Page 84 of Corrupted Queen

“Goodbye, Miguel.”

I hang up, luxuriating in the knowledge that somewhere out there, I have stolen the slimy dirtbag’s smile.

* * *

It only takes an hour before two policemen burst into my office, brandishing a warrant for my arrest. If they were coming to arrest Gabriel Belluci, don of the Italian Mafia, they would have come with more muscle. As it is, they have come to arrest Gabriel Belluci, son of Fabrizio Belluci.

Murderer of Fabrizio Belluci.

“Stand facing the window, place your hands behind your back, and don’t move,” the younger of the two commands.

I follow his instructions, staring out at that geometric smorgasbord of windows, roofs, and clean industrial lines one last time as he snaps handcuffs on my wrists. Sometime in the past couple of hours, new evidence has surfaced in my father’s case. An anonymous tip has led them to a piece of my father’s bloody shirt and a bullet casing with my fingerprints on it. I don’t know where the Cartel had it planted—I suspect somewhere on my property—but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough to cast serious doubt on the theory that my father killed himself at our cabin in the Poconos, enough to suggest that he died right here in New York City, and that I had something to do with it.

I don’t fight the police. Gabriel Belluci, CEO of Belluci Inc., doesn’t fight. If I want there to be any chance of me making it out of this investigation without the police uncovering the whole dirty business, I need to play the part of the docile CEO to the tee.

I pass through the office, my employees staring and whispering amongst themselves. I rearrange my features to give them the impression that I’m scared. Confused.

All the while I am planning my revenge.

31

Alexis

It feels odd to be watching Gabriel disappear into the back of a police vehicle while sitting on the couch in his luxurious living room. The news keeps replaying the same shot of him approaching the car and being guided in over and over again, and I don’t blame them. He’s absolutely gorgeous, even in handcuffs. Perhaps especially in handcuffs. His eyes scan the assembled crowd of onlookers, as though looking for someone.

Looking for me, maybe? His Judas?

The news report only says that Gabriel is being arrested for the murder of his father, which would certainly be more than enough crime for one person if that person wasn’t also the don of a powerful crime syndicate. Considering that the report doesn’t make any connections to the article published today about organized crime and purple heroin, either his involvement is not public knowledge yet or his arrest today is—and this seems unlikely—a coincidence.

It’s my fault. It has to be. No way he’d get randomly arrested on the day my story broke unless the cops made the connection. I just wonder how they did it. I was careful to keep the details about the Italian involvement in the operation vague. I thought by doing so, I might be able to preserve some of my relationship without sacrificing my journalistic integrity.

Stupid, I know. Gabriel was never going to forgive me for this. Now that it’s led to this public humiliation, not to mention jail time, I can kiss whatever future we may have had together goodbye.

But at least it’s over now. The hiding, the secrets. I can live my life honestly now. And it honestly hurts like fucking hell.

I am broken inside. I did the right thing, and now I’m going to suffer for it for the rest of my life. I had to do it. I don’t regret it. But hot damn, watching them replay this footage is like scooping my heart out with a melon baller and—

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

My hand shoots to my phone and silences the timer. The white plastic strip sits innocuously in front of me, like it has no idea how powerful it is. It has the power to change my life. It won’t bring Gabriel back, but it will certainly change his life too.

I wonder, as my shaking hand reaches for the stick, if I could have done things differently. If there was a way to save the city and Clara and everyone else who couldn’t save themselves, without kicking Gabriel to the wolves. Too late now, I guess. I did my best. Now I need to pay the piper.

I close my eyes, then pop one open and stare at the pregnancy test as though it might snap at me. Two red lines. I know what that means. I’ve done this song and dance before.

Harry is going to be a big brother.

I set the positive pregnancy test down beside its twin from the two-pack. Two tests. Four red lines. Suddenly everything that mattered so much two minutes ago seems to matter a lot less, because in less than nine months, I will be bringing another life into this world.

There is a light knock on the door and I look up.

Silvano Gambaro strides into the room, confidence radiating off him. I have met him only a couple of times, but it has been enough to form a pretty decent opinion. He’s young and cocky. His brother gave him all the knowledge to take over as Gabriel’s consigliere but none of the experience, but Silvano is clever enough to know that what he lacks in practice, he can always make up for in charisma.

I pull Harry across my lap, banding my arms around him. I don’t trust Silvano the way I trusted Vito. Vito was a good man with good ethics. For all I know, Silvano is just some young cowboy who wants to play with guns.

“You’ve seen the news, then?” Silvano flicks his chin toward the TV.

“Yep.” I hold his silver gaze, as if I might force him from the room with just a look.

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