1. Zola

Chapter 1

Zola

“ W ell, what happened next?” Nina asked.

I reached for my wine glass. A small smile played on my lips as I sipped the exquisite Garblèt Suè Barolo . The fruity notes of raspberry and the smoky aroma of the dark wooden barrels that the wine had lain in for years flowed down my throat.

I had to admit my colleagues were right. This wine was the perfect splurge for celebrating my promotion to a fully-fledged agent at the Gray Swan Literary Agency … but two glasses on an empty stomach had loosened my tongue and led me down the unfamiliar path of sharing my old stories with them.

“She’s enjoying this,” Stella, one of the editors, accused.

“Actually, there’s nothing more to say,” I replied with a smile. “The story ends there.”

“What do you mean, it ends there? You lost consciousness and fell into the pool in the middle of the night. You obviously didn’t drown so who saved you? Was it the beautiful man-boy? It was, wasn’t it?” Steven, a flamboyantly gay intern demanded dramatically.

I set my glass down. “Yes, it was him. He … resuscitated me. My father called for an ambulance and I was rushed to hospital. I was concussed and a bit ill for a little while, but I was fine in the end.”

“I knew it. What happened then?” Steven asked in a hushed, excited voice.

I shrugged. “I never saw him again.”

A murmur of dissatisfaction swept around the table. I glanced at their faces. They were expecting some sort of grand resolution, but to hear that the end of my first crush had been so abrupt seemed to disappoint them all.

“Wait, you guys never spoke or kept in touch?” Steven asked in disbelief.

I shook my head.

“So … you’ve always been useless around men then,” Steven concluded, shaking his head. “I’d have got his number the moment I set eyes on him.”

The table erupted into tipsy laughter.

“Wow, that’s a shame,” Nina commented softly.

I agreed silently.

“Still, better first crush story than all the nonsense I’ve had to sift through today in my emails,” Linda, one of the three literary assistants muttered with a shudder.

“What kind of nonsense?” Janice, her immediate boss asked.

“Like the way, the query letters and samples are just getting worse and worse. I had a woman today, who sent me three photos of herself in different poses and the assurance that she had a whole lot more if those were not suitable for the book jacket cover. I mean, come on. Your story has not even been selected and you’re obsessing over the cover photo.”

“That sounds like something I would do. Was her book any good though?” Steven enquired.

“No. It was some sort of a weird mermaid tale. Mermaid sex in the second chapter.” She shuddered. “I was a bit creeped out, to be honest. Too fishy for me.”

Steven shrieked with laughter. “I’m sure I could have been tempted by a slippery male mermaid. Imagine, no lube needed.”

Janice groaned. “Oh please, Steven! We all know you’ll fuck anything that moves. Now behave yourself. This is a work-related event.” She turned to me. “You used to read too, didn’t you, Zola? How long were you an assistant for?”

“Two years under Jodie, and one and a half under John.”

She nodded in acknowledgment. “You’ve paid your dues then and now it’s time for the fun to begin … building your own client list.”

“I guess so.” A big happy smile spread across my face because I was just so super excited about my new job. “Excuse me, but a trip to the Ladies seems to be in order,” I murmured and rose to my feet.

In truth, I didn’t need to use the bathroom. I just wanted a bit of a break to hide my great excitement. The bathroom was blessedly empty. I took a couple of deep breaths to dispel some of the hundreds of butterflies fluttering away inside me since my promotion was confirmed and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked pretty sober until I allowed myself a grin. Then I looked like an insanely happy Cheshire cat.

“You did it,” I crowed to myself. “You are now a full-fledged agent two years earlier than anyone had expected.”

An image of my father flashed into my head. He had been so excited about the prospect of my promotion, but it was almost eight o’clock and he hadn’t even sent me a little congratulatory text.

I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I had to consider the possibility he had simply forgotten. I pulled my phone out of my purse and hit my father’s number, but to my immense disappointment, he didn’t pick up.

