Page 12 of Angel of Light (Lords of The Commission: New York #5)
ALISON
“Why the fuck isn’t anyone picking up their goddamn phones?” Matt roared as he stormed into my apartment, James, one of his men, and Vincenzo slowly tailing behind him. Before the door slammed shut, I could see Fabio and Fabrizio standing guard outside in the hall.
“Come right in, why don’t you? No need to knock or anything.”
“If you’d bother answering my fucking calls, I wouldn’t need to be here.” He glared at both Max and me.
“I was a little busy,” I replied, motioning to the wrapped towel around my head. “Doc said I shouldn’t be operating electrical appliances while taking a shower, in case I had forgotten that, too.”
“Apparently what you forgot was to scrub your tongue. Or maybe sarcasm just can’t be washed off.” Matt reined in his annoyance, rolling his eyes and placing a kiss on my cheek. He had been cutting me some slack, especially since I’d been keeping my progress to myself.
“Can’t be blown up, either,” I shrugged, earning a warning glare from him. “Too soon?” I guess it is.
In this room, only Max was aware that I had gotten pieces of my memory back, and that’s how I intended to keep it.
Leverage and all…
I wasn’t sure what for, but it seemed to be a smart move for now.
When I first met Max, while we danced and I dodged my mother’s matchmaking impulses, he had told me that secrets were the soul of the business. I was too oblivious at the time to know the truth those words held.
There wasn’t a single person in here who didn’t keep secrets. Why should I be the only open book?
No. Not anymore. So I played my part like a damn Oscar-winning actress.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. My brother has no manners. Alison Battaglia, nice to meet you.” I extended my hand in a greeting to James first, who wearily shook it, mumbling his name before I turned my attention to Vincenzo.
He hesitated at first, taking turns to stare at my placid face and my extended hand. He was doing his assessing thing, looking for clues and hints of things other people would normally miss. But I didn’t waver. I knew this day would come sooner or later.
I had trained and rehearsed for it ever since I had set my mind on taking advantage of my clinical state.
Was it less than honorable? Sure. At the moment, I couldn’t give a damn.
Deception was a game these Men of Honor had been playing their whole lives. It was about time I learned a thing or two and turned the tables in my favor for once.
I had faked ignorance, choosing to forget everything I saw on this side of the criminal fence. Yet I knew it was buried inside. Carved in my bones. Running in my boiling blood.
I am who I am after and despite all.
Through the corner of my eye, I saw Max turning his back to us, wiping his confused expression as he caught on to my game.
“Vincenzo Massimo,” he finally conceded, taking my hand to his lips and placing a small kiss on my knuckles. “And the pleasure is all mine, Bella .” Beautiful.
“How gallant!” I cued back with a smile.
I didn’t drop the act. I knew he would still be studying my every move.
Not recalling who he was was nothing but a tiny bump in the road, but still an inconvenience both Matt and Vincenzo had to work through.
“So, what was so important that you couldn’t wait for me to return your calls? ”
“Max wasn’t answering, either. I thought something had happened.”
“Something did happen. I clogged the drain and asked him to help me. I thought maybe he could earn the money you pay him instead of just sitting around all night.”
“He’s here to keep you safe, Alison. Not to be your handyman,” Matt berated me. If only he knew I had been the one handling the fine plumbing.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing in my living room with two strangers past midnight?
No offense, gentlemen, but I’ve not quite been in the mood for soirées lately.
” I excused myself to James and Vincenzo before focusing on Matt again.
“Why the hell were you calling me so late anyway?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, waiting for his reply.
“James just got back from Bogotá. I told you he was following a lead.” I waited expectantly in silence for my brother to elaborate. Inside, I was bubbling to know what news James brought, but kept my poker face as best I could.
Not being able to point a finger to a specific culprit bothered me deeply. Diego’s words were lined with threats and deadly promises. Still, I couldn’t see a reason for him to harm me, at least not until after I was married to Vincenzo.
It was clear that Diego Alcaráz had a tight leash on my soon-to-be husband, but to pick a fight with my family, his reasons had to go beyond keeping Vincenzo grounded. Yet, everyone in this room seemed to believe he was the one who planted the bomb.
