The Muscle Part Two (7 page)

L
uca’s fingers
flew over the keys of Diego’s computer as he listened for sound coming down the hall. Diego had long since stopped throwing things in the study downstairs, which meant he was probably passed out on the sofa in the office. That’s what Luca hoped anyway, because any alternative meant Diego could come up the stairs any minute, and that wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

“How much longer?” Isabel asked.

“I don’t know,” Luca said.

The bar on the computer just said Deleting, but it didn’t give them an ETA on completion. He looked over at her, biting one of her nails, and took her hand. They’d gone through the computer together while Marco kept watch in the hall, but once they’d found the file — marked with Isabel’s name and the date of the assault — she’d insisted on watching it alone to make sure it was the right video. Luca hated the thought of it, but she said it was better than knowing he’d watched it again, so he’d stood outside her bedroom door until she’d returned, grim-faced but resolute.

Now they were in Luca’s room, waiting for the file to disappear. He could have deleted it and sent it to the trash. But that wouldn’t wipe it from the hard drive. A good forensics person would be able to retrieve it — Sara had taught him that. So he was following the protocol he’d learned in New York for getting rid of it for good. He was no IT expert, but they’d all been taught basic IT procedures as part of Nico’s strategy for updating the Vitale crime family, and deleting critical documents off a hard drive was first on the list, critical if they were ever ambushed at Headquarters by the Feds.

“Do you think it’s the only copy?” Isabel asked.

He kissed her hand. “I think we should tell ourselves it’s the only copy and hope for the best.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give her, but it was an honest one. They’d never know for sure, and Isabel deserved more than to spend her life waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to come out with the video or for Sofia to see it. They would deal with it, whatever happened.

He was surprised to find himself thinking that way. He’d never thought of himself in terms of a “they”. Had never really been part of a “we”. But now he found that he wanted to be that with Isabel. Wanted to stay with her and build something with her, watch her spread her wings, paint, walk freely on the beach whenever she wanted. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to let his guard down with Diego out there. Luca would always be worried something might happen to her. But he would have to tell himself she was safe and hope for the best, too.

And whatever happened, he would be there to make sure it was true if she would have him.

The computer made a soft ding.

FILE DELETED.

“Does that mean it’s really gone?” Isabel asked. “He can’t get it back even with a computer expert?”

“It’s gone,” Luca said. “Hand me that flash drive.”

Isabel glanced at the door. “What if he comes back?”

“He must be passed out. If he wasn’t, we’d have heard something from him by now. I just want to take a quick look.”

She handed over the flash drive and he put it in the USB port, then clicked to bring up the contents. The folders appeared on the screen a moment later, and Luca scanned the names, trying to get an idea what was inside them.

“These are all dates and locations,” he said.

“Open one,” she said.

He did, and a spreadsheet scrolled across the screen, filled with names, dates, places, and some kind of shorthand under the heading BUYS. Luca couldn’t make sense of it, but he didn’t dare linger before sending the files to an encrypted email. He would have to look at them later.

He pocketed the flash drive and closed the computer. “I’m going to get this back to the safe.” He was starting for the door when she stopped him.

“I have to do it.”

He stopped, shook his head. “You’ve done enough.”

“No, I mean I know how everything in the safe looked when I opened it, and I want to try and keep it the exact same.”

He wanted to argue, but it was a tough fight to wage. She was right.

“Fine, but hurry,” he said, handing her the computer and flash drive.

She took it and they stepped into the hall where Marco was still waiting, legs apart and arms crossed in ready stance. They watched Isabel hurry toward Diego’s room and disappear behind the closed door.

Marco sighed. “Glad that’s over.”

“It’s not over until it’s over,” Luca said, crossing his arms. “We still have to get Isabel and Sofia out.”

“You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Marco asked.

Luca shrugged. “I don’t want to let my guard down until we’re really in the clear.”

“Something tells me you won’t ever be letting down your guard with that one,” Marco said.

“Maybe not.” He thought the admission might sting after all his years being a lone wolf. Instead he found that it felt good. He should be so lucky to protect Isabel for a lifetime.

It felt like a jinx, and he pushed the thought away. There was no such thing. Isabel was a good person who’d had more than her share of heartache. She deserved something good. Luca had to believe there was some kind of universal fairness that would give her the happiness she had coming. He had to believe it because if there wasn’t, life hardly seemed worth living at all.

And that went double for a life without Isabel.

