19. CULTURE OF LOVE
GIOELE
I wake up with a start when my phone buzzes.
Call me when you wake up.
I call Isaias immediately.
“Hey. I’ve got news.”
I want to be a wuss and ask if it’s good or bad news. I wish I wasn’t too old for that. “Whatcha got?”
“A few things. The guy you were going to have a chat with?”
“John something.”
“Yeah.” My brother clears his throat, hesitating, like he’s not sure how to give me the news. It’s unprecedented. Isaias is an expert. Within ten minutes, he knows how to approach people. I’ve seen him formulate issues and manipulate guys in entirely unique ways to make them work toward the outcome he wanted. When it comes to me, he knows me better than anyone, but here he is stalling and starting over again, until Tatiana speaks up in the background.
“Do you want me to tell him?”
“What the fuck’s going on?” I shout.
“Gioele, it’s good news, okay? John contacted Gabriela again. She forgot to turn off her regular phone after she got her throwaway, and a message ticked in from him.”
“What’s he saying? Extortion?”
“No. He wants you to come to San Francisco.”
“Me? Why?”
“He didn’t say. But if you don’t, he can’t guarantee Silvina’s safety.”
I snort at that. “Like we’ve ever thought she was safe. What’s his deal, and what does he have to do with the Colombini?”
“I’m putting you on speaker phone. Tatiana and I are down at the beach, so no prying ears.”
“Hey, Gioele. Did you sleep well?” Tatiana asks.
“What?” I can’t even. “Yeah. So what else? Any news about where and when, what I’m supposed to do? Money?” Shit’s moving too slowly. They’re fucking taking a stroll on the beach while Silvina is in some maniac’s custody. He will die.
“First things first,” Tatiana says. The wind howls over the speaker. She fumbles with the phone and gets it in a better position. “The guy’s a student. He’s been in Silvina’s Biology classes for three semesters. He’s her lab partner, so she knows him pretty well.”
“Okay, okay.” This is info I know anyway, although who cares how long they’ve been in class together. Student, period. She knows him, period.
“His name is John Ulrich Himmel. Mom’s Damiana Santa Colombini.”
I suck in a breath that hurts my lungs. “He’s a Colombini?”
“Yeah, and not just any Colombini. Randolfo Santa Colombini is his uncle.”
I shake my head. “But he’s blond. He has fucking blue eyes, looks nothing like them.”
“That’s where the father comes in,” Isaias mutters. “Dieter Maximillian Himmel.”
“Yeah. Fuck me.”
“And you were getting a job with Harmony Femme?”
“You’re seriously bringing that up. I thought we had more important things going on.”
He doesn’t answer, just waits for realization to hit me.
“Okay, you’re wondering how he knew too,” I huff out.
“Actually, I know how he knew. I’ve got a guy who knows a guy.”
“You trying to be funny right now? I’m not laughing.”
“You need to work on your attitude, or this is going to be one unpleasant job,” the asshole says.
“Job! This is a job to you?”
“No. Fuck, Gioele. But this isn’t the time to be combative. We’re getting Silvina out of his goddamn claws, and to do that we need to work together.”
“Gioele.” Tatiana’s voice is mild. I exhale, pulling myself together.
“Yeah. What else do I need to know? I have to go.”
“John’s father has annexed Harmony Femme. We’re not sure how it happened, if Keegan sold the company or if it’s been acquired against his will. We’ll be looking into it further. But that’s probably how John knew you were going to work for them.”
I rub my forehead with two impatient fingers. What does this mean for Silvina? Me, I sure as hell won’t be working for Harmony Femme now. “Okay. Text me the asshole’s number, and I’ll take it from here.”
“I’ll be sending a couple of guys up to you,” Isaias says.
“I’m not waiting,” I bark. “She’s not staying with that piece of shit for a second longer than she needs to.”
“Sounds good. Go ahead and get started. Bully and Fritz will get in contact with you as soon as they’re in S.F.”
It’s one in the morning. Clad in all black, I’m on the Suzuki outside 14510 James Martin Avenue. I’ve been inside, and neither John nor Silvina is there. No one’s guarding the place either. That’s so sloppy, I left him my business card: a baseball bat to his flat-screen. With the size of that thing, I expect he has an oversized car and no fucking cock.
I’m staring at his number on the cell. I hate that I’ll have to use it.
He doesn’t pick up. Only the standard voicemail from the phone company tells me to leave a message. I don’t.