I guess you’ll be too busy to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day too, won’t you?

My stomach churned as it tried to talk myself out of being hostile, but I couldn’t stop my fingers as they carried on flying across the screen.

You know what? I won’t even bother inviting you. The last thing I want that day is more disappointment, so it will be best to celebrate it with strangers. Thank you for helping me make such an informed decision ahead of time.

And before I could change my mind, I hit send.

There. It was done.

I waited a few minutes, but still, there was no reply. I took another deep breath. Where was I going with this? This was my very special day. I had worked my ass off to get here and nothing was going to ruin it. Not even Papa. What did it matter if he didn’t call right now? He loved me. I knew that. With great determination, I put him completely out of my mind. After reapplying my lipstick, I walked to the bar and ordered myself a Cosmopolitan.

My grip was tight around my phone as some part of me still hoped and waited for a response from my father. However, nothing came, and I became upset again. Calm down, Zola. When he has untangled himself from whatever urgent work he is currently immersed in, he will call you.

“Here you go, Miss,” the bartender said.

I grabbed the glass and downed more than half of it. I was still too upset to return to my colleagues so I looked around and allowed myself to appreciate the gorgeous tropical-themed space.

The walls had murals of palm trees to complement the actual palm trees dotted around the restaurant. Together with the rattan lamps, island scents, and candlelight it made for a lovely and warm ambiance. It was a wonderful place and I promised myself I would come back to it when I was less irritable so I could properly enjoy it.

I drained the last of my drink, and as I stood, I noticed a man in a corner. He was nearly shielded from view by one of the palm trees. He sat alone right next to the window with what seemed to be an untouched glass of Scotch before him and his gaze was fixated on the entrance door, but what drew me to him was his cartoonish blue and yellow Donald Duck tie. It was as familiar to me as my own name.

For a couple of seconds, I was so shocked I couldn’t move. My throat choked up with emotion and all I could do was stare at him, but he must have felt the intensity of my stare for he frowned and turned in my direction.

His eyes widened in alarm as our gazes connected.

To my astonishment, he quickly turned away as if he didn't recognize me. Picking up his phone he began to type furiously into it. I continued to stare at him. For one crazy moment, I actually wondered if that man was my father’s doppelganger, but that was impossible. That tie, those mannerisms, that hairstyle …

When he stopped typing, a message arrived 0n my phone, and I understood what was happening. For whatever reason, probably because he didn’t want to be distracted by me, he had decided to act as though he didn’t know me. I wasn’t having that. Not today. Without even bothering to check his message I began to walk toward him, but the moment he saw me approaching, he sprang to his feet and literally scurried away.

I stopped in my tracks in amazement.

‘Dad!’ I wanted to shout, but I didn’t want to bring the attention of the whole restaurant to me. Seconds later he was at the entrance door and before I could do anything else, he slipped out without looking back. My father’s behavior was so strange I couldn’t help but feel slightly alarmed. I regretted not calling out to him.

He’d told me he wouldn’t be able to make dinner with me because he would be working late, but here he was, waiting to dine with someone else. Perhaps it was a client but, even so.

At that moment, I heard Samantha call out to me. When I turned around, I found all my colleagues watching me curiously, probably wondering why I was just standing in the middle of the restaurant staring stupidly at the door.

I returned to the table slowly and sat down.

“Zola, we were just wondering why the gorgeous man-boy was brought to your house in the first place,” Steven cried.

I looked around the table. “What?”

“The man-boy?” Steven repeated impatiently. “Who was he?

I pushed my worry about my father aside. Today was my special day. No doubt I would get an explanation from him later. “Maybe …” I began with a mysterious smile. “Dante was in my house because he was part of the mafia, but afterward he was killed in a terrible gang war. Maybe that's why I've never seen or heard from him ever since.”

The table went quiet.

Then Stella spoke up. “You’re weird, Zola.”

