anyone to get sick, do you? The place needs some serious attention,” Jana offered, wanting to shout at both her parents for how oblivious they were about their health code violations, their staff, and of course, their own finances! But she reeled herself in an instant later, seeing the hurt in her mother’s eyes. “Look, your husband had a heart attack and
open-heart
surgery. Your customers will more than understand. It would even make them think bad of you if you didn’t close for a few days.”

“You can open the restaurant for me in the morning. After you get a few hours’ sleep,” Jin said too loudly; her father moaned and shifted, but didn’t wake completely.

“Ma, the shop is closed today. You’re sleeping, then coming back here to sit with Dad. I have a meeting tonight I have to go to.”

“A meeting?” As if to say that a meeting of Jana’s during this horrible tragedy was unimportant and maybe even inappropriate, while the woman was insisting that Jana open the damn sinkhole of a restaurant?

“Yes, Ma, unless
you
would like to find a mere two hundred thousand to
almost
cover this.” Jana swept her arm out to show Jin the
equipment-filled
hospital room. “Isn’t that what you asked me to handle last night? Because I am sure you didn’t even think to ask Dane, right? Not for financial or even moral support?”

Jin shook her head, embarrassed maybe, or ashamed? Disgusted even? Or maybe just defensive? Both her parents still touted for her brother, even after everything he did to them, to her. “Dane and Alexa are having another baby. He can’t be here. And they need the money for when the child arrives. You don’t have children, Jana, so you couldn’t understand.”

Wow. When she thought her parents could not shock her further. Her brother was broke with another kid on the way? And that was her problem how? In the very few flings she’d had over the years, she’d used birth control. Had they heard of it?

But that wasn’t her business. Apparently, what was her business, and her problem still and always, were her parents’ problems, and they always all rested solely on her.

Maybe it was because she was the childless spinster who had all the time in the world to spin a few hundred grand out of thin air. The insanity; that was what hurt most. That her mother was completely serious, with not an ounce of awareness as to the sickness of her comment, of her mindset.

“Mom, you’re exhausted. Go home. Rest.” She attempted to sprinkle her words with sugary sweetness, but they turned out to be a powdery poison instead. Whatever. She needed the woman out of her face.

Jin picked up her purse in a slight huff and left, thankfully, without another word.

Jana folded herself into the chair her mother had made warm for her, and despite the ridiculousness of the hard arms and seat of the damn thing, and the maddening thoughts overrunning her
blood-boiling
mind, she fell asleep.

*

Antonio had told dispatch to ignore all of Jocelyn Carlson’s future requests. And he’d deleted all of her lengthy and abusive voicemails from his company cell, too.
Pathetic.

Now he had to prepare for a
high-ticket
replacement, or replacements. It would more than likely take a few better paying clients to make up for the loss of his one, but he had no choice. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he crawled back to that depraved lunatic and her obscene displays, her oozing, deplorable melodrama.

Making the phone call to Jake Demonte would be somewhat easier to stomach than letting that wealthy,
gold-digging
whore back in his back seat.

Before Antonio had left his seaside town on the Pacific Coast of Mexico, he’d had a great cooperative arrangement with Jake Demonte. The man owned the largest gentlemen’s club in Vallarta until, rumor had it, competing drug cartels had pressured him out for allowing one source over another to supply his club’s patrons and dancers. It became too much of a hassle, and Jake owned a chain of other clubs that he could fall back on anyway in Florida, Jersey, and New York.

Antonio had made out well promoting and bringing new clientele to Jake’s Vallarta club at the time. The kickbacks from Jake had actually funded Antonio’s travel to New York.

But more than a good business
co-op
, Jake made it clear that he felt he owed Antonio. “You need anything when you’re up there, Tone, anything at all, you call. You hear me? I still haven’t forgotten what you did for my kid,” he’d told Antonio before he’d left. Jake was referring to the time Antonio had pulled his son out of the way of a
dumb-ass
drunk in the club parking lot some ten years back. Antonio had been in the right place at the right time was all; anyone would’ve done the same.

But still, he did as Jake told him and didn’t hesitate to call. He hadn’t really had a choice after he was laid off by the Manhattan limo company, an inevitable next step after Michelle had slept with the owner of the damn outfit. Antonio had had nowhere else to turn. A proud Mexican man would never risk whatever vestige of pride that remained by calling on his family for help. His
brother-in
-law had already done enough by hooking him up with work papers and the New York connections.

