Secrets and Seduction: 5 Romance Novels (107 page)

“It is a lie! Castro is dead!” her father shouted.

“Not according to that.”

“Castro’s government is covering it up.” Her father’s face was beet red.

“Papá, I think you’d better resign yourself to staying in America.”

“You have made no secret you want to stay in this country,” he said with a note of censure.

“No, I haven’t. This is my home.”

“I think Ziffkin is the reason you want to stay.”

“He’s part of it,” she admitted.

“I told you to stop seeing him.”

“I’m sorry, Papá, but I can’t. I dreamed of being with him.”

Her mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Her father’s face turned from red to purple. “You would lie to me about this? You would lie for him, a white man?”

Ileana stiffened. She felt her facial muscles harden. Hurt knotted her stomach around the food she’d eaten. “I would never lie about the Sight.”

“No daughter of mine will be with a white man. I forbid it. That Ziffkin would even think to sully a pure Cuban makes me want to squash him like a bug.”

Although Ileana didn’t know if she’d be able to turn around Michael’s thinking, still she had to protect him from her father’s wrath. “You will not touch Michael.”

“So it is Michael now. You have been seeing him behind my back, defying me.”

Ileana lifted her chin and squarely faced her father. “I love him.”

“Love,” her father exploded. “What do you know about love? You are a child.”

“I’m almost thirty. I loved Roberto. I’ve watched you and Mamá, and
Abuelo
and
Abuela
Alvarez—wonderful examples of loving couples. I know what love is, Papá.”

“I forbid it.” Her father clutched his chest, huffing hard.

“Papá!” Ileana reached for him at the same time her mother did.

“Sit down, Esteban,” her mother ordered.

Her father’s chest heaved with each breath. Her mother fetched him a glass of water and thrust it in his hands.

“Drink,” she told him firmly.

Ileana hovered, uncertain what to do. Her mother retrieved a prescription bottle from a kitchen cabinet and emptied a pill into her father’s hand. He glared at her and she glared back. With sullen movements, he swallowed the pill.

Ileana gasped. “Is that nitroglycerin?”

Her father gave her a withering look.

“It’s his blood pressure medicine,” her mother replied with righteous indignation. “Your father has been working far too hard and I caught him eating take-out food the doctor has forbidden.”

“Yelina,” her father rebuked. “This is our private business.”

“Bah,” her mother responded. “I will not allow you to rob me of our life together because you will not obey the doctor. Our children will agree with me.”

“Papá,” Ileana chastised him. “The doctor told you how to live a full life.”

“This is not about me, young woman. We were talking about your disobedience.” His eyes got crafty. “If you want to be president of Calderon, you must give up Ziffkin.”

The ultimatum hit Ileana like a sledgehammer. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her mother drew an audible breath. Choose between the two things she wanted most—Michael or the presidency of Calderon. Ileana hadn’t known her father could be cruel, but he had enlarged the company his father started and made it a thriving enterprise and he’d risen to the top of the Cuban merchant families. He must have some ruthlessness in him. Still, she was his daughter whom he proclaimed to love.

As she despaired of losing either of the things that defined her happiness, a disturbing thought intruded. Neither of those things was certain. If she gave up Calderon, she might never win Michael. His fears were deeply entrenched. And if she gave up any hope of winning Michael, gave in to his unspoken desire to stay out of his life, her father might still choose Juan Carlos as his heir. She owned neither of the prizes, but her father expected her to pay for them anyway.

He was watching her now with smug dark eyes, waiting to see if she would act as a dutiful Cuban daughter would. The Cuban papá was the head of his household—his word was law. Was she a dutiful Cuban daughter? She’d tried to be. He owed her for that.

“Who do you plan to promote, Papá?”

Her father looked momentarily startled, but soon regained his composure. “That is not at issue here.”

“I think it is. You ask me to do something for you. What will you do in return?”

“You will not be president while you keep seeing Ziffkin.”

“Will I be president?” she demanded.

“Ileana,” his tone turned cajoling. “He is not our kind. He cannot make you happy, not when he will cause a break with your family.”

A slow realization dawned on Ileana. Her father did not intend to promote her. “You intend to choose Juan Carlos, don’t you?”