“Maybe not,” Steven said softly. “Maybe she’s just creative. Her style has always been interesting after all. So … does this human god even exist?”

“He does.” I nodded.

“Really?” Samantha asked doubtfully.

“Really,” I confirmed.

“And the bit about the mafia?”

I smiled at her. “My dad is a criminal defense attorney, you know?”

Her mouth fell open. “Wait, oh my God. She's of Italian descent y’all. She might not be kidding.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Did he really die?”

“No idea.”

“Oh! Okay, let’s move on. I think Zola is having way too much fun at all of our expense.”

The conversation moved to something else and I took the opportunity to pull my phone out of my pocket and look for the message I was certain my father had sent to me before he hurried out. The moment I saw the words that he had written fear gripped me.

Don’t approach me , he’d written. Don’t act like you know me.

My eyebrows furrowed with confusion. What? Don't approach me. Don't act like you know me. What the hell was going on?

I put the phone away and thought back to our conversations recently which had been about how a new criminal defense case had taken all of his time. He didn’t seem eager to tell me much about it so I hadn’t pressed him for details. All of my annoyance from earlier disappeared. I quickly excused myself from the table and I called him as I walked away.

His phone began to ring but the call was then abruptly disconnected. My heart fluttered with fear. What kind of mess had my father got into? Willing myself not to panic I rushed outside and got into the first taxi in the queue.

The driver met my gaze through the rearview mirror and I gave him my father’s home address. He nodded and pulled away. I couldn’t just sit back and wait as we headed toward my father’s house. Instead, I tried calling him again. Over and over until eventually, he picked up.

I was so relieved I nearly collapsed … and then I was furious.

“What the hell is going on? “I yelled. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“Where are you? You’re not back at the restaurant, are you?” he asked urgently.

“No, I just left.”

“Good,” he said. “Come home. I need to talk to you.”

Consoled that he was alright or at least he sounded so, I took a deep breath and released it. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

I slumped back into the seat and watched the passing streetlights as we rode through the city. It had been more than three months since I’d last visited him, precisely on his birthday. Even then, I’d had to drag him out of the office for a night out. I loved what I did too, but his obsession with work was unfathomable. Until now I still hadn’t found the courage to suggest to him that perhaps his obsessiveness had something to do with my mother and could be resolved with some therapy.

We arrived at the house and I paid the driver and got out of the cab.

His housekeeper, Catalina, had gone home for the night and as was always the case, he was home on his own. This had concerned me when the time for me to move out had come, but he'd managed to convince me I couldn’t stay with him forever. If anything, he was the one who was worried sick about me being on my own.

Thus far things had gone well, but more and more I was beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps my father was somehow vulnerable. Why I felt that way I couldn’t say, but his behavior today was strange to say the least.

He didn’t seem happy to see me when he opened his front door. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at me. Instead, he was apprehensively looking behind me and glancing out toward the gate and the neighboring houses.

“What’s going on, Papa?” I asked, confused.

He caught my hand in a strong grip and quickly pulled me in. I knew how he got when he was worried about something, but when he shut the door behind us and locked it nervously, I understood that things were really not well at all.

In the bright light of the hallway, I saw dark circles under his eyes, the strange pallor of his skin, and a terrible fear in his eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” I urged anxiously.

He didn't respond. Instead, his gaze perused me, and this gaze I was familiar with, he was checking to see if I was alright.

“For God’s sake, Papa. What’s happening? Why did you have to pretend you didn’t know me at the restaurant?” I cried.

“Come with me,” he said, then turning, headed toward his home office.

He pushed the door open and I followed him in. He went behind the desk and settled into his old leather armchair. He was watching me intently, but for once I couldn’t gauge his mood as he deliberately kept his face expressionless. It reminded me of that night my mother had passed away and how he’d been trying to hide the grief he was feeling so I’d be convinced everything would be fine in the end. He regarded me silently as if he was deciding what he could reveal to me, and the quieter he became the more afraid I became.