Instead, he’d called Jake Demonte.

And when he had, the man hadn’t hesitated to help him get out of the City and over to Jersey. Not only was Antonio’s New Jersey limo license thanks to Jake’s connections, but so was his access permit to the Newark International Airport and his first round of regular higher paying clients. The man also contributed to the down payment for his first owned limo and then financed everything else Antonio needed as his business grew. And Jake didn’t gouge him with the interest rate on the loan, but he wasn’t doing too badly for himself either. It was more or less a
win-win
, and Antonio knew it didn’t have to be. Antonio needed Jake, not the other way around.

But Antonio, being the most prudent of the twelve Ruiz kids, knew to be careful and stopped asking for help for a good long while. Even though he knew Jake Demonte wasn’t connected to any
big-time
Italian families, the bottom line was that the man had money and clout, which was all gotten by less than pristine means. He was just not a man Antonio wanted to get on the wrong side of.

And now, being in such close proximity to Jake’s smallest club, The Wet Spot in industrial Newark, Antonio,
ever-wary
and a skeptic at heart, waited for Jake to call in favors as compensation. The credit for pulling his kid out of a car’s path had to expire sometime, right? He’d worry and plan what he’d say. “Sorry, man, my trunk’s too small for a dead body today.” And he’d laughed it off each time.

Because Jake never did call for any other reason but to throw him Jake’s own personal business when he had it. And Jake always paid him more than fairly. Antonio was very rarely surprised by people, but the strip club mogul had turned out to be an upstanding guy, one who happened to be in a super shady business.

And so now, after the sufficiently long hiatus on favor requests, he’d turn to Jake once again to help replace the money stream that was Jocelyn Carlson.

He took a deep breath then pressed Jake’s personal cell number, really the only way to reach the man. It rang several times before the voicemail greeting came on, Jake’s thick Jersey accent with the
always-gruff
tone: “Leave a message for Jake Demonte. Beep.” The “
Beep
” was spoken. The message spelled out the man to a ‘T,’ Antonio thought.

“Hey, Jake, it’s Antonio. Please call my cell when you get this. All is fine…just a quick question. Thanks.” He didn’t want to worry his financier. He didn’t need Jake thinking the call was about him needing to miss a loan payment or anything like that. But he also didn’t want to leave details that he wanted a lesser favor. More business.

Antonio looked down at his legal pad to add some figures, then he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was so damn close to his number, so close he could taste it. If only Jake would call back today and not next week or the week after that. Jake Demonte always came through, but
when
was often the question.

*

His cell rang, jolting Antonio out of his
number-crunching
zone.

“Tony, Jake Demonte. How you doin’, son?”

Antonio put his pencil down and spun around in his desk chair to stare at his computer monitor with his target number as the screen’s background.
Clear your mind.
“Jake, thanks for the quick call back. Good, I’m good, thanks. How are you? And the new club on the Island?”

“Behind fuckin’ schedule, as construction always is. And with my kid on lead, Jesus Christ, don’t get me started…he’s a little blowhard wanting to fill my goddamn shoes after being out of school for only a few fucking months. And after I paid four years of college fucking tuition as high as my dick is long, what does he do?” The man paused for an answer to his rhetorical question.

But Antonio remained quiet.

“Well, I’ll tell ya. He spends more of my money, for fuck’s sake, that’s what! On girls, coke, more girls! Says he’s got a plan, an underground money river or some shit. Gonna get me and my clubs in trouble, Tone, that’s what he’s gonna do! Just unnecessary stress.”

Antonio let Jake simmer a second. “God, Jake…sorry man. Dealing with family’s gotta be tough.”

“It is, it sure as fuck is. And I’ll tell ya, I’ll always be thankful to you pulling Johnnie to safety that time, Tone, but shit, maybe a nick here or there woulda done him some good. The ego on that kid, you know?” He snickered. “But on second thought, my ex woulda castrated me, so I guess I’m glad you didn’t let him get a scratch.”

“Yeah, man,” Antonio said, laughing lightly and hoping like hell to end the discussion of the man’s personal life as soon as humanly possible. The less he knew, the safer.

“But as for the new club, it’ll come together. Just never as fast as you want.”

“Sure, with anything, right?”

“With anything good, at least! So what’s up, Tone? How can I help?”

