Chapter 23

23

Creed

I was right.

I can’t be in the same room with Zara for longer than a few seconds without needing to get my hands and mouth on her.

Of all times for her to come down here and literally bring me to my knees, I have to leave her to go talk to Emilio Rovina.

I didn’t want to worry Zara, but when he asked for the late-night meeting on short notice, my first thought was that he knows I’ve either been following his family, watching his properties, killed his son, or married her in secret.

At this point, there’s not much I can do but see how it plays out. If it comes down to it, barehanded I’m sure I can kill the old man before he kills me.

One of my more easy-going guys and recent penthouse guard, Matteo, is waiting in a chair near the reception desk. He gets to his feet when he sees me .

“Thank you for bringing Zara down,” I tell him. “Escort her anytime she wants.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want me to wait for her?”

I sigh. “No, go back upstairs.” Even though I could probably use the backup. The kid is Gianni’s nephew, one of my capos, and only in his mid-twenties. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.

Once he’s gone, I lean against the receptionist desk, scrolling through my phone while I wait for Emilio to show.

He finally does a few minutes later. He steps off the elevator with two of his men, no Saint tagging along, which is surprising, since I thought he was supposedly showing him the ropes.

“What’s so important it couldn’t wait until the morning?” I ask, trying to act like my usual cranky self.

It’s funny that I have to even try with all that’s going on. There’s something about being around Zara that instantly brightens my mood. It doesn’t matter that I was dog tired or frustrated when she walked into my office. As soon as I laid eyes on her, everything else in my head got shoved out of the way to make room for only her.

In some ways, she reminds me of Carmine with the way she so easily makes me feel lighter, happier. It’s strange how quickly she stepped in and filled that space he left.

“This isn’t something I wanted to discuss over the phone,” Emilio replies tersely while swiping his palm over his slick head.

“Fine. We can talk in one of the conference rooms after you hand over phones and weapons.”

He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a cell phone, and tosses it into the box on the desk. “No weapons,” he says as Jace, our receptionist, pats him down. “The guards will stay here.”

Once Jace gives me a nod, I lead the way down the hall, giving Emilio my back to literally try to stab me in it if he so chooses.

I’m not suicidal. I don’t want to die. But the risks outweigh the reward of finally figuring out if Emilio wants me dead, so I can get retribution for Carmine.

“Why not your office?” Emilio asks, nearly making me flinch before I catch myself.

“Because there’s a half-naked woman sprawled out on my desk, waiting for me to return,” I tell him, which is partially true. I’m going to have Zara in that exact position as soon as this meeting of ours is over.

Emilio grunts what may have been a scoff or a bark of laughter as I walk in and flip on the lights for the smaller conference room that can accommodate six people.

I take a seat at the head of the table, and Emilio shuts the door, then pulls out the chair to sit at the other end.

“Any updates on Izaiah?

“That’s why I’m here.”

Well, fuck.

“It’s not…it’s not looking good. There’s no sign of him. If Aiden had him, he would’ve folded by now and made demands, which makes me think he’s most likely dead.”

“I’m sorry, Emilio. That’s shit, not having any closure, can’t be easy. I know there’s nothing I can say to help.”

“Right,” he agrees as he folds his hands together in front of him on the table. “There is something you can do to help, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I want your permission to, ah, question a few dealers in Queens, possibly in some of the other boroughs as well.”

“Dealers?”

“It’s possible Izaiah was killed by an H dealer, someone that puttana was probably fucking on the side.”

It takes all the restraint in my body not to launch myself across the table and wrap my fingers around his throat for calling Zara a whore yet again.

I take a slow deep breath and focus on the rest of Emilio’s words. He doesn’t suspect me. Or, if he does, he’s damn good at pretending he doesn’t. He, no doubt, plans to pick up and torture all the drug dealers in the entire fucking city until someone confesses to killing Izaiah.

“Do you really think any of those pieces of shit would admit to what they’ve done if it was one of them?”

“I just want to question them.”

“Question and release them while they’re still breathing?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” I agree, knowing it’s fucked up, but at least if he’s busy chasing down a drug dealer, he won’t look closer at me as a suspect. “On one condition. You release every single one, and I mean they walk out on their two feet, not on a gurney or in a wheelchair. If or when you find the person you think is responsible, we bring in the boss of their borough before ending him. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I’ll let the other bosses know what you’ll be doing and to notify me if you don’t keep your word.”

“Fuck that!” Emilio’s face turns red. “If you tell them, they’ll warn their guys, and they might run or try to cover for them.”

“Then I’ll also warn the bosses to keep track of their men, and if any run, we’ll assume they were in on it and do what we need to do to settle the score.”

Emilio settles deeper into his chair. “Fine. I have to find who did this, for my reputation’s sake and for Martha.”

“I know you do. Just like I have to find who lured me to the club, killed my brother, and had me and my guys arrested.”

I study his face with every word spoken. He doesn’t give anything away if he was behind it.

“Has Andre made any progress on the wedding?” Emilio asks, changing the subject, which is fine with me .

