Page 83 of Diamond In The Rough

“He’s just a man, Lix, and we’ve dealt with bigger and badder than him. The Feds are trying to get in on our business just as much as Wilkes is. We can’t eliminate the first, but we sure as shit can deal with the second. Fight fire with fire.”

“So we counter a drive-by shooting with a…” He blinks once. Twice. “Drive-by shooting?”

“You act surprised. And yet, you were the guy who shot up a chandelier, purely to see crystal rain from the sky. Wilkes is new to New York. He’s noisy because he wants to be, but he controls nothing. It would be best if we silence him now before he gains traction.”

“No, it would be best if we find his source. How did he know we were supposed to be in that club last night?”

His phone chirps next, calling his attention from his pocket and allowing me to settle back and close my eyes. Think.

It’s my fucking job to protect my brother. My entire existence, wrapped up in his. If Lix falls, I’ve failed. And if not for a serendipitous night with a beautiful woman, I wouldn’t have forgotten the meeting we were supposed to attend.

And if we’d attended, we might already be dead.

“Darling.” Felix’s voice turns to melted butter. I don’t have to see his screen to know he’s speaking to Christabelle. “We’ve just left Cordoza’s.”

“Oh, good.” Her voice rings through the car when he puts her on speaker, so I’m dragged into their conversation without my permission. “Do you have time to talk?”

“For you? Darling, always.”

Gag.

“Dana and I have continued our research into the Malone mothers’ identities.” She wouldn’t be Cannon Daily royalty if she wasn’t the type to cut straight to the chase. “We think we’ve found another one.”

Fuck me, but my eyes flicker open.

“Renee Amalia Rossi was seventeen years old. Valedictorian, graduated at the top of her class. She was set to attend Yale on a full ride for biomedical sciences.”

Felix whistles under his breath. “She was one of the clever ones. Jesus.” He glances over to me. “And medical? Sounds like Father Dearest had a thing for doctors like Arch and Tim.”

“Yeah, well…” Christabelle audibly shrugs. “Only the best, I suppose. Renee’s family unit was intact: two parents, both with successful corporate careers. Two siblings: a brother and a sister—Caleb and Tennille.”

“Italian,” he murmurs. “Rossi is Italian.”

“New York Italian,” she agrees. “Her family might’ve even had business dealings with yours. A worker bee,” she amends. “Not a man with authority. On the surface, they appear completely normal, if not for the fact that Renee went missing thirty-three years ago after attending a charity event with her family.”

“Let me guess,” I rumble. “Our father was at the same event?”

“You bet he was.” On Christabelle’s end of the line, she shuffles papers as though to straighten them and her thoughts. “Timothy was at the auction for a very specific piece.”

“The girl?” Lix asks.

“Potentially. On the surface, he was there for a painting. Renee was simply the cherry on top. He bought an original Lamoz worth around fifty thousand dollars. He bid on other items that day, but those who were there and made statements afterward all claim that, ‘He was driving prices up for everyone else for the sake of it.’ Pissed off a lot of bidders because something they could have bought for twenty thousand, if not for his interference, ended up costing them closer to a hundred thousand each. The Lamoz was one of the first pieces to go, so Tim was able to purchase it at fair value. The rest of the day went to hell.”

“Sounds like he was funneling money or art through that auction,” I insert. “He wouldn’t attend and drive prices up for shits and giggles. He had a purpose.”

“Likely. But in the end, he walked away with his painting, everything else sold, albeit for wildly inflated prices, and when the dust settled, Renee was missing. She was in her late teens, and given grace as far as supervision went, but when she didn’t come home that night, her parents alerted the authorities. When a week passed and no word had come, the search grew, and tensions in New York rose. The issue, though, was that the Rossis were not a wealthy or influential family. So even if the cops wanted to help, they were limited on the resources they could dedicate to the case.”

“Why were they at the auction if they didn’t have money?” I question. “Only rich, influential folks attend those.”

“Because Mrs. Rossi, Renee’s mother, was the auctioneer.”

I drop my head back and study the car’s ceiling. “So maybe he wasn’t funneling money through that house at all. He was merely making a fucking mess that poor woman would be scrambling to salvage. It was a smash-and-grab, Lix.” I roll my head his way. “He wanted the girl, saw her that day, or some other day, and decided she would be his next trophy. He got everyone else busy cleaning up, and in the deluge, he took her.”

“That’s how it appears,” Christabelle concludes. “And before we jump too far ahead, since of course, Renee was not the only smart, pretty girl to go missing in New York that year, I thought to go back and check out the remaining family. Her siblings are grown now, obviously. Her sister has children. Her brother died in a car accident a few years back. It wasn’t malicious,” she adds, as if sensing how my brow comes up. “Just a tragic accident. He died unmarried and without kids.”

“And the search for Renee?” Lix asks. “Have they forgotten her?”

“No. They hold a vigil every year on the anniversary of her disappearance. It’s obvious she’s likely dead after all these years. Even the most faithful, stubborn parent will come to accept that eventually. But they hope, now, if not for the girl, then at least for answers.”

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