Page 58 of The Fixer

Paulo D’Angelo.

Throwing a glance to the corner where Santini had been earlier, I found it bare. But there was no relief in that discovery. Nothing but a racing heart thundering in my ears.

“Eliza Westbrook,” Paulo said, bypassing the handshake that all the other men at the gala had given. The man went straight for her, wrapping her up in his arms like I’d seen him embrace his own daughter. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Paulo,” Eliza responded, a hint of surprise in her voice. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

It was no secret to me that he supported shelters like Hope. As the man who handled the issues that cropped up in the Syndicate, I was well aware of his abhorrence for the abuse of women and children. But after the last five months, after his declaration for a need to keep our heads down, the Hope Gala was one of the last places I expected him to be.

More surprising was how well he seemed to know Eliza, the two of them going on like old friends. Speaking of the death of her father. Of how proud her mother would be to see her now. Even the sight of Santini slipping into the back corner of the room did little to calm my dread.

“Paulo,” Eliza said, reaching for my arm, tugging me to her side, “I’d like you to meet—”

“Jet Pasternelo.” Paulo didn’t wait to reach for my hand. Didn’t stop there, he pulled me into a hug, slapping a hand on my back. “It’s good to see you.”

“Oh!” Eliza reached for her collar, only to realize it wasn’t where she was used to. Her hand traced along the seam, sliding along the swell of her breast until it hit the bottom of the V. Hovering there, as if she couldn’t decide how best to cover herself and calm her heart. “I didn’t realize… You know each other?”

With his hand still on my back, Paulo turned to her. “I’ve known Jet since he was born. Used to toddle after me whenever I’d visit with his father. And,” he said, squeezing my shoulder, far away from my neck, “he’s one of the most important people in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without him by my side.”

The racing sound of my heart turned to thundering footsteps, like horses charging down a track. My mouth dropped open, but the words that had lodged in my throat earlier stopped anything else from coming out. I pressed a thumb into my throat, as if it might loosen the lump and set me free. I blinked rapidly as I tried to digest the words Paulo D’Angelo had just said.

Eliza blinked, too. I didn’t like the way her eyes slid over me, looking at me as if she was actually seeing me for the first time. Lights shining down upon me like an interrogation, her gaze swift and fleeting before pulling back to the man who meant everything to me.

The man who might have, once more, ruined my life.

Her smile looked forced. Strained with disbelief and distrust. Her hand slid down my arm, grip lax before her finger hooked on mine. Only then did it tighten, the thinnest thread still holding us together. The girl unwilling to let go of one more person in her life.

No matter how wrong, how bad, they were.

As she and Paulo talked, I could see the cogs turning in her head, clicking into place. Piecing together my past life. Who I was to a man like D’Angelo. Surely, she knew the danger that surrounded him and his organization. Surely that connection between us would fizzle as my life became clear.

Just as her finger slipped from mine, I could feel her pulling away. And the thundering in my chest slowed, like those horses galloping around my lungs and heart were now running through mud, each step sluggish and listless as they struggled to get free.

I didn’t want to be free.

I wanted her.

Now I could only wait. For her to decide this life I lived was too much for her. To break this off before it’d even begun. Because a woman of her stature, of her beauty and worth, couldn’t possibly be wrapped up with a depraved man like me.

The music stopped and on the stage at the front of the room, Meg stood near the microphone next to Hope’s president and the woman’s husband. Beside us, Paulo’s face pinched.

“I better be going.”

“You’re not staying?” Eliza asked, her hand reaching out for the man, settling on his arm.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’d love to stay, but,” he said, looking to me and gripping my shoulder once again, “unfortunately, my plate has been fuller than usual. It’s been a real struggle lately. I’m looking forward to things getting back to normal sometime in the near future.”

Paulo turned to the girl, reaching for both her hands with his. “Eliza, it’s been lovely seeing you again. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. And.” He paused, letting her go before pulling a crisp, cream-colored envelope from the inside pocket of his tux jacket. “I almost forgot. Your father gave this to me before he died. He told me to make sure you received it if anything ever happened to him.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said with a shaky voice. She clutched the envelope to her breasts, then reached forward and gave Paulo a hug. “Thank you so much. For everything.”

“Jet,” Paulo said, turning to me once again. His eyes spoke of loss and failure, an unknown future and the tragedies of the past. “I miss you, son. We’ll get together again soon.”

Son. It was a kick to the chest. A dream realized before it was torn from my grasp. I couldn’t help the squeezing in my chest. I gripped his hand tighter, wishing, for a moment, that I wouldn’t have to let go. “Thank you,” I told him, voice raspy and weak. “For everything.”

“Take care of the girl.” He smiled, giving a slight nod to Eliza. “Have a good night.”