“Dad, you’re scaring me.”

“Sit down. I want to talk to you.” With a defeated sigh he got out of his chair and went over to the cabinet next to him. On top of it was a single bottle of Scotch whisky. I watched my father, who was not much of a drinker, half-fill a thick, crystal tumbler and down it in one go. My eyes widened when he began to pour another. I walked over to the chair in front of his desk and sat down.

“How bad is this case?” I asked quietly.

He brought the half-filled glass over to his desk and sank down heavily into his chair. For a few seconds, he seemed lost in thought. Then he said something astounding.

“Do you remember Dante?” he asked.

I stared at him in shock.

A sliver of a smile curved the corners of his lips. “Maybe you don’t.”

I shook my head. “Of course, I do. You brought him here when I was sixteen. You were working on his case … and he saved my life.”

“Yes, he saved your life,” he murmured. “I don't think I ever told you what his case was about.”

“No, you never did,” I replied with a frown. “But why does it matter now?”

“Well, it matters now because the case I’m currently working on is for him.”

“For him?” I was surprised. “Are you trying to acquit him of murder? Again?”

“That’s not exactly how it was,” he replied slowly. “But let’s just say back then he helped me put a few nasty individuals away and now they’re coming for him.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

He nodded.

“And he came to you? Why you?”

“Who else can he trust? And who else is better?”

I frowned at his words and wished he wasn’t good at all. This thing he was involved in sounded downright dangerous.

“Anyway,” he said. “The reason I couldn’t acknowledge you at that restaurant was because it wasn’t a simple meeting. I was supposed to meet an informant who had incredibly sensitive information. We chose that location because of how busy and anonymous it was. And that was why I was so shocked to see you there.”

“We went there because it’s a block away from my office,” I murmured.

He nodded absently. “Yes, of course. I had forgotten.”

“If you were waiting for your informant, why did you leave?”

“I think we might have been compromised or my informant got spooked because he didn’t turn up. I would have waited a bit longer, but when you started to come up to me.” He stared at me reproachfully. “You should have known better. I’ve told you time and time again you should be careful about associating with me in public, especially when I'm in the middle of a case or I'm acting strangely. For this reason, I didn't even allow you to take my last name. How could you be so careless?”

I understood his words and scolding, after all, I had heard them a thousand times from when I was younger, but on this particular day, I couldn’t bear to hear him.

“I got promoted today,” I reminded him.

His expression immediately softened. “Of course. I’m an old fool. Please forgive me, amore mio . I’m so sorry.”

“I was hoping to celebrate it with you but instead I was congratulated by strangers. I'm sorry, but when I suddenly saw you waiting for a guest when you told me you couldn’t spare any time to even have dinner with me, I was shocked and wanted to approach you immediately.”

“Are you happy?”

“I was … until I saw you.” I rose to my feet. “I’m going home.”

He too rose to his feet. “Wait … Zola.”

I stopped and waited.

“You’re here now. We could have dinner.”

“I’ve already had dinner,” I told him, and continued on my way, but just as my hand closed around the door handle there was the faint but unmistakable sound of glass shattering. I whirled around to face my father.

We didn’t say a word, but our eyes held the same urgent question.

“What was that?” I whispered.

My father immediately placed a finger over his lips, warning me not to speak, and returned his attention to his computer. In no time, he had the surveillance cameras for the house pulled up on his screen. As he peered at the screen, his gaze moving from one monitor to the other, I could tell he wasn’t able to detect anything.

“Maybe it’s a squirrel or something,” I said in as low a tone as I could manage, but he gave me a harsh warning look. Chills ran down my spine. I began to think of what he had said about his suspicion of being compromised earlier and went closer to him.

“Dad, call the cops,” I urged.

He immediately picked up his phone, but it was not the cops he was calling.

“Dante?” he whispered.

My eyes widened. Jesus! He had called the avenging angel himself. He continued in low conversation telling him about the sound we’d just heard. I stared at the door and then back at him.

