Chapter Five

I parked Steven’s car in front of my parents’ house overlooking the country club in Calabasas, then killed the ignition. There were a few other vehicles parked in the driveway. All of them were luxury, a stark contrast to the economical Ford sedan I currently sat in.

Checking my reflection in the rearview mirror, I reapplied my lip gloss, then tossed it back into my purse. I paused for a moment, staring up at the large two-story stucco house with brick façade that seemed to exude comfort and happiness. But I knew the truth. There was nothing but misery and bitterness residing within those four walls.

Squaring my shoulders, I drew in a calming breath, running my hands over my dress. I shouldn’t have been this nervous. This was just like every other Friday night of my life when my mother would host her weekly dinner party, always inviting a different group of people she wanted to impress for whatever reason. Votes. Donations. Or just to fan the flame of her own sense of self-importance. She’d always put on quite the show, and I always went along with it. That all ended tonight.

Brock’s indignant look when I finally stood up to him yesterday flashed before my eyes. I laughed slightly. I’d never felt so powerful. I wanted more of that. I had to believe fate had a damn good reason for making that coin land on heads. She knew I needed to be here to tie up all these loose ends, that I needed to show my parents I was no longer going to live under their thumbs.

I stepped out of the car, making my way up the brick walkway toward the front door. My back straight and head held high, I pulled my key out of my purse. Inserting it into the lock, I turned, furrowing my brow when it didn’t work.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered to myself after a few more failed attempts. Even Brock hadn’t changed the locks, but my own parents had?

Shoving my keys back into my purse, I rang the doorbell. A chill ran through me when I heard the ominous sound of heels clicking on the marble tile in the entryway. When the door opened, I was faced with my mother’s fake smile.

Her unnatural blonde hair was perfectly coifed, falling to just above her shoulders. Despite being over sixty, her skin had the appearance of a much younger woman, thanks to all the Botox injections she’d received in order to fight the natural aging process. Her five-foot, three-inch frame wore a conservative suit, a string of pearls around her neck, channeling her inner Barbara Bush. I’d met the former First Lady. My mother was no Barbara.

“Oh, Ellie,” she said in a shrill voice. “There you are. I was wondering if you were going to show at all.”

“It’s 8:01, Mother. You told me to be here at eight. I’m not sure being one minute late qualifies for sending out a search party.”

“Well, after your little disappearing act at your own wedding, I don’t know what to expect out of you anymore.”

I bit back the snarky comment begging to spill from my mouth, instead offering her the same exact expression she had on her face — pleasant, cordial, hiding everything.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

I walked into the foyer and past the ornate wooden staircase. Most homes had photos of family members, close friends, and loved ones. Not here…unless you counted all the pictures of my father with one important person or another. Diplomats. A few celebrities. And every President since he’d been elected to the U.S. Senate thirty years ago. Not one photo of me.

“If I’d have known you were going to change the locks, I wouldn’t have bothered to bring my keys with me,” I sneered, getting in one more jab. I had a feeling tonight would be filled with one passive-aggressive comment after another.

“It was simply a precaution, Ellie. For all we knew, you could have been kidnapped by a gang. It wasn’t until we saw a photo of you with that…that chef or whoever in Rome that we even knew you were alive.” She placed her hand on her heart in a show of feigned compassion. I knew my mother too well to know anything about her was genuine, right down to her lips. “Do you have any idea how concerned we all were?” She dropped the act, her voice becoming critical, as I was used to. “And why did you change your hair?”

“That chef,” I began, gritting out a smile, “prefers brunettes.” I paused. Noticing her disgust at my response, I decided to go in for the kill. “And spanking…but that’s an entirely different conversation.”

Incensed, her eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Well, that certainly is not appropriate dinner conversation…or any conversation.” She grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the formal sitting room where I was certain my parents’ stuck-up friends would be lounging while Maria, our housekeeper, finished preparing dinner. “Please remember your place tonight. We’ll discuss your recent behavior later, but tonight, we need to give off the impression that you’re normal.”