“Ileana, a woman’s place is tending the home and raising the children. It’s what you would have done for Roberto. It’s our way.”

She could barely deal with the hurt of betrayal. “Roberto died years ago, Papá, and my dreams of keeping a home for him died, too. I thought you knew that. I’ve learned how to earn my keep in the world. I’ve earned a place at Calderon.”

“Only until you marry. Then your job is to take care of your husband and children.”

“You expect me to throw away everything I’ve learned simply because I would marry? You think I went away to college for nothing?”

“I did not want you to go,” he reminded her.

“Why did you bother to teach me your business, Papá?”

He opened his arms in mute appeal. “You seemed so far away after Roberto died. Your mother and I could not reach you. But then you came back from college and you had regained some of the fire you had before. You came alive again at Calderon. I wanted you to come all the way back to us so you could have the life you deserve—the husband, the children. But they are a Cuban husband and Cuban children, Ileana.”

Ileana could go on as she was at Calderon, with no chance for advancement. Juan Carlos was her age—he could be president for the next fifty years. He’d bring his children into the business—his sons—and groom them as his successors just as his brother Roberto would have.

She would become
Tia
Ileana at Calderon, a spinster aunt. She did not foresee a time when she would meet a man who equaled Michael or Roberto, and she would not settle for less.

Her choice now seemed crystal clear. “You’ll have my resignation on your desk tomorrow morning.”

Her father frowned. “You are giving up Ziffkin?”

“No, I’m giving up Calderon. You’ve made it clear I don’t belong there.”

“But where will you go?” her mother asked in alarm.

“Michael Ziffkin offered me a position with his company...”

“No!” her father thundered. “I forbid it.”

Ileana gave him a small, strained smile. “You lost the right to tell me where I can work, Papá. And when you think about hurting his business, know you’ll hurt me too.”

“But Ileana, he is not family,” her mother protested.

Not yet. But Ileana would work on that. He couldn’t avoid her at his own company. And right now, unfortunately, he had a job opening.

“The woman who died, Desiree Carver, she was Michael’s assistant. Michael was standing closest to her when she was shot. She died in his arms. You should send your condolences to Citadel. A good businessman would. Oh, and she lived with Michael’s best friend. Personal condolences seem to be in order, too. That’s a Cuban philosophy.”

And then she turned and walked out, heading towards the chance for a new life. All she had to face it with were her hope and her love.

Michael hoped work would be his salvation, but he doubted it. Last evening with Jamal had scraped him raw, and Desiree’s death played over and over in his mind. Nothing he’d tried had helped him sleep, and the little shuteye he’d managed to get had been filled with dreams where Desiree morphed into Ileana, her life draining away. He’d woken in a blind panic soaked in sweat.

Now, as he parked his car in the underground garage, he felt like a drowning man grabbing for a life preserver. Work had helped him since Billy died. It was his refuge, his escape, and his panacea. He turned off the car and sat flexing his hands on the steering wheel. Now his headquarters would echo with Desiree’s absence. He’d probably have to face Nadine’s tears. He didn’t need that.

Maybe he should go work out of his warehouse like he used to. Maybe then he could lose himself in work. He reached for the key in the ignition.

A rap on his window startled him. A man he’d never seen before stood there dressed in a business suit. The dark-haired man was in his thirties, probably one of the building’s tenants.

“Are you all right?” the man asked through the glass.

Michael lowered the window. “I’m fine.”

“You’re Michael Ziffkin, right? I came here to see you.”

The man wasn’t a tenant after all. How had he recognized Michael?

“My name’s Pete Bosco. I’m in security. I’ve heard about your troubles. I have a pipeline into the police department.”

“That’s mighty convenient for someone in your business,” Michael replied dryly.

Bosco smiled showing gleaming white teeth. “Yes it is.”

“I’m afraid you’ve wasted a trip over, Mr. Bosco. I already employ a security firm.”

“Clearly not as good as mine, Mr. Ziffkin.”

“You’re welcome to send me a price proposal. I don’t know when I’ll be able to look it over. My assistant died yesterday, so I’m swamped with work.”

“My condolences on your loss. Who would have known she meant that much to your company.”

