Page 42 of An Exclusive Game

CHAPTER18

ALESSA

A part of me will always long for the simplicity of youth when my biggest concerns were skinned knees or tracking mud through the house. But this morning I have a much bigger problem staring me right in the face—some man in jeans and a bomber jacket, buzz-cut hair, standing across the road from my house and glaring straight at it.

I know a threat when I see one, and I assume this one has been sent merely to unnerve for now. It’s a good thing I’m going to see Daddy today.

After lunch, I set out for Long Island in my Maserati—ruby red, naturally—then take the exit for North Shore and drive another ten minutes before I reach the secluded residential area my family has lived in for generations. Finally the wrought iron gates of the estate appear, adorned with curling vines and our family crest. I punch in the code and drive through as the gates swing open automatically.

My tires crunch along the driveway as I approach the house. Three stories of brick and marble rise up before me, the mansion’s impressive facade hinting at generations of accumulated wealth and power. The immaculate gardens lining the curved driveway burst with sculpted hedges and colorful flower beds, evidence of the small army of gardeners my mother employs to ensure not a single leaf is out of place.

I slide the sports car into park beside my father’s Audi, and check my makeup in the car mirror before I get out. Flawless. Though my mother will certainly still find fault. I smooth my hands over my form-fitting black dress after I step out of the car and prepare myself for the onslaught of my mother’s critiques. Despite my success with the Ruby Realm, she has never quite approved of my “lifestyle choices,” as she delicately puts it—and she doesn’t mean the gay thing. In her eyes, nothing measures up to the prestige of marrying and then breeding. She was an actress once—but she quit as soon as she and Daddy married, excited to pop out a new generation of de Lucas.

Unfortunately for me, she’s still got that dramatic streak.

Steeling myself, I stride up to the grand double doors and pull one open without knocking. Immediately, the delicate notes of a Vivaldi concerto drift from the music room down the hall, signaling that Mother is home. I follow the soaring strains through the palatial foyer toward the music room situated at the back of the house, my heels sinking into the lush oriental rugs with each step.

As a child, the sound of classical music floating through the halls meant that mother was in a good mood—happy enough to lose herself playing records from her extensive collection. The vinyl’s crackles and pops would underscore the swell of violins and cellos while I sprawled on the Turkish rug at her feet, playing with antique dolls that once belonged to my grandmother.

I used to make those dolls kiss each other passionately, so my mother got the picture pretty early, and to her credit, she’s never said a word against my sexual orientation. She still wants me married to some staid stockbroker and pregnant via an acceptable (to her) donor, though.

My mother sits straight-backed on a gilded sofa, flipping through an interior design magazine, though I know it’s just for show. In her mid-sixties she still has the posture of a prima ballerina and the shrewd nature of a queen holding court. Her salt-and-pepper hair is elegantly coiffed, and she wears understated but no doubt obscenely expensive jewelry. She glances up as I enter, rose-pink lips moving into the smile of a welcoming hostess.

“Alessa, darling! Don’t you look lovely.” But her gaze sweeps over me, no doubt searching for something to pick at. “Come, sit. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

I settle onto the sofa across from her, crossing one leg over the other. “The Ruby Realm’s charity gala went wonderfully. We raised nearly two million for the women’s shelter.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, your little pet projects. But what about you, dear? Any new romances on the horizon?” Right to her favorite topic, then. “You’re not getting any younger, you know. Your father and I would love more grandchildren to spoil.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “You have eight already from the boys, Ma. I think you and Daddy are all set.”

Her lips pinch together in that way she has when she’s about to deliver a lecture. “You know it’s not the same, Alessa. You need to find a good woman and start a family. Look at Juno—married, successful, andsohappy these days.” She sighs wistfully, and I know what’s coming. “Why can’t you be more like Juno?”

“Cut it out, Ma,” I groan. Inside though, her comparison digs under my skin like it always does. Perfect Juno with her picture-perfect life. Not that I would ever admit it to my mother.

And anyway, Juno’s not so perfect as my mother likes to pretend. Not with all that death and danger around her.

“I just think you’ll be much happier once you settle down,” she goes on.

“I’m never going to settle down, Ma, because I don’t plan tosettle. I’d have to meet someone truly extraordinary to give up everything I’ve built and focus on them instead of work.”

An image of Natalie flashes through my mind, but I shake the thought away before it can fully form.

Heavy footsteps in the hallway signal the arrival of my father. Saved by Daddy’s impeccable timing. He fills the doorway with his imposing frame. “There are my girls,” he rumbles affectionately in that gravelly voice of his. “Plotting to take over the world again?”

Ma tuts at him even as her stern expression softens. “Oh Johnny, always teasing. Anyway, Alessa, I know you’re Daddy’s little girl, no matter how old you get.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Go, enjoy your time together. I’ve made my critiques; I’m happy.”

Self-awareness? I have to grin. “Love you, Ma,” I say, leaning over to kiss her perfectly-powdered cheek before following my father out of the room.

We head through the sprawling house and out the back door to a large garden shed near the edge of the grounds. But the true destination lies beneath our feet. Inside the shed, my father presses a notch in the worn wooden wall. With a groan, a floor panel slides over to reveal a staircase leading down beneath the earth. He descends first, and I trail after him, a waft of cold, stale air rising up to greet me.

At the bottom lies a surveillance-proof bunker outfitted with encrypted technology and secure communications. It also boasts a fully stocked bar that my father makes a beeline for. He pours two fingers of whiskey neat into crystal tumblers, handing one to me.

Finally settled in leather armchairs, my father’s expression turns serious. “I spoke with Vince Ricci,” he begins. “He understood the error of his ways after our conversation. You won’t be bothered by him again.”

I exhale in relief. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He nods, taking a sip of whiskey. “I also talked to Don Mancini. Made it clear that any threats against my daughter will be seen as a direct provocation against me. Not that he didn’t know it already.” His eyes harden like chips of flint. “But to avoid rocking the boat too much, I’d suggest upping what you pay to the old man each month. Throw him a bone to chew on.”

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