“I am normal, Mother. It’s you and Dad and everyone you surround yourselves with who are anything but normal and genuine. I’m done with it all.”

“Not now, Ellie,” she hissed.

“Of course not. We wouldn’t want someone to think you’re anyone other than the gracious wife of a senator, would we? We wouldn’t want anyone to realize you’re a miserable, self-centered, egotistical shrew who gets off on everyone else’s failings.” I smiled, then abruptly turned from her shocked expression and continued into the sitting room where four older couples sat. The men drank scotch, while the women held glasses of champagne or club soda. It was such a double-standard and I despised it. Just because we were born with ovaries instead of testicles we couldn’t handle the hard stuff?

“There’s my little Houdini!” my father’s jovial voice bellowed the instant I crossed the threshold. I immediately stilled as I stared into his brilliant blue eyes, his smile seemingly kind. Like my mother, he masked everything under his bright expression and charming demeanor.

I swallowed hard, doing my best to act as if I didn’t know about the secret he was hiding, how dark his heart truly was, how cruel he must be to be involved in something to cause harm to another human, particularly a child. I wanted to rip into him, especially in front of this small gathering, but I kept my mouth shut. I needed to approach this carefully, to slowly let out just a little bit of rope at a time, ask a few seemingly innocuous questions, each one tightening the noose until he hung himself. I’d been around politicians my entire life. I knew how they played their game. And I planned on beating him at it.

“Very funny, Dad.” I laughed with a fabricated smile.

“We were very worried about you,” he said, not getting up from his position on one of the divans. “Something horrible could have happened to you.”

Everyone else nodded in agreement, a forced expression of concern etched on each of their faces. I glanced around the room, taking inventory of the people my mother had invited to the weekly show, as I liked to call it. First, we had the neighbors, Richard and Jackie Bennigan, who must have been in town on a stopover to wherever they were heading next. They didn’t spend much time in California, and the house next door wasn’t their primary residence. Richard was the CEO of one of the banks still standing after the financial crisis a few years ago. I found it odd that he purchased a brand new yacht and villa in Aspen just days after his bank received the bailout money. Politics at its finest.

Then there were Liam and Gretchen Young. He was a neurosurgeon and she was a homemaker, although their household staff did most of that. She came from old money and devoted her free time to various charities, or so she said. Just like everyone else I’d been surrounded with, I doubted she did much more for these charities than write a check.

Next was Lucas Merriweather and his current flavor of the month, who couldn’t have been more than a few years out of grad school. The older Lucas got, the more juvenile his taste in women. He was one of the most sought-after advisors and strategists in politics today, not to mention the man who’d run every single one of my father’s campaigns. He wouldn’t be anywhere without Merriweather’s expertise, and my father knew this. Worse, so did Lucas. After all, he’d learned from the best. His father was a force to be reckoned with in politics, as well, having advised my grandfather and great-grandfather. Lucas simply carried on the family legacy. His influence had become so pervasive it was sometimes difficult to remember who the elected official truly was.

Last was Edward and Freida Sullivan…the same Mr. Edward Sullivan who fired me just a few days ago. Of course, he acted as if everything were the same, as if nothing had changed. But I’d changed. And I couldn’t be more grateful for the lightbulb finally going off. For having the guts to stand up for myself. For Dante.

I studied the females in the room, each of them sipping their drinks. They all looked bitter, like they hadn’t had a real orgasm in years…or ever. Like they’d never been loved. Like they’d never been swept off their feet by a man who pledged to cherish them until their dying day. I no longer resented these women for perpetuating the cycle, for refusing to take advantage of the advances our gender had made over the years, to embrace their sexuality. Instead, I pitied them for how sheltered they were, how unloved they were, how miserable they were. Yes, they had more money than they could ever spend in a lifetime, but that couldn’t make up for what they’d missed out on… Passion. Excitement. Unrivaled joy. I’d rather die penniless with no possessions than be stuck in a life of lies, façades, and emptiness.