“We have some pictures of Diego Alcaráz and some of his men. I want you to look at them carefully. Try to remember if you saw any of these people that morning,” James intervened.
“I… I can try.”
“Maybe over there?” James pointed to the kitchen island, my gaze settling on the open bottle of rum.
“Havana Club Máximo,” Matt said, picking up the bottle to read the label before turning his gaze to Max.
“I’m off the meds. That helps me sleep at night,” I started, snatching the bottle from his hands.
“I’d pour you some, but I know how deep your love and loyalty runs for whiskey.
” Matt was still staring at Max, somewhere between a death glare and a pitiful gaze.
“Would any of you gentlemen like a glass?”
“That’s some good poison you have there, Nessa , but I’m going to have to pass.” Vincenzo declined, as did James with a wave of his hand. His nickname for me not going by unnoticed. He was either trying to trigger my memories with details or assess if I reacted naturally to the pet name.
“Alison. My name is Alison,” I replied before turning towards the island again.
James had already spread the pictures on the surface, asking me to scan them one by one. I recognized Diego and some of the sicarios who had accompanied him to the engagement party in California but managed to keep my stoic expression. Still, that was the only place I had seen them.
“Wait,” I suddenly shouted, shuffling through the pile, reaching for a family picture of the Alcaráz’s, clearly taken a few years back.
Hair as dark as a moonless night, tanned skin as if she lived in a vacation paradise, and those eyes.
Sad eyes that kept secrets made of pain and sorrow buried behind their darkness. “Who is she?”
The woman with the running child that bumped into me at the hotel.
“That’s Camila Alcaráz. Diego’s sister,” Vincenzo replied. I thought I had felt his voice drop a little when he said her name.
“Do you recognize her?” Matt hastily asked, but my eyes couldn’t leave Vincenzo. He was gripping the skull on his cane with white-knuckled force, a small tell to his uneasiness. There was something about bringing her to the conversation that bothered him deeply.
He had taught me to see beyond the obvious, to keep my eyes open to small signals, and by now I knew that when Vincenzo dropped his controlled demeanor, it was reason enough to be alert.
“She looks familiar somehow. But I can’t place her anywhere.” I decided playing coy was better. I’d look into it and her later.
“Do you recognize him?” Matt pointed to Diego.
“No, I can’t say I do.” I lied, keeping up with my game.
“I fucking knew this would be a dead end,” Matt roared. Yet, in his angered shout, I heard guilt and despair. “Three weeks is a long time to return with nothing but photos, James. Is there anything else?”
“Money goes a long way in Bogotá, Don Battaglia,” James stated with a sly grin on his face.
“Yet hot-wired pliers get things done faster.” I couldn’t help but grimace and shiver at the image, yet I saw the bloodlust shining bright in each of the men’s eyes.
They were definitely made for this. “There aren’t many people jumping at the opportunity to rat out the Alcaráz family.
But word on the streets is that he’s pulling his business from California.
” He paused for a moment, glaring at Vincenzo, waiting for some kind of reaction.
What James apparently didn’t know was how well-versed Don Massimo was in the art of discretion.
The heat of every glare was on him, expecting a confirmation or denial or plain outrage at the gossip that ran the streets of Bogotá.
“And what does this have to do with us?” I asked, trying to keep up my act.
“Don Massimo runs ‘our’ business in California, with a side of Cartel deals mixed in for good measure.” Max spoke for the first time since they got here. His words were laced with accusation and a good dose of toxic disdain. “Diego’s business’s profits are bleached by the Californian Mafia.”
The air was suddenly dense, knife-cutting. Even if I didn’t remember, it was easy to see how much animosity there was between them.
“Did you back up that information?” Matt interrupted, directing his question at James.
“Drug distribution routes have been cut. The laundromats will be next. Diego Alcaráz seems to want to run you dry, Don Massimo,” James replied.
“Are there any feuds I should know about, Don Massimo?” My brother asked, suspicion swirling in his squinted eyes. He’d taken on his Don tone, all business and no bull.