“Well, I was calling to see if you needed me on anything major? I lost a big client, or more like, turned one away. I’m hoping to get my goal met, but I’m—”

“Still so damn focused. I never met someone as
goal-oriented
as you, Tone. Now if you’d just rub off on the kid. Damn his mother, spoilin’ the shit outta ’im,” the man mumbled, then came back on track. “Yeah, Tone, I’ll see what I got. Absolutely. Maybe I can get my dad to swallow his damn pride, take some help. He’s getting up there now, doctors and shit all the time. He shouldn’t be behind a wheel, or behind a cane for that matter,” the man said through his laughter. “Gimme some time, yeah?”

“God, Jake, thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

“Tone, listen, don’t mention it. Will talk soon.”

“Okay, Jake. Thanks again.” And he ended the call.

He spun back around to his notepad. Based on the rate Jake had paid in past, he jotted some more figures. Maybe he’d get a few weekdays driving Jake’s dad. That would fill the place of his lost nights with Jocelyn. And wouldn’t cut into potential
high-ticket
money on a weekend night, especially with prom and wedding season here. That would be the way. It was no longer the three months he’d hoped for, but maybe six more months, and then he’d be done. Not bad. Definitely doable.

And then his cell rang again. That was quick, damn quick for Jake! He held his screen up to his
glazed-over
eyes after so much number crunching, and there on his screen was Michelle’s image, with her bright eyes and wavy strawberry blonde hair, the photo he hadn’t deleted, even though it’d been more than a damn year.

What the hell did she want?

CHAPTER 8

H
is sister came
through the door, and the girls jumped up to greet her.

“I made enchiladas, still hot on the stove,” Antonio called out to Celeste.

“
Uh-oh
,” she cracked. His sister’s authentic Mexican was nearly as amazing as their mother’s had been, while Antonio’s was less than stellar. “Thank you, brother! And thanks for picking up the girls again. God, the new manager keeps stopping me from leaving as I’m out the door. What would I do without you?” she said, freeing her hands of her groceries then kissing Antonio on the forehead.

He didn’t want to start in on her again, but she’d left the topic wide open. “Why don’t you rethink coming back with me then? Because, I don’t know what you’ll do without me either,” he said in all seriousness. “You wouldn’t have to work two jobs in Vallarta, or even one if you’d let anyone help you out—”

“Please, not again, Antonio.” She shook her head at him, her eyes shifting to her three little girls. But the television was blaring, so he knew they couldn’t hear a word. And he wasn’t even close to being finished. “It wouldn’t matter where in the world we were, I wouldn’t take your money. Between you and Ray. And Isa…our baby sister, for Christ’s sakes! I swear to God…I do have a shred of pride left.”

“Fine, fine—no money. But in Vallarta, we’d all be there to help with the girls, at least. Your family, Celeste, is in Vallarta.”

“I like it here. I want them to go to school here, and even, you know, get married here,” she said as she began to put away the groceries.

Oh, so the girls were being geared to marry already, huh? They were only five, seven and nine! Talk about projecting, Jesus.

But for his logistical argument’s sake, he steered away from anything to do with marriage, namely his sister’s failed one. “You still want to stay here even though you’re living in…this?”

She froze, hands full with boxes of crackers and cereal. “Hey, you watch it, Antonio José Ruiz. I’ve made a home out of ‘this’ and I won’t have the girls hearing you say otherwise. When you have children, you’ll understand.”

He hadn’t meant to insult her; he respected his older sister far too much, however stubborn she could be. And really, none of it was any of his business. He’d heard her undertone loud and clear. But it didn’t mean he didn’t have every reason to be concerned about her and the girls when he leaves because he really had thought she was coming back with him, and that she had only wanted the taste of America and nothing more.

“When Zack hooked us up with work visas and these contacts, we were just, you know, gonna make our money and head home. To where we belong…remember?”

“You may have thought that, but I had no idea what, or who, I’d find here, so I kept my mind open. And well…I like it here.”

When Zack, Isa’s husband, had offered his connections to any of Isabel’s siblings for getting to and working in the US, Antonio had bitten. He’d, of course, wanted to crash through the financial ceiling he’d hit with his own limo business in Vallarta. A management position with a giant Manhattan operation would put him that much closer to his goal. But Antonio had always seen his move as a means to a financial end with a solid plan to return home.

Celeste had also jumped at the chance—for herself and for her girls. “The opportunity of a lifetime,” she’d said. But she apparently meant the “lifetime” part more literally. The ‘American Dream’ and her chance at it had bitten her hard.