T
he room was just
as she left it, and she crossed the room quickly, removed the painting from the wall, and opened the safe. She slipped the laptop under the other stuff, careful not to disturb it any more than necessary, then adjusted everything until it all looked like it had when she opened the safe. When everything looked right, she set the flash drive on top. If Diego checked his computer for the file before they got out of the house, they were screwed. But as long as he just glanced in the safe, or even used the computer without looking for the file, they had some time.

She had just closed the safe and was putting the painting back on the wall when she heard shuffling outside the door. She froze, wondering if she’d imagined it. But no, there it was again, a scuff against the door. And then, her worst nightmare.

“Fucking door…” Diego muttered on the other side of the wood. “Fucking, mother-fucking door.”

“Need some help, boss?” It was Marco’s voice and it should have given her comfort. Except nothing could do that now, because her brother was on the other side of the door, probably drunk and violent, about to crash into the room and find her standing in front of the safe she wasn’t supposed to know about.

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Diego shouted. “Where’s Eduardo?”

“I don’t know,” Marco said. “I could call him for you.”

She looked frantically for a place to hide. If Diego entered the room and found her there, they were all done. She considered the small sitting room off the bedroom and the bathroom, but discarded them both. She had no idea if Diego planned to use the bathroom or collapse on the sofa. She couldn’t risk being trapped.

She headed for the balcony doors instead and barely managed to make it outside before the bedroom door opened with a crash. She heard Diego drunkenly slurring his words, followed by the sound of Marco’s voice, low and reassuring, as they entered the room.

She leaned over the edge of the balcony and looked up at the roofline, then at the trim that ran halfway down the facade of the house. The trim wasn’t very wide — maybe six inches — but she could probably scoot along it to the balcony of Luca’s room.

She lifted her legs over the side and turned around, using the space in between the balcony’s iron railing for her feet, while she got her bearings. Then she stepped backward onto the ledge and flattened herself against the house before she could change her mind.

She was breathing heavy now, willing herself not to look down. It wasn’t that far. Not as far as the drop from that hotel to the pool where she’d met Luca. But there had been a pool then. Something to break her fall. And she had been in that space between life and apathy, when she wasn’t entirely concerned about what happened to her.

So what was the difference now?

She knew the answer almost immediately. It was Luca. Before she’d wanted to live for Sofia. She’d wanted to get Sofia away from Diego so she could have a normal life.

Now she wanted to live for herself. She still wanted to take care of her little sister. But she also wanted to run and swim and paint and travel and laugh and make love to Luca long into the night.

Which meant she needed to get to Luca’s room three balconies away.

She started inching along the trim, forcing herself to look out over the water, not to look down at the expanse of green lawn that looked softer than it would feel if she hit it from the second story of the house. She watched the ocean, imagined swimming in it with Luca. How warm and gentle it would be against her skin. They would lay on their backs and float just like she did with Sofia in the pool. He would be with her, and she would be safe.

She was so lost in the slow inching of her progress and the lovely dream that she almost jumped out of her skin when a hand closed around her arm.

“It’s okay. It’s me.” She looked over into Luca’s blue eyes, as calm and steady as the water that had buoyed her in her daydream. He was leaning over the balcony railing of his bedroom, waiting for her. “I’ve got you.”

L
uca sat
in the darkness in Isabel’s room, watching her sleep. He was nervous all night, even though she did a great job of hiding it from Sofia, going about business as usual by cooking dinner, helping Sofia with her homework, and reading to her before bed. By the time she was asleep, Isabel herself had started to come down from the manic energy of worrying about Diego, and shadows of exhaustion had shaded the delicate skin under her eyes. He’d helped her undress and put on a nightgown, then tucked her into bed. She’d reached for him, but he’d kissed her gently and told her to sleep.

He was nervous, too.

Most likely, Diego wouldn’t wake up until morning. Marco said he’d been three sheets to the wind. But Luca didn’t want to risk it, and he’d spent the hours since in the chair next to Isabel’s bed, just in case.

They were close to Isabel’s freedom now. He could feel it. In the morning, Marco and Isabel would take Sofia to school like normal, and Isabel would spend the day discreetly packing a few things. When they picked Sofia up from school, they wouldn’t be returning to the Fuentes property. In fact, they would never return to the Fuentes property again.

He felt a pang of anger when he realized she’d have to leave her paintings. It wasn’t fair. She’d worked so hard on them, and there was so much of her spirit on the generous, vivid canvases. So much of her struggle and fight. But with Eduardo skulking around the house, they would have to make it look like any other day they were picking Sofia up from school, even if Diego was gone.

It meant leaving things behind, and Luca knew that no matter how urgent the leaving was, loss of the irreplaceable was something you never really got over.

