As much as I wanted to stay with Nova there was one woman I needed to see. She was who I thought of while I was in prison. I worried about her and tried to contact her but Dante stood in the way. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed me. My mother, who hadn’t written a single letter to me in jail, never made one phone call, she needed me. Whether she knew it or not.

My car, a 1975 vintage Porsche, was waiting for me in the RIT garage where I’d left it. As I sped in the direction of Homer Glen, a northern suburb not far from Chicago, I tried to focus. I wasn’t going to be able to just walk into the home I’d grown up in. I had to make it clear that I wasn’t there to fight. It wouldn’t be like the day I was led away in handcuffs.

But as hard as I tried to focus, all I could think of was Nova. When I slipped my arms around her waist to prevent her from leaving, I’d felt the softness of her body. Not only had I been away from women for five years, but there had been no physical contact of any kind with the exception of a hand shake or a beating in self defense. Sometimes one led to the other.

To feel that softness, the curve of her waist, the fullness of her breast pressing against me made every animal instinct rise up from deep inside me. There was a second when I almost took her.

I hadn’t expected her to kiss me back the way she did. I was sure she’d tear away from me with a slap and a gasp and barge her way out the door. But she hadn’t. She’d disarmed me, leaving me as with pure animal lust that wanted nothing more than to satisfy the urge that rose inside. I would have made love to her right there had I been a weaker man.

Just the thought of her lips was distracting me as I drove. I couldn’t bear it. I had to focus because a couple blocks further and I would be at my mother’s home.

Dante had probably already called security. I was sure there would be an army of squad cars, red and blue lights rolling. Doors open with officers in bullet proof vests and shotguns aimed in my direction waiting for me. But as it turned out there was none of that.

Slowly, I drove up the long cobblestone driveway to the front of the house. My mother had loved that movie with Scarlett O’Hara and the southern plantation. She had my father make sure their home had big, white pillars and tall windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Not much had changed with the exception of a few more sculptures in the yard and different flowers in the beds. The trees had gotten bigger and for some reason I felt as if I’d gotten smaller. Shame settled over me. Had I been smarter, like my father always taught me, I would have outsmarted Dante and none of this would have ever happened. But I let my emotions run rough-shot and it’d cost me everything. At least everything that was important, like the relationship with my mother.

I parked the car and waited for the sound of guard dogs being released. There was nothing but the chirping of birds as they flitted and dipped in the birdbath at the right side of the yard.

Before I could knock, the door opened. It was a man I’d never seen before.

“Mr. Ramsey?” he asked without smiling.

“I’m Alex Ramsey. Who are you?”

“I’m Donald Kaye, Mr. Ross’s personal secretary. I was told you’d be arriving today. Please come in.” Already I didn’t like this. Donald Kaye looked like a bookie in a suit. His hair was thinning and his fingers were stubby. The look in his eye was that of a cat waiting outside a crack for the mouse to stick its head out.

“I need to speak to my mother,” I said, feeling the hair rise on the back of my neck as I stepped inside the house. “Where is she?”

“Miss Florence isn’t having visitors.”

“I’m not a visitor. I’m her son and…”

“Doctor’s orders are that she is not to be disturbed. In such a frail condition it might…”

“Mother!” I yelled and pushed past Donald heading toward the stairs. “Mother!”

“Mr. Ramsey, I didn’t want to do this but I will call the police.”

“Mother!” I screamed, my body buzzing with fear for her safety. I stomped to the master bedroom and threw open the doors only to find the room empty. Donald was strolling up behind me with his hands in his pockets.

Without thinking I lunged for him, grabbing him around the throat and slamming him into the wall.

“Where is she?” I squeezed his neck so hard it was no wonder he couldn’t speak. I rapped the back of his head against the wall anyway and repeated my question. His eyes shifted to a guest room behind me. The door was closed. With one more crack against the wall I turned Donald loose and dashed to the door.

Donald fell to the floor gasping. When I stepped into the room I smelled the sweet lavender that my mother had always worn. The room was nice but void of all the little extras she kept in the master bedroom. The scented candles and the puffs for powder. Elegant antique atomizers of all shapes and colors. Family portraits and her statue of the Blessed Virgin. There was none of that here, just a room where she’d been tucked away.

When I finally got my bearings I saw her. Florence Ramsey, the woman who raised me to love art and music, and taught me to tell the truth and be kind to people less fortunate sat in a wheelchair facing the window, slumped over asleep.

“Mother?” I was immediately at her side. Tears filled my eyes and the vision of her blurred. Her jewelry was gone. Her nails weren’t done. Her hair was still thick and silver but I couldn’t tell when the last time anyone had brushed it for her. “Mother, it’s me. It’s Lexy. Can you hear me?”

“She doesn’t even know you’re here.” Donald coughed, still on the floor in the hallway. “So you see, all you did was open up a can of grief for yourself. She’s got dementia.”

I slipped my hand into my mother’s and squeezed it hard.

“Mommy,” I whispered. “I’ll get you out of here.” Just then I felt her squeeze my hand tightly. My heart cracked open in my chest as I sobbed at her side. She held on tightly for what felt like forever. But then she lost her strength and slipped into that haze I had found her in.

When I stood up I felt ashamed of myself. Here I was tall, strong, and healthy, and still I wasn’t able to protect my mother. I’d lost my temper and practically handed my father’s legacy over to that monster who would keep my mother alone and locked away like an animal. As I looked around the room I saw the counter in the bathroom was littered with pill bottles.

“Don’t go in there!” Donald shouted.

“She doesn’t have dementia,” I muttered. “They’re drugging her.” With renewed rage I walked up to mother, kissed her on the top of her head and rubbed her cheek. “I’ll be back, mother.”

Then I turned my eyes on Donald who was just getting to his feet. I ran after him, tackled him in the hallway and after introducing my fist to his face, I demanded to know the name of the doctor seeing my mother. He coughed it up like I’d performed the Heimlich Maneuver on him. But just when I thought my luck was turning, Donald pulled an ace from his sleeve. An ace in the shape of a .38 Special.

“I think it’s time you go.”

“If anything happens to my mother, I can assure you that you’ll never be dead enough,” I growled.

He snickered and motioned for me to get out.

I left the property and headed back to my apartment downtown. My mind swam as I wondered how long Dante had kept Mother in this state. Surely Joan knew she hadn’t been in the office for several months if not longer. Yet, she’d said nothing to me.

Had Dante gotten to the whole company? Was it packed with his people?

There was only one person who could find out for me. Nova. I had to talk to her right away.