Suddenly, he pulled out his desk drawer and retrieved a gun that I’d never been aware he had.

I nearly gasped out loud but managed to slap a hand across my mouth in time.

“I’m calling the cops,” I whispered fiercely, and he didn’t stop me.

“I’ve checked the cameras but nothing is out of place,” he said into the phone.

“The meeting was at eight-fifteen. I waited for about twenty minutes, but I had to leave immediately because I ran into Zola.”

“Yeah, my daughter.”

There was a brief silence as he listened, his eyes darting toward the windows, and then he headed over to the door to make sure it was locked.

“Alright,” he said as his gaze connected to mine, and then his call came to an end.

He watched me silently for a few moments and I saw something in his eyes I had seen only once before. When my mother died, it was a mixture of inconsolable sadness and pity. The pity was for me.

“Papa,” I called worriedly.

“I should never, never have let you come here tonight. Yes, call the cops,” he said, his voice bitter with regret. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

My fingers shook as I fumbled with my phone, but somehow, I managed to keep calm as I dialed nine-one-one.

I got connected almost immediately and was able to give my report. I returned my attention to my father and saw him still watching me.

“They’re on their way. They’ll be pissed if it’s a false alarm,” I said praying that was all I would have to deal with.

He lifted the pistol. “You know how to use this right?”

“Yes, but can you please stop scaring the hell out of me,” I muttered.

He smiled sadly. “I should have insisted that you take your lessons more seriously back then. Anyway, you’ll be fine. Dante is on his way.”

“What do you mean by Dante is on his way?” I asked. “The cops are on their way too.”

“They’ll be too slow,” he said, and right then panic shot through my system.

“So, there’s really … someone out there. An intruder?”

“You grew up here,” he told me. “Have you ever seen a squirrel?”

I looked at him.

“For once could you just clearly explain to me what is going on?”

He stepped forward and tried to pull me into his arms. I was so frightened I didn’t resist. “Congratulations on your promotion,” he said softly. “I’ve been in a great mood for the last few days because of it.”

I thought of his words and then mumbled into his shoulder. “You didn’t call me.”

“I was going to. I was going to stop by your apartment later on tonight. The day just turned out a bit different from what I’d been expecting.”

“It’s okay, Papa. I know you love me even if you don’t know how to show it.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could there was the undeniable sound of a man’s voice coming from behind the door. As though he were speaking on a phone. I immediately jumped backward, a scream in my throat, but before I could make any sound my father’s large warm hand was over my mouth. I stared in shock at him. His eyes had changed. They were unrecognizable.

I had never seen such an alert and almost lethal look in his gaze before. For a moment I couldn’t register anything else that was going on around us. Suddenly, I found myself being pulled around his desk.

“Shhh,” he warned sternly.

I couldn’t stop myself from trembling.

Then he mouthed to me. “Everything is going to be fine.”

As I stared at him in shock and fear, he set his gun on the table and pulled away the rug underneath him. To my surprise, it exposed a latch which he pulled open, revealing steps leading down into a secret underground space.

I was shocked because I had lived in that house for so long and never knew that something like that existed.

My eyes widened as I stared at him, and then he started to guide me towards the hole in the ground. Before I could say a single word, I was hurrying down the narrow stairs. At the bottom, I turned around to wait for him but he was not coming down. He smiled at me. It was devoid of the warmth I had long come to appreciate and anticipate whenever he looked at me. Instead, his face was sad and cold, and it broke my heart. I couldn’t understand why he was looking at me that way, but then I began to hear the lock to his office being fumbled with and I almost passed out.

“Quickly, Papa, come down,” I urged desperately, but he didn’t come down to join me.

Instead, he squatted and said softly to me. “You’ll get an email from me.”

I was confused as to what he was talking about. “What?”

“I love you,” he said, and before I could respond the door was shut and locked. I was encompassed in complete and total darkness.