He was being honest with himself now, alone in the dark of night. Isabel had shown him how to do that. He thought he’d been strong before by putting everything behind, by not thinking about it or letting it touch him. But she’d shown him that real strength came when you were willing to feel your pain. When you were able to acknowledge it, even make peace with it.

He’d been hiding a long time. Pretending he didn’t need anyone. That his past hadn’t affected him. Then he’d met Isabel, a woman he actually wanted to share his heart and soul with, and his past had made it impossible for him to really do those things. He promised himself he would do them when they were free. He and Isabel would take long walks and he would tell her all about his past. He would allow himself to feel the things he’d been avoiding for so long, and he would find healing in her soft hands, her warm body, her gentle heart.

He didn’t know what the future held. Elia had set up a safe house for them to use while they figured out a long-term plan. Isabel and Sofia didn’t have passports, so they couldn’t leave the country until they took care of the legalities. But Luca had plenty of money, and all the time in the world. He would spend as much of both on them as he could.

He just had to get them out alive first. And he would do it if it killed him.

S
he woke feeling surprisingly refreshed
. She hadn’t expected to sleep, but then Luca had insisted on spending the night in the chair next to her bed, awake and alert for Diego, and she’d fallen asleep against the backdrop of the quiet house, Luca’s eyes meeting hers through the dark.

This was it. She’d already made a mental list of the things she would have to pack while Sofia was at school, had already rehearsed the speech she would give Sofia when she picked her up at the end of the day. She and Diego were co-guardians of their little sister, which meant he wouldn’t be able to report her missing if she was with Isabel. Not that he’d bother. The additional attention on his business wouldn’t be welcome, and certainly not worth the risk to get Sofia back.

No, he would rage alone here at the house. He might send some of his men to look for them. The thought chilled Isabel’s blood, but she trusted Luca. For all his tenderness toward her, she’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d beat Hector, when he’d gone after her brother in the dining room. He was good and fair — but she had a feeling he was every bit as dangerous as Diego in his own way.

She got dressed and woke Sofia up, then hurried down to the kitchen to make her sister breakfast. She was flipping Sofia’s heart-shaped pancakes when Diego came into the room wearing boxers and a wife-beater. His hair was askew and he was unshaven — she couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t bothered to shave before leaving his room — and his eyes were dark and stormy.

She resisted the urge to say “good morning”. She wouldn’t normally make nice with him, and she needed to behave as if everything were just the same. She watched as he poured himself coffee, then had to force her breathing even when he leaned against the counter, studying her with narrowed eyes.

“You’ve always thought you were smarter than me, haven’t you, Isa?” His voice was low. She couldn’t tell if she was hearing sadness or stifled anger in it.

She didn’t look at him as she answered. “No, Diego. I haven’t.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can admit it. Papa thought so, too, or else he wouldn’t have left you in charge of the money.”

She didn’t say what she was thinking: that it wasn’t Diego’s intellect that gave their father pause, it was his temperament. “He left you in charge of the business,” she said instead.

“Only because he knew you didn’t want it,” he said. “And probably only because he thought you were too good for it.”

She finally turned to face him. “He worked his whole life to build the business,” she said. “Put himself in danger countless times. It meant something to him, and he left it to you.”

He set his coffee cup on the counter and walked toward her, stopping when he was only inches away. She had to fight the urge to recoil, to turn her face away from the smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to him like a shroud. She didn’t realize how immune she’d become to his anger. Now his eyes were cold, his expression unreadable, and she found that scared her far more.

He leaned in even closer. She forced herself to stay in place, not to give up any ground. Why give him the satisfaction? She would be gone soon, safely away from him. The thought gave her newfound courage. She wouldn’t do anything to ruin their chances at a getaway, but neither would she cower under the weight of his gaze.

He touched her cheekbone with one thick finger, his expression dispassionate. “It’s okay, Isa. I don’t mind that you think you’re smarter than me, because I know the truth.”

She lifted her chin. “And what is the truth, Diego?”

His smile was sinister. “You aren’t nearly as smart as you think you are,
punta.
” He straightened. “You’ll see.” He stepped back and turned around, then made his way out of the kitchen.

She waited until he’d rounded the corner into the hall to exhale. What had that been about? It could have been more of Diego’s posturing. More proof that he was in charge. Diego liked scaring her. Liked putting her on edge and making her wonder when the other shoe would drop.

So why did she have the feeling that he was toying with her? That he was enacting his punishment for her betrayal, for her theft of his computer, batting at her like a cat with an already-maimed mouse.