Page 50 of Captured Fantasy

I knew where I needed to go and who I needed to talk to. The clubhouse was empty this early in the morning. I strode through the front hall and up the stairs to the lounge. On the far end of the room was a pool table surrounded by chairs and couches and beyond it was a café. Lucien sat by the window with his laptop balanced on the round marble table, his lips moving as he skimmed his screen.

I walked up and he lifted his head, pulling his earbuds out.

“You know, I come here this early so I won’t be bothered,” he said.

I sat down opposite him. “We need to talk about Mads.”

Lucien released a sigh. He closed his laptop and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I haven’t talked to him yet.”

“I just came from his house.”

“How is he?”

I tossed the box across the table and Lucien flipped the top open. His brow twitched as he stared down into it and he closed the lid.

“Fuck,” he said calmly.

“I fixed him up and sent my cleaning lady over there to salvage the house and get groceries. But he’s going to need more than that.”

I reached across and picked up his espresso, shooting it back. He watched me passively.

“Have you seen Lorenza?”

I froze.

“No. Why?”

Lucien’s eyelid flickered. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing as I asked.”

“What does that have to do with Mads? Respectfully, sir,” I said.

“Nothing,” Lucien said. “I’ll handle Amadeo. There’s a rehab up state, one of those places where rich druggies go. It’s basically a resort. I’ll have a couple of my men drive him up there tomorrow. I’m sure they can find a spot for him, for the right price.”

“Those are insanely expensive,” I said, glad the conversation had moved away from Enza.

Lucien looked at me with a faint expression of polite confusion. I’d grown up with plenty of money, enough to buy whatever I wanted. But Lucien was on another level. His house looked like a smaller version of Versailles. Thinking about it reminded me that Olivia was living with him there, which was a relief. At least she was out of my parents’ house.

“How’s Olivia?” I asked abruptly.

I’d never seen his face change so fast. A flicker of hot desire moved through his eyes and then it was gone. His chest rose and fell and I noticed a faint flush at the base of his throat. I shifted, uncomfortable with his reaction.

“She’s settling in,” he said shortly.

“Good.”

There was a long, awkward silence. Lucien pushed back his chair and stood, gathering up his things.

“I’d like to be one of the men who drives Mads up,” I said.

“Go for it, Barone.”

Lucien turned on his heel and strode through the tables and disappeared from sight.

The next day, Andrea Venetti and I drove a subdued Amadeo to a rehab facility on the shores of Lake Ontario. It was a pleasant place, quiet save for the gulls crying on the water. There was a general smell of fresh plants, flowers, and trees as we walked through the garden and up the front walkway. Amadeo barely lifted his head. His face was worn and his eyes were dead.

I barely remembered checking him into his spacious room and saying goodbye. My mind was spinning, churning like the river after a rainstorm. I was too preoccupied with a single, consuming thought. A realization that had haunted me since I’d seen Carolina’s clothes laid out on the table.

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