“Pleasure to see all of you.” I smiled, ignoring my father’s comment, then walked toward the wet bar, surveying the choices. I typically drank champagne, as was expected of me, but I was no longer going to do that. Grabbing the bottle of scotch, I poured a few fingers into a tumbler before rejoining my parents’ guests.

“There’s champagne, Ellie,” my mother said through clenched teeth, laughing politely. I hadn’t noticed her follow me into the room once her shock had worn off. “Some wine, as well.”

“I’m aware. I’d prefer a glass of scotch right now.” I sat and leaned against the back of the upright chair, shunning all the etiquette classes I’d been forced to endure throughout my life. Hell, if I really wanted to give my mother a heart attack, I’d scratch my crotch, but that may have been taking it a bit too far.

She stared at me, her lips formed into a tight line, telling me without words that she didn’t approve of my actions. I didn’t care. I no longer craved her approval. When she realized I wasn’t going to behave as she wanted, she tore her eyes from mine, smiling cordially at all her supposed “friends”, although I was certain she didn’t truly appreciate what being a friend entailed. It meant giving unwavering support. It meant loving them unconditionally. It meant sacrificing your own needs for them. It certainly didn’t mean looking down your nose when they did something you didn’t approve of, then speaking poorly of them the instant they were out of earshot. My mother could have all the manners and etiquette classes in the world, but she failed to learn how to be a decent human being. It was a wonder I turned out as normal as I had.

“I understand you saw Brock yesterday,” she began, all eyes in the room shifting to her, feigning interest in the conversation.

“I did. I went to his house to box up all my things.”

She furrowed her brow. “Box up your things? Why would you do that?”

“Because we’re not together anymore.” I took a sip of the scotch, trying to hide my grimace. I didn’t particularly care for the stuff, but I refused to give in to my mother’s expectations.

“That’s because you won’t hear him out. He was very upset when you stood him up…at his own wedding!”

“He deserved it,” I shot back. “In fact, he deserved worse after I walked in on him banging his secretary.”

Mrs. Young let out a slight gasp of disapproval and nervously looked around the room, which had grown thick with tension. “I believe I may have found the perfect entertainment for the annual charity art show,” she said, obviously trying to change the subject to one not so displeasing to her supposed delicate sensibilities, as if the idea of sex was too obscene. It made me laugh inwardly at the ridiculousness of the life I used to live.

“Perhaps he wouldn’t feel the need to stray if you were able to…satisfy him,” my mother retorted.

I blinked repeatedly, unable to believe this woman gave birth to me. You’d think a mother would console her daughter after she’d ended a ten-year relationship because her fiancé had been unfaithful. Not my mother. This was just another way for her to find something lacking with me, another example of how I was a failure as a human, another instance where I’d fallen short of her ridiculous expectations.

“He tracked me down in Rome. Did you know that?” I glowered at her, my lips in a tight line. I’d tried my best to stay collected and even-tempered, not wanting her to see she was getting to me, but it grew more and more difficult the longer I spent time here, disgust filling me as I was faced with the reminders of how weak I’d been for years.

“That’s very romantic,” Jackie Bennigan said, everyone in the room nodding in agreement, except my father, which struck me as odd. Unease flickered in his gaze, as if he knew there wasn’t a good reason for Brock to fly halfway around the world to find me when I’d made it perfectly clear I didn’t want to be found. Then again, it could have been an act, just like everything else.

“Oh, it was,” I replied, my voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’m not sure which part was more romantic.” I looked up at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. “Him breaking into where I was staying. Him pinning me to the ground and biting my neck, drawing blood.” I returned my eyes to the room, stunned expressions surrounding me. “No. That’s not it.”

