Page 86 of Unprepared Daddy

I narrowed my eyes. “What is this?” I demanded. “Why are you trying to make me look bad here?”

“Beth, I’m not,” Al said. “I’m just trying to get all the details I can.”

I sighed. “No, he slept with other women sometimes,” I said. “But it was my job not to mind. Michael told me he wanted a wife, and I don’t even know how many times he cheated. But he saw it as a man’s right – he told me that he had freedom, since he provided for me. I never cheated on him, though. I never even though about it.”

Al nodded. “I know this has been a long ordeal for you,” he said. He flipped his notebook closed. “You can go, Beth. I’m sorry.”

I shuddered. “Do you…do you have any idea who might be behind this?”

Al narrowed his eyes. “We do,” he said. “But nothing is certain yet.”

“Can you tell me?” I asked quietly. “Please, I really need to know. I won’t be able to sleep unless I find out who killed my fiancé.”

“Nothing is certain yet,” Al repeated. “But I think Michael’s death had something to do with the Amoruso crime family.”

My stomach flipped and twisted and for a moment, I thought I was going to throw up. I leaned over and put my face between my knees, retching and coughing.

“What?” I asked in a strained whisper. “The people who own those restaurants?”

Al nodded. “They’re not just in the restaurant business,” he said gently. “They’re drug traffickers, and they have known ties with Michael’s father’s business.”

My jaw dropped. “Douglas?”

Al nodded. “Yes,” he said. He checked his watch. “Beth, I need to be getting on to my next interview,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

My head was spinning and filled with questions, but I couldn’t find the words to articulate any of them. How the hell did they already know that Michael had been killed by the mafia?

And why would the mafia want to hurt Michael?

“No,” I said softly. “That’s all.”

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Heather took me home and put me in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I was lying there under the covers, crying and wishing that I’d realize this had all been a bad dream. It seemed impossible to me that my whole life had changed and flipped upside down in such a short amount of time. I felt dizzy and shaky and scared.

Suddenly, Al’s words came rushing back to me. The Amoruso crime family, he’d said. And Douglas has ties with them.

Shaking nervously, I crawled out of bed and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. It was late at night – past midnight – but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I’d talked with Douglas. I grabbed my keys and drove across town, to the palatial mansion where Douglas lived with his second wife, Gabrielle.

The house was dark. I parked in the circular driveway and walked quickly up to the door, the soles of my sneakers slapping against the pavement like the staccato rhythm of my heart. I was nervous as I knocked at the door – what would happen? What would Douglas tell me? Did he know something I didn’t?

Gabrielle answered the door in a lacy pink kimono. She looked tired, but beautiful as always – she was a retired model, in her early thirties. Her blonde hair was in a messy bun and even though her face was free of makeup, she was more stunning than I’d ever be.

“Hello, Beth,” she said. She sounded tired, and almost nervous. “Are you here to see Douglas?”

I nodded numbly. “If that’s okay,” I said quietly. “I know it’s late.”

“We thought you would come earlier,” she said, but she didn’t smile. “Come with me.”

Normally, being in Douglas’s house filled me with a sense of awe. It was opulent and luxe and everything that I’d dreamed about – the floors alternated between marble and carpeting so plush I sank in to my ankles. The walls were painted ivory, with gold trim, and the ceiling were so high that I felt about three feet tall.

Gabrielle led me silently down a long hall, then into the open kitchen. Two copper ranges were fixed against the walls and a huge rack with copper pots and pans was hung overhead. The floor was checkerboard marble in pink and liver-colored squares, and something delicious was baking in the oven.

Douglas was sitting at the island in his bathrobe. His eyes were bloodshot and there was layer of grey scruff on his jaw and chin. It was hard not to gasp – normally, Douglas looked buttoned up and fit to lead a board meeting. Seeing him like this made the situation seem worse than ever.

It was starting to sink in that Michael was really and truly dead.

“Beth,” Douglas said. His voice was wooden and hollow. “I’m surprised it took you this long to come over.”

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