Page 44 of Dirty Little Sins

Oh boy. Talk about a minefield.

"My life is hardly a secret. Every move I ever make is splashed across thousands of social media pages or internet sites within hours and sometimes minutes. Even if I wanted to hide something it would be next to impossible." Not exactly the truth, but close enough.

So far no one had figured out who my father was or even that I had visited the Rossi family while there. I had a team of highly trained security professionals who knew what the fuck they were doing.

"Is it true that you were investigated in the death of your stepfather?"

Jesus. She'd really done her research and gone straight for the jugular. No one had mentioned that one in a very long time.

"Yes," I answered as briefly and succinctly as possible. She didn't need to know the truth. It was a dark and ugly period of my life. I'd moved on. Mostly. "In my profession, I have to be more careful than most. If I touch anyone outside the ring it gets blown out of proportion and people make incorrect assumptions."

"And that story was out of proportion?"

Fuck. She was far more insistent with her questioning than I'd expected. "The investigation was very real. I had people combing through my fucking garbage trying to find a shred of evidence that I had something to do with his death. They found nothing." And they never would.

"That's about the biggest non-answer answer I've ever heard."

I yanked my hand from hers and crossed to the other side of the room, putting some much needed space between the two of us.

"What do you want me to say? Do you want to hear the gory details of what my stepfather did to me when I was too young to defend myself? Or how about the things he did to my mother that traumatized her so bad she had to get the fuck out and leave me behind? Trust me, you don't want those images burned into your brain."

I paced to the window and looked out at the flash and glitz or flat out depravity of the strip down below. This city had so many secrets and more dirty laundry than any city had a right to. But it was my city and I couldn't leave it. No matter how hard she pushed me to go.

"Maybe you should. It sounds like someone needs to know the truth."

I turned and looked at her, shocked that she still wanted to push me. "You ask for too much."

"So do you," she whispered.

"I've never asked you for more than you wanted to give. Just because you won't admit it to yourself doesn't mean it's not true."

"Why are you turning this situation around and making it about me? That's not what this is about. I'm not the one I caught trashing his hotel suite for no apparent reason."

"There are so many reasons it's ridiculous. Apparently my trip to Italy has set off a series of chain reactions that are going to ruin everything I've built in my life. You weren't the only one who was targeted."

Zia staggered backwards, her hand snapping up to cover her mouth. "The pictures," she gasped. "What happened?"

"No. It has nothing to do with that. That I could handle." I could see the full panic mode settling in over her and I was going to have to distract her with some of my truth. "The FBI paid me a visit at the gym today."

Her head jerked. "What? Why?"

"They suspect my international trips are a front for a smuggling operation and that my business manager might be involved. Of course, they're questioning whether I could be involved too."

"I don't understand. How is your business manager smuggling drugs? Is this one of those things where he sticks them—uhh—in his body?"

I didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't hold it completely in. The way her mind worked fascinated me.

"Not drugs, Zia. Diamonds."

That information completely transformed the look on her face. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. "That's a real thing? I thought precious gems were legally imported all the time."

"Not blood diamonds. Those are highly illegal and they fund a lot of bad organizations. And private jets like mine, that make it easily through customs, are the perfect vehicle for that kind of thing."

"Do you think it's true? That your manager is capable of that kind of subterfuge?"

I shrugged. "Possibly. I have noticed some inconsistencies in his behavior lately. Although the truth doesn't matter nearly as much as perception when it comes to something like this. A sex scandal I could weather with ease. Being painted as a terrorist is a narrative that even the best publicist money can buy can't overcome. It's a nightmare."

"What are you going to do?"

---