My gaze turned cold. I didn’t know what had come over me. I never even told Mila exactly what happened when Brock found me. I didn’t have to. She saw past the golden boy persona and knew what he was really like, something I’d been too blind to see for years. No longer. And these people needed to see it, too.

“The most romantic part was probably when he forced me to the floor, covered my body with his so I couldn’t get up, then wrapped his arm around my neck, cutting off my oxygen, and threatened to kill me.”

I glanced around the room, a mixture of stunned, confused, and uncomfortable expressions staring back, except for my mother’s.

“Oh, Ellie.” She waved her hand, downplaying what I’d just admitted. “I’m sure it wasn’t like that or he would have been arrested. As always, you’re blowing things out of proportion.”

With an unfocused gaze, I cocked my head at her, my mouth becoming slack. “Out of proportion?” I repeated, my body tensing as I gripped my glass tighter.

“You were probably just a bit emotional over everything. Brock would never do anything to harm you. That’s preposterous. Were you drinking at the time?” she sneered, eyeing the tumbler in my hands.

“You’re unbelievable,” I murmured, then stood, gritting a smile at my parents’ guests. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.” With determined strides, I stormed out of the room and down the hall, yanking open the sliding glass door leading to the back yard.

Once I emerged onto the patio, I downed my drink, needing the burn of the liquor to soothe my anger. I didn’t know why I expected my mother to react any differently. I never thought she’d wrap her arms around me and ask if I was okay, but I hoped she’d at least believe me. To think she was so delusional and uncaring as to accuse me of exaggerating about what happened boggled my mind.

Slamming the empty glass onto a nearby lounge table, I formed my hands into fists, smothering back a scream. That was precisely the response my mother wanted. She wanted me to have a meltdown in front of her guests. She got a rise out of it, thinking it made her appear superior. I wouldn’t give that to her. I couldn’t let her see that she got to me.

My nostrils flared, my teeth grinding as I paced back and forth by the pool, trying to settle my anger and distaste. I came to a stop by the railing at the edge of their property high on the hill and leaned my arms on it, taking in the view. I used to love sitting out here and looking at the lights twinkling below me in the valley, the mountains in the distance. Now my surroundings only made me long for the rolling hills of Dante’s vineyard in Italy.

I closed my eyes, wishing I were still there, that Dante would find me at any moment and wrap his arms around me, whispering words of love in my ear. The image of him soothed the fire raging inside, calming me. I’d never felt so unbalanced in my life. I believed getting on that plane and coming home was the right thing to do. Now I thought everything would have been better had I stayed.

“Looks like you could use this,” a voice said. Snapping my eyes open, I looked to my left to see my father holding out a glass filled with quite a hefty pour of scotch toward me, surprising me.

“Dad, what are you—”

“Can’t I have a minute alone with my little girl? Maybe have a drink together?”

My brows gathering together, I hesitantly took the glass, raising it to my lips as he brought his own drink to his mouth. I sipped it, the burn not as strong as the one I’d poured for myself earlier.

“I added a bit of water to it,” he explained. “You can still piss your mother off by drinking it, but at least it won’t sting as much.”

I nodded, remaining silent as I returned my eyes to the houses dotting the sprawling metropolis. The air was thick with an awkward tension, neither one of us saying anything. There was a time I used to be comfortable around my father, especially when it was just us and he could drop his public persona. When he would simply be my dad, not the man who defied the odds and won the open Senate seat as a Republican in a state that typically leaned blue. The dad who took me horseback riding, and not side-saddle, as my mother requested. The dad who let me trade in my figure skates for a pair of hockey skates. The dad who brought home a dog for me…until my mother made him get rid of it. I still had trouble reconciling that man with the man he had become in recent years, the man who could be responsible for a little girl’s death, and perhaps more that I didn’t know about.

“What you said in there…,” he began after a few moments.

I turned to look at him, his blue eyes weary, the creases around his face exhibiting his age. My father always had a sort of youthful exuberance about him, even as he neared the age of seventy. But despite the silver hair and growing number of wrinkles, he was still handsome, his tall stature and broad chest making him look like the powerful politician he was.