“‘Liking’ it here and ‘thriving’ here are two different things. And damn it, Celi, you’re as stubborn as Mom was. I don’t know why you won’t accept even a little help?”

“I ask you for help all the time. You pick up the girls when I can’t,” she said, lifting her eyebrows at him. Then she continued to shove items in cupboards, murmuring and grumbling as she did.

“That’s hardly help, Celi.”

“It is, and that’s all I want from you. You’re my brother, not my goddamn husband. God, if I wanted to find a man, a father for the girls, I would.”

Her words and tone were nonchalant, but he saw right through it. Hell, she’d been dressing as if she were on the hunt for a long while now, ever since Juan ran out on her. The asshole. What kind of man? The father of his nieces had left Celeste to raise three kids on her own, no financial support, no nothing. It was hard for Antonio to watch. His sister’s struggle wrenched his heart.

“I’d worry about you and the girls here, Celeste.”
With or without a man.
“Again, at least, in Vallarta, you’ll have the family’s support.”

“You think I
need
a man, don’t you? I can’t survive without you or without Juan, right? Man’s gotta bring the money, or there isn’t any?”

“I didn’t say that…Jesus! And that’s not even the point.” He shook his head at her. Her insecurities were leading to obvious defensiveness and goddamn idiotic statements. “The point is…you need a safety net…you have three little girls, Cel—”

“And those three little girls are mine. And they have a safety net…me! Money isn’t everything,
hermano
! God, always with you…money, money, money!” She was now shoving groceries into the refrigerator in a frantic huff, unable to close the drawers and therefore, the door. “It’s always your answer. But it doesn’t solve anything. It always comes with strings, with a price, and I have my damn pride!” She paused, looked at her girls by the TV, obviously concerned that they’d heard her voice go as loud and shrill as it had.

“But if a man came along, taking money from him would be okay?”

She glared at him, a silent stare of death.

Damn it.
He knew all too well what she had meant, making it on her own. Of course he knew, especially after reclaiming his pride from Jocelyn Carlson the other night. But there was also a time to ask for help like he had to do when he had been laid off two years ago from the Manhattan Limo operation, and now like he had to do to replace the lost revenue from Jocelyn Carlson. He’d had to tuck his tail and call in a favor.

“Sorry, Celi, but I want you to hear yourself. Remember what Juan did to you? I mean, I know you’re strong and smart and an amazing mother and provider! But still, I worry, damn it. I worry. About the things out of your control, beyond money. Safety, security, health, yes?”

She shook her head, nostrils flared as she tried to regain composure. “You know what, Antonio, I worry about
you
. You’ve been obsessed, little brother. Your damn
hyper-focus
on your business, on the almighty dollar. Even putting off having a family? That worries
me
. I
have
kids! You’re the one who’s alone! Sorry, correction, you have your ‘magic number’ to keep you warm at night. Jesus, since you were six years old, nothing but your
million-dollar
mark! Only work, work, work…and never actually living! That’s why Michelle went elsewhere—” She cut herself off, her face flushed immediately; she knew she’d crossed the line.

He glared daggers at his sister.

Who the hell was
she
? Juan had gone elsewhere, no sign, no word, leaving her with three kids. It’d been a totally different scenario with Michelle.

Michelle had known Antonio’s dream. She had shared it, even. They had both wanted to keep nose to the grindstone until they were financially set, and then start their lives together, so she’d told him.

But, apparently, she’d lied. Michelle was slightly more zealous than he was, and obviously, a lot less loyal. She’d found a much quicker route to being
set
. Without Antonio, and with his boss, the
well-off
owner of NYC Limousine Service.

He shook the thought out of his head because, a few days ago, Michelle had called him. Wanting to talk. Needing to see him. Alone.

A surge of memories came to him when he’d answered her call. Hearing her voice sent chills through him in mixed sensations that threw him for a loop. But once the vibration settled in him, he knew the fact of the matter was that he’d loved her when they’d gotten married, and he couldn’t help but love her still.

And if, maybe, hopefully, Michelle regretted what she’d done, saw the light, wanted him back, that fact would push him to consider the possibility of
them
again. Because his love for Michelle went well beyond his pride and far beyond himself.

And it fit. He’d seen in the paper a few weeks back that she wasn’t with Gerald Simon, the prick had stayed with his wife, how lucky for Mrs. Simon. There was a picture of them arm in arm at some charity event. What a goddamn joke.

