Page 21 of Passion's Wicked Torment

“I’ll be glad.” She did not expand on this, and Teal, sensing that she was no more in the mood to talk now than she had been earlier, did not push. He returned to his magazine.

Kristin was not at all glad that she was on her way to Ironman Gianelli. She knew his reputation. She knew her life with him, as his moll, would be difficult. But there was no choice. It was one of Ironman’s men who had abducted Chad, meaning Ironman himself had ordered it. So she had to arrange a situation with him like the one she had tried to arrange with Dallas. She had to win his trust and manage to be around him enough so that she could perhaps overhear something about Chad, or so she could question him discreetly.

She knew she was ruining any hopes of a reconciliation with Dallas by going to Ironman. Dallas would now be convinced that she was exactly what she had presented herself as, and which he had for so long resisted believing: a thrill-seeking, greedy girl looking to advance herself. He would hate her. But of course, she thought ruefully, he hated her already. And she did not even know why.

“Chicago!” bellowed the conductor passing through the corridor. “Now arriving, Chicago Central.”

Kristin looked out the window as the train pulled into the enormous train depot that was the end of the line. She began bracing herself for what was to come. Becoming Ironman’s moll should be easier than becoming Hunter’s, she thought. She already had the experience of doing something like this once before. But it wasn’t easier. It was harder and more repulsive. And she felt uncomfortable as she and Teal disembarked from the train, then entered the private limousine Ironman had sent for her.

The limo delivered her to the residential hotel Ironman lived at. Teal accompanied her in the elevator up to the penthouse suite, but when the elevator door was opened, Riggio was there. He quickly said to Teal, “Wait a minute. I’ll go back down with you.”

Teal looked surprised. He had expected to be invited in. Riggio stepped inside and he said to Kristin, “Go right in. The boss is waiting for you.” He put his arm around Teal’s shoulder and started talking in jovial banter to soothe the affront of Teal’s not being invited inside. The elevator bell dinged, and then they were gone.

Kristin looked through the open doorway to Ironman Gianelli’s suite, craning her neck forward. Ironman was nowhere in sight. Hesitantly, she entered. The living room was exceptionally plush. The carpet was thick white pile, the furniture was ultramodern Danish. The room was spacious and airy, a split-level affair with the area nearest the huge windows raised two steps above the entrance level. The only thing that detracted from the look of sophisticated luxury were the paintings on the walls. They were crass and gaudy. The man who had chosen them obviously had no taste.

Ironman was still nowhere to be found. Kristin glanced briefly toward the darkened doorway that led into the master bedroom, but turned her eyes away quickly. If he was in there, with the lights out, she did not want to know about it.

“Hey!” called Ironman’s gruff voice from the other direction. “Out here! Come on!”

The veranda windows were open, Kristin saw. She walked through them, toward the sound of Ironman’s voice.

“Grab yourself a drink. Sit down. Glad to see you.” Ironman gestured toward the bar out on the roof deck where he sat with a Bloody Mary in his hand. He wore a white silk robe belted at his waist. His hair was slicked back. He was lounging on a patio reclining chair, his feet up and crossed, exposing his hairy black legs from the knees down.

Kristin was surprised to find him wearing the white silk robe. It was not the fact that he was dressed in a robe that surprised her, but that it was white silk as opposed to something coarser and more befitting his nature. On second thought, though, she understood. It fit in with his attempt to pass himself off as a sophisticated, fashionable man, which he was not. She thought of the way he usually dressed for business: pearl stickpin, silk tie, 200 dollar sharkskin suit with a fresh flower in the lapel. The man was a tough gangster who had pretensions toward being more than that.

“I don’t want a drink, thank you,” Kristin said, ignoring the bar he had gestured toward. She stood only a few feet forward of the veranda windows she had come out of. She did not know if she should go to Ironman and sit down in the chair next to him, or just stand here. She felt awkward.

Ironman took command of the situation, naturally, and she found that this helped put her at ease. He held up the ledger book he had open before him on his lap and grinned at her. “Look at this. Will you just look at this? Records. Records of receipts, payoffs, investments, percentages. You wouldn’t think a gangster would have to mess with this stuff, would you? But I’ll tell you,” he said, shaking his head, inviting her to laugh along with him at the absurdity of the situation, “being a crook these days is as much work as being an honest businessman.”