“Was it… Did he…?” His lower lip trembled, surprising me.

Once I’d entered adolescence, my father and I seemed to grow apart. In my eyes, he became just as obnoxious and uncaring as my mother. Now, as I saw the emotion and something resembling fear covering his face as he stared at me with guilt in his eyes, I caught a glimpse of the man I remembered him to be during my younger years. Maybe this was all part of his act. This man…this family…made me so jaded. I had no option but to take any show of compassion with a grain of salt, to wonder what game he was playing by being so caring.

“He did.”

He released a quivering breath, closing his eyes, his shoulders slumping forward. “Ellie, I…” Running a hand over his face, he peered at me, at a loss for words. “Why wasn’t he arrested? How did you—”

“A man found me when I needed him most.” A nostalgic smile crossed my face, a warmth spreading through me as I considered how those words were true in more ways than one.

“Dante Luciano?” My dad lifted a brow.

“Yes. He came just at the right time.”

“But why wasn’t Brock arrested? If he hurt you…”

“Because.” I held my head high, needing to get this off my chest. I faulted him and everyone else for never being real or genuine. So he needed to hear something he may not be used to…the truth. “When I walked in on Brock and his secretary, something inside me snapped. I looked at my life, at the people in it. I saw myself turning into Mom if I continued on the path I’d been on, and the thought sickened me. I went to Italy to find myself, to give myself a fresh start. If I had Brock arrested, I’d be thrown back into the life I ran from.” I waved my hand around. “This life. I’m done with it. I’m done being a pawn in Brock’s game, in Mom’s game….in your game.”

I expected him to argue that he wasn’t playing any game. Instead, a look of understanding came over his face. “It wasn’t always like this,” he said after a pause.

“What?” I pushed.

“Everything. We were in love once, your mother and I. At least, I thought we were.”

“What happened?” I asked, taking a sip of my scotch and water.

“I guess love and happiness stopped being important. Image, power, and winning took a front seat to everything else. And I let it. Soon, I was trapped with no way out.” He turned his eyes from mine, looking over the valley. “Don’t let that happen to you.”

All I could do was nod. I’d probably spoken more to this man in the past five minutes than I had in the last ten years. A part of me was filled with sympathy when I noticed the longing on his face, as if he were remembering happier times, but I didn’t allow it to sway me. He’d fooled the American people into thinking he was some beacon of morality, that he would clean up corruption in Washington. I knew the truth, though. He was just as corrupt as the rest of them.

Finally, after a long silence, I asked the question that had been on the tip of my tongue all night. “Have you ever had any dealings with Barnes Pharmaceuticals?”

His eyes immediately shot to mine, wide, worried…afraid. “What did you say?” Then understanding fell over him and he nodded. “Dante Luciano…”

I didn’t agree or disagree, not wanting to give too much away.

“Brock told you they’re half-brothers, didn’t he?”

My expression remained unwavering as I let out a little bit more rope, wondering how much more he needed to hang himself.

“This whole thing is a ticking time bomb.” He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it.

“What is?” I pushed, my heart thumping in my chest.

“I don’t even know. All I do know is something’s going on. People have lost their lives when they’ve gotten too close to figuring out what that is. You need to walk away.”

“Walk away?”

“Don’t ask questions, Ellie. Please,” he implored, his tone borderline demanding. Then he leaned closer, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Stay away from this. I may not have been able to protect Dante’s daughter and dozens of other people, but I can protect you.”

I pulled back. The fear I saw, the pleading, the anxiety, the panic… I wanted to believe it was real. I wanted to believe he was worried for my well-being, that he’d do anything to protect me. But I had twenty-eight years’ worth of reasons I couldn’t. He could put on an act for the public, make them think he was this upstanding politician, but I knew what he was like.

It was only a matter of time until the rest of the country realized it, too.