Michael jerked. Had he heard Bosco right?

“Your company has vulnerabilities. I’ve studied it, you see. It’s always good to know your target client.”

Michael went cold all the way through. He glanced toward where the garage camera was.

Bosco followed his gaze. “The nearest security camera has had an unfortunate malfunction. Cheap equipment will do that. It’s noted in my evaluation. I’d like to present my proposal in person, Mr. Ziffkin. I’m sure you’ll find it irresistible.”

Michael reached slowly for the ignition once more.

“Uh uh uh,” Bosco scolded. A big ugly gun appeared in his hand. Michael had seen enough movies and television to recognize a silencer on the end of it. “You don’t want to do that.”

Michael slid his hand away from the key and rested it on the door.

“That’s better. This was supposed to be a talk between businessmen. Now you’ve made me lower the tone. So let me tell you how it’s going to be. Starting this week you’re going to employ my firm to stop the break-ins that have been occurring. I can assure you I’ll get instant results. And there won’t be any more drug overdoses, not with my security at work. And best of all, I can assure the safety of all your other employees. It’s unfortunate we weren’t on the job yesterday. We could have prevented your assistant from being shot in that mob.”

Jesus, Rick had been right. This man killed Desiree. Fear turned to molten hot anger. “You bastard! I’ve been to the police. I warned them I thought I’d be hit up for protection money.”

“Yes you did. That wasn’t very smart of you. But I’m a forgiving man. For an additional fee we can protect your family. Your mother’s quite ill at the moment. We can place a guard right outside her hospital room at the Miami Medical Center.”

Michael’s helpless rage was joined by ice-cold fear. His mom! He’d do anything to protect his mom...but sell his soul to the devil? And if he said no and this thug got to his mom? Michael would never forgive himself.

But the cops would catch Bosco. Michael could give a detailed description now.

Bosco continued, “Your cop brother is lucky he’s never been injured in the line of duty. Homicide detectives are going after people who’ve already killed once. Killing a second or a third time is so much easier.”

Not Rick! Michael had lost one brother. He wouldn’t lose another.

Bosco added, “And the woman you’ve been seeing, Ileana Alvarez Calderon. Such a beautiful woman and she lives all alone.”

Rage like Michael had never experience before surged through him. He rammed the door open into Bosco with all his strength. The gun exploded, the discharge a soft percussive whine.

As Bosco stumbled backwards, Michael flung himself around the door and threw his weight against the thug. They tumbled to the concrete grappling for the gun. Another percussion whizzed past Michael’s ear. He used all his strength to keep the gun from pointing at him.

He’d kill Bosco. Bosco had threatened his family, the people he loved. Michael had promised to protect them and he would, even if it meant giving up his own life. And Bosco had threatened Ileana.

Michael and Bosco battled in silence. Michael felt sweat beading his brow and hairline. He didn’t want to die. He had so much still to live for—to see his mom well again, to make up with Charlie, to finish reconciling with Rick. Michael regretted the years he’d lost with his brothers. He regretted never falling in love, never marrying, not having an heir to give Citadel to, and for pushing Ileana away. God, he wanted to live! He wanted to see Ileana again and make it up to her.

“Freeze! Miami PD!” a man shouted. The click of guns being readied to fire sounded as loud as the shout.

Bosco froze and Michael used that moment to tear the gun from his hand. Then he rolled off the thug and looked up to see Rick and Detective Washington aiming guns at Bosco. Michael had never seen a more welcome sight.

“What are you doing here?” Michael asked his brother as he climbed to his feet.

Rick kept his gun pointed at Bosco as Washington cuffed the man.

“Saving your bacon, bro.” Rick’s voice hitched. “I was almost too late. Why didn’t you just pay him?”

Michael shook his head. “I couldn’t. He threatened Mom and you. I would have paid for Mom, but you...I had to protect you. And he threatened Ileana.”

“Looks like I’m protecting you, big brother.”

“Yeah, looks like.”

“Better call in your team,” Rick told Washington as the major crimes cop hauled Bosco to his feet.

“He killed Desiree,” Michael reported. “Or ordered it done. Oh, and the other body was his work, too.”