“Not that I’ve heard. Stella still seems…reluctant to speak to him.”

“She’ll marry him. I know a guy who can probably fit us in for the Tribeca Rooftop by the end of the year. I’ll tell him to put down a date, and that will be that.”

“Good. I’ll let Dre know you’ve got it handled.”

With a final nod, Emilio pushes his chair back and gets to his feet.

“I appreciate you meeting me so late. Time slips away from me lately,” he says as I open the conference room door to escort him back to his waiting guards at the elevator.

“Glad we could keep it short,” I mutter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dinner is getting cold.”

This time, Emilio does chuckle. I don’t wait for him to get on the elevator, but I take my time walking back down the hall to my office.

By the time I reach for the door handle and glance back over my shoulder, the three men are stepping onto the elevator.

Thank fuck.

When I try to push the door open, though, it jams. Glancing down in the two-inch opening I see Zara on the floor, crawling away.

“Sorry,” she says, scrambling to her feet and swiping at her cheeks. Her damp cheeks.

“What’s wrong, micetta mia ?” I close and lock the door before wrapping her in my arms.

“There’s something…something I haven’t told you,” she says through hiccups, her face pressed to my shoulder.

“Okay. Are you going to tell me now?” I whisper.

“Izaiah wasn’t…he wasn’t Oriana’s father.”

That’s the last fucking thing I expected her to say. “What do you mean?” I ask as I take a step back to see her flushed, damp face.

“Izaiah…he thought he was her father. ”

“You’re telling me that Emilio Rovina didn’t demand a DNA test before taking her from you?”

Zara shakes her head. “No. Emilio did a DNA test, but he had someone fake the results, letting Izaiah believe he was her father because the piece of paper and his father said so.”

“Then why the hell did Emilio keep her from you?” I must be more exhausted than I realized, since I can’t figure out why the mobster would take Zara’s daughter if he knew his son wasn’t the kid’s father.

Zara stares up at me, her green eyes brighter from the tears. “Creed, are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?” I ask in confusion, right before one of the missing puzzle pieces slides into place.

“No.” My hands fall away from Zara because I want to ram my clenched fists into a fucking wall. “Jesus Christ! Emilio is her father?”

Zara scrubs her palms over her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I try not to think about it. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s true.”

Pacing away from her, I press my fingers to my forehead, trying to wrap my head around this shit while not wanting to think about it either, but goddammit I have to. “You fucked Emilio? At the same time, you were fucking Izaiah?”

“Yes.”

My feet finally come to a stop as my soul breaks in half for her. “Did you…did you want either of them?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

“Then how…”

“It’s a long shitty story.”

“Tell me. Please, Zara.” It occurs to me that when I stopped touching her, she probably thought it was because I’m repulsed and no longer want her. But nothing could be further from the truth .

I still want her, more than ever. I need to wipe both of those sons of bitches out of her mind forever.

Closing the distance between us, I gently cup her face in my palms. “I want to know, micetta mia ; I just want to understand. I’m not angry at you for keeping this secret from me. It’s none of my damn business.”

“You told me you’ve been going to all this trouble to find Oriana, and I knew you deserved to know the truth. Even if you change your mind about helping me get her back, since her father’s not dead. He’s very much alive, and one of the heads of the Five Families.”

“Of course, I’ll still help you get her back! That’s all I’ve been doing for weeks. She’s your daughter. She deserves to be with you. That’s all I care about.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, visibly deflating. She bites her bottom lip. “Could we maybe sit down for the rest of this conversation?”

“Yes, of course. Sit.” I turn each of the two chairs in front of my desk to face each other, and once Zara takes the one on the left, I take the right.

“So, I first came to the city with Emilio seven years ago. I was only twenty, not even old enough to drink yet.”

“How did you meet him?” I ask, wanting to know everything.

“Through my parents.”

“Your parents?”

“I’m not close with them anymore. I haven’t been, since they sent me to the city with him that first weekend. If they know they have a granddaughter, well, it’s not because I told them…”

“Your parents encouraged you to what, date Emilio?”

“They knew I dreamed of moving to the city, to try and make it as a model, you know? Emilio was one of their customers, a rich customer who came in whenever he was traveling through Pearl River. Our, their brewery was struggling. He convinced us that he had contacts that would help me get signed to an agency. So, at first, I went with him to the city on weekends. They had to have known what he did to me when I stayed in one of his apartments for free. My mom told me I was lucky to have caught such a wealthy, important man’s attention, one who could help me chase my dreams. I had never even had a boyfriend or dated anyone before he came along.”

“Emilio Rovina was your first?” The words taste bitter on my tongue.

“Yes. And when he helped my parents with a loan to save their brewery and helped me get hired with one of the best modeling agencies, I was sent to live in the city with him permanently. It felt like my body was part of the whole transaction, a ‘buy a struggling business, get our daughter free’ kind of deal. So, I lived in one of his properties for almost three years. He paid for everything while I got to do some photo shoots here and there, making a little money but not enough to pay rent or anything, especially not in the city. Emilio visited me whenever he wanted, which was…often, usually two or three times a week, all behind his wife’s back.”