Kristin tried to smile, but her expression felt false and stiff. Ironman grinned at her. He motioned her forward. “Come on, doll, sit down. I won’t bite you.” When she came over and sat upright in the lounge chair adjacent to his, her legs over the edge, her feet touching the ground, Ironman took her hand and said, “You’re nervous, right? Don’t let it get to you. I’ll tell you a secret, doll. I am too.”

“You?” she said, unable to contain her surprise. “Yeah.” He laughed. “Crazy, ain’t it? Ironman Gianelli, toughest hood in Chicago, feeling nervous about being with a dame. But you know, here’s how it is. You ain’t like other dames. I had other dames before, a dime a dozen. Most of the time, they don’t even wait to be flirted with; they just throw themselves at me. But them, they’re all floozies. You, doll, you’re different.” Kristin was surprised by his sincerity. It helped put her a bit more at ease, knowing that he was not savoring her embarrassment and nervousness. Also, it was nice that he was trying to put her at ease, as he obviously was attempting to do. It was as if it were important to him to make her feel as comfortable as he could.

He tossed the heavy ledger book over to a patio table and ran his hand through his slicked-back hair. He smiled at her. And though the man was a wolf and a fox and a vulture, the smile was not at all unpleasant.

“All right, doll. It’s time you and me talked business. The last time I saw you, you was being held by Rooney, and I was yelling at Dallas to stop trying to rescue you, to leave you to that bastard and just make his getaway with me. Next thing I know, you’re on the phone, making it sound like you want to stay with me. What’s the story? I’d have guessed you’d hate my guts after me wanting to leave you to Rooney like that.”

“No,” she said. “I understood. I meant nothing to you then, so why should you have risked one of your keymen to try to save me?”

He looked at her carefully. He seemed impressed. “That’s right. That’s just the way it was. But I didn’t expect you to see it that way too.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“That you’re not, doll.”

Now it was her turn to look into his eyes and to make her pitch for his taking her on as his moll. “That’s why I want to be with you,” she said. “Because I’m not dumb. I know what I want out of life. And I know that you can give it to me.”

“So can Dallas Hunter,” he said flatly. “Why come to me when you were with Dallas? Why didn’t you stay with him?” His expression was a curious blend. He did not want to ruin his chances of havi

ng her stay with him, as he knew he was risking doing. But at the same time, he had to ask this question so he knew where he stood. He wanted to know exactly what the situation was in every way that it might possibly affect him. He had not achieved his preeminent position by being soft on facing facts.

“Dallas can’t give me what you can. He’s . . . he’s not on top. You’re on top.”

“Is that it? Isn’t there more to it than that?”

“No.”

He took her hand and held it. Then, without warning, he began to squeeze it in his iron grip, hurting her. She tried to pull it away, but couldn’t. “You’re hurting me!” she cried.

“Dallas didn’t bother having his lawyer spring you from that lockup. You two were on the outs before you decided to come to me. Now I want the truth. What caused the breakup? You don’t go risking your life to rescue a girl from a hood like Rooney, and then abandon her at the last minute without good reason. I want to know the truth.”

“If you’ll let go of my hand, I’ll tell you!” Kristin was in agony.

“You’ll tell me now.”

“I won’t!” She glared fiercely into his eyes, wincing because of the pain.

After an instant, Ironman relaxed his grip. The pain subsided. Kristin could see from his expression that he had great respect for what she had just done. She had held her ground against him. He liked that. The cheap floozies he was used to would never have defied him in such a manner.

Now that her hand was free, she rubbed it. She couldn’t tell Ironman the truth. The truth was that she didn’t know why Dallas had become upset with her on the island after she had done nothing but ask him questions to see if he knew about Chad. Ironman wouldn’t believe she didn’t know why Dallas was so upset with her. She invented a believable sounding reason, which was not entirely a lie. “Dallas doesn’t think a girl like me should be involved with men like you and him. He says I’m not the moll type.”

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