And, no, he wouldn’t tell Celeste that he was meeting Michelle for dinner later that very night. He wouldn’t and couldn’t tell Celeste any of it because he wasn’t prepared for the judgment in his older sister’s eyes.

And he had to go meet Michelle or he’d regret losing this second chance for the rest of his life.

*

He regained his composure from Celeste’s comment and focused on what the heart of the damn conversation had been—his supposed greed, was it?

“So, because I won’t have kids the way Mom and Dad had kids, I’m a greedy bastard? You think it’d be way better to just pop ’em out without resources, no savings of any kind? And our parents didn’t have just one or two of us with no proper home to raise us in. No, Celi, they had twelve. Twelve helpless dependents!”

“Hush!
Ay Dios Mio
, Antonio.”

He lowered his volume as directed. “Don’t you remember what it was like? God, a doctor’s visit was called for only if there was blood out the ears.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. She could be in denial all she wanted. He knew. He remembered.

“I want to be secure first. That’s my prerogative, and it’s not selfish.”

She paused in the kitchen and came over to the couch. “God, Antonio, I know you’re anything but selfish. And…I didn’t mean to bring her up. I really didn’t.”

He didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

“Listen, I don’t even know what we’re fighting about, anyway. I admire your goal, and I admire your work ethic. Always have. And I know you’re doing it for your future, your family’s future. It’s also okay that we, how do they say, agree to disagree? You know, with how we lead our own lives…yes?”

He still remained silent. He knew from his
thirty-five
years as Celeste’s slightly younger brother to always let her have the last word. Any attempt at the alternative was pointless.

So he nodded as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to check whom the text was from.

A message from dispatch:
A certified package came in. From an NYC law firm
. His eyes kept on the text message for a reread. And another.

“Hey, you okay? Your left eye is squinting. You do that when you’re pissed off about something.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He dismissed her analysis. “But I should get going.” Because he didn’t want his sister drilling him further, and he needed to calm his nerves in order to combat or surrender to the gut feeling making him nauseous and lightheaded at the same time.

Breathe.

“Okay.” She stood up to give him a hug. “And hey,” she said at his shoulder in her tighter than usual embrace, “whether we agree or not, you’ll always be my
pain-in
-
the-ass
brother, from down the road or from another country, okay?” She released him from her hold and smiled warmly at him.

He smirked at her. Celeste was stubborn as hell, but she was family. Always family.

He put his phone back in his pocket. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his oldest niece practicing her kicks in front of the television.

“Tania, please back up from the TV. If you’re not careful, you’re gonna kick right through the darn thing.”

Around his
self-imposed
and constant work schedule, being their uncle and their martial arts instructor was his joy, a peek into the future family he couldn’t wait to have for himself. They were, in essence, his daughters by proxy, and he worried about the three little girls. Why wouldn’t he? When he returned to Vallarta in what he hoped would be just a few months’ time—knock on wood—his nieces wouldn’t even have their
Tio
Antonio, their only male constant. Then Celeste would date some asshole that couldn’t give a shit for them.

Antonio, don’t think about it. They’re not yours
anyway.

“
Tio
, what is it? You look sad,” Tania asked, coming toward him for a hug goodbye. Was his previous thought written all over his face? Kids were so damn smart. So intuitive.

It occurred to him then, what the hell was he rushing off for? To see what a Manhattan attorney had sent him? He was still trying to ignore his gut, which was telling him plenty about what the package contained. Or was he leaving then to get ready for dinner with Michelle? The woman hadn’t treated him like goddamn family when she’d screwed his boss. And for how long really, he’d never know. Michelle wasn’t the woman, the wife, the best friend, or partner he’d been so damn sure she was.

All while his family, his real family stared
doe-eyed
at him here and now. Celeste’s girls, his nieces, were pure unconditional love. Michelle, on the other hand, maybe, probably, wasn’t even worth a second glance, let alone a second thought.

He placed his cell and car keys on the side table next to the sofa. “
Vamos niñas
, shut the tube off, let’s see those ax kicks…all of you…
ariba, ariba
.” He wrangled the other two girls up from the floor, pulled a pillow off the couch, and knelt down to their level. On cue, they lined up single file, even the
five-year
-old Laura knew the drill,
mini-fists
up in fighting position at her face. Their yells of “K’ya!” made his heart and chest swell. He winked and nodded at each of his nieces as they kicked up straight to the ceiling and down hard and strong through the pillow. Exactly the way he had taught them.

Yeah, he was in no hurry to leave them. No hurry at all.