“Jesus. Even while she was sick the first time?”

“Yes. Especially then,” she says. “She was getting treatment when I got pregnant. Since Emilio didn’t want anyone to know he had a bastard, especially his wife who was fighting cancer, he introduced me to Izaiah.”

“He gave you to his son, so he could fuck you and lie about him being Oriana’s father?!” It’s impossible not to raise my voice with that question, the infuriating absurdity of it.

Zara nods. “When Emilio first found out, he threatened to drag me in for termination. I warned him I would kill myself if he did that, and he caved.”

“You wanted to have his baby?”

“No, I didn’t want to but it was too late. I considered it, sure. I already loved her, though, even if she was his. It wasn’t her fault that he was her father. And I needed…I guess I thought she would be my salvation. That I could love her enough to drown out the hatred.”

I nod even though I can’t even begin to understand the position he put her in.

“So, after that was settled, Emilio moved on to a new plan.” Shaking her head, she says, “Izaiah was such an idiot. He didn’t even notice Oriana would’ve been born two months early if she was his. Emilio made me tell him I was pregnant after a few weeks, then forced him to do a DNA test. He showed him the paperwork, stating there was a 99.9% chance he was her father, and that was that. I don’t think any of the other Rovinas know they have a sister…”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

No wonder Zara hated Izaiah so much when he blackmailed her, like that night he had her set me up and killed Carmine. It wasn’t even his goddamn child that he was using against her, but his own sister.

“Weeks after the stick turned blue, I gave up chasing modeling gigs. I lived in the apartment Emilio owned and barely left throughout the rest of the pregnancy. I was used by them both whenever they wanted. Emilio didn’t care if he was my only lover. All he asked was for me not to kiss him on the mouth if his son had been in it the same day.”

“Jesus,” I mutter in disbelief.

“Izaiah visited me more often than Emilio, since he wasn’t, you know, married. I still don’t know why either of them wanted me. Because they knew I wouldn’t refuse? If I did in the beginning, my parents would’ve lost everything, and I would’ve been thrown out on the streets of New York with nothing. It’s not like I could go back to my parents. They practically gave Emilio their blessing. Then, after Oriana was born, well, Emilio kicked me out of the apartment, knowing I’d do anything for her… ”

“You were his captive,” I mutter in understanding.

“Yes.”

“And I’ve done the exact fucking thing to you.”

Zara shakes her head. “No. That’s not…this is not the same.”

“Isn’t it? I kidnapped you, refused to let you go, forced you to marry me, touched you, kissed you, wanted to fuck you on my desk tonight…”

“It’s not the same, Creed!” she says again. “I wanted you too. I want you. I’m the one who came down here wearing nothing but your suit jacket tonight, remember?”

“Because you felt…obligated?”

“What? God, no. I didn’t…I didn’t even know what you’ve been busy doing these past few weeks, day and night, until I came down here. I thought you were tired of me or regretted it…”

“I will never regret you, or us. And I am going to get Oriana back for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. If you get caught…”

“I told you I’m becoming an expert at this kidnapping thing. I’m sure I could handle a three-year-old girl.”

“It will be nearly impossible. Even if you managed to take her, Emilio would hunt me down to get her back.”

“I’ve already killed one Rovina. Emilio is next on my list,” I tell her, leaving out the part that he’s already out for her blood. He’d kill the mother of his own damn child if given half a chance.

“No, Creed. He’s not worth it.”

“If he’s gone…you said you don’t think Saint, Stella, Cami or Martha know she exists, right?”

“I-I don’t think they know. If they found out from Izaiah, they would think she’s his daughter. But I’m serious, Creed. I don’t want you to kill him.”

“Why not? Do you care about him?”

“God, no. I just don’t want his filthy blood on your hands.”

“His blood won’t be on my hands. I’ll make sure it doesn’t come back on me. It may take some time, though. I can’t be hasty like before with Izaiah. I’ll need to set it up carefully. But if I’m able to get your daughter back in the meantime, I will.”

“But…why? Why would you do that for me?” She looks genuinely puzzled. “It can’t be for sex. We haven’t…I haven’t touched you.”

“Because you’re a good mother,” I tell her. “And you endured that figlio di puttana Izaiah just to see your daughter. You obviously love her. She belongs with you.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, then leans forward to place a soft kiss on my lips, followed by another. As the kiss deepens, my restraint lessens. But I can’t do this, not right after everything Zara just told me.

“I didn’t offer it so you would fuck me,” I assure Zara when I grip her upper arms to reluctantly push her away.

“I know.” A small smile lifts her lips. “And I was just kissing you, not fucking you. Get Oriana back, and you can do anything you want to me for the rest of my life.”

Fuck. I want to take her up on that offer so bad.

But I won’t ever take advantage of her the way the Rovina assholes did.

And worst of all, I know I can’t keep her much longer.