Seething with impatience, I try again with the same result. I redial, redial, redial.
“Fuck!” I throw my phone at the wall, regretting it even before it hits the wood. While it lands, I pray it doesn’t die.
I pick it up. Turn it in my hands. Press “redial.” Thank God, it still works. When I get his voicemail again, I send him a text.
This is Gioele di Nascimbeni. Tell me where to pick up Silvina A.S.A.P.
As I rev the bike to life, a buzz against my thigh alerts me to a reply. I get off and flip open the phone.
You got here fast! I’m impressed. Meet me at Harmony Femme tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp. Come alone.
“Come alone.” I laugh under my breath. Crime show wannabe. Then, I realize he wants me to fucking wait until the morning? Hell no.
I call him. My call is rejected. I call again. Supposedly, his phone isn’t within range. The urge to destroy the phone against a hard surface is more than I can take. I let out a roar and text him back.
I want to pick her up NOW!!!
Sorry, no can do. Nighty-night. ;-)
Winky-face. A fucking winky-face! I’m about to rage-text him back when Isaias calls. “What!” I shout.
“I take it no luck so far?” he says.
“No.” I breathe slowly in and out through my nostrils. “He’s not at his house.”
“The James Martin Avenue address?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course not. He wouldn’t take her there.”
I seethe inwardly. “He wants me to meet him at Harmony Femme at ten a.m.”
“All right.”
“What do you mean, ‘all right?’ I don’t have nine hours to lay around and wait for him!”
“Gioele. You need to cool it. He wants to play with you, okay? Here’s the thing: this guy’s not going to just hand you our cousin. He wants something from you. Because he wants something from you, nothing’s going to happen to her tonight.”
“So you want me to sit around and do nothing until he makes me jump like a fucking puppet or something? That it?”
“No. Head over to Harmony Femme and snoop around. Keep it low key, though.”
“Whatever that means,” I scoff.
“As in don’t explode in there when you see she’s not there either. It won’t help.”
I swallow. “He could be keeping her there.”
“Doubtful. From what we’ve profiled, he’s no idiot. But since he wants to meet you there, it’d come in handy to know the place inside out. Don’t forget to check for an alarm.”
“Well, clearly you take me for an idiot.”
“No, just a reckless hard-ass with a death wish.”
I’m about to object when I notice the tone in his voice. It’s affectionate. I close my eyes. “Fuck, Isaias. I’m so scared.”
“I know. We’ll figure this shit out. We’ve been in rougher waters.”
“No,” I say with certainty.
“True, not you.” His exhale sounds like wind against the receiver. “Go, fratello. We’ll get the bastard. Ti amo.”
“I love you too.”
It’s the night that doesn’t end. I’m glad I’ve got something to keep me busy. The Harmony Femme alarm system is high-tech and so new it looks recently installed. I snap a picture, send it to Isaias, who gets me instructions back in minutes.
Inside, everything is silent. The low hum of the air conditioner is the only interruption in the reception area. Three small offices gape somberly at me with open doors. I find nothing out of the ordinary in either of them.
Keegan Cuevas’ office looks the same too, with its TV monitor mounted against the wall, a simple white desk, and a deep office chair behind it. I peer out on the balcony, which has the same setup as the last time I was here. Actually, nothing seems to have changed.
I twist my mouth in thought. If he’d sold the place, it must have occurred in a hurry. And wouldn’t he have cleaned out his personal items, like the picture of himself with a blonde next to some racehorse? It has a garland around its neck.
I walk down the backstairs to the ground floor. I enter the studio I filmed in, the changing rooms, the restroom. Returning to the hallway, I find two more doors, one going to what looks like a storage room, and another to a second film set. Like the first, it’s small and minimalistic, another audition room that’s nothing like the full sets my brother has at Lucid Entertainment in the Valley.
Last, I take the stairs to the top floor. It has a few more offices, and a trapdoor to the attic. I check the trapdoor, which doesn’t budge despite the lack of a lock. Clearly, it hasn’t been opened in ages.
Before I leave, I even try to get into a couple of computers. I’m no data nerd, though. I’d probably have more luck if one of Isaias’ guys long-distance-hacked me in.
On the way back to Vernal Heights, I drive by the Harmony Femme Studios. They look a lot more professional than their headquarters. It’s a veritable compound behind high fences, with a manned entry. At three in the morning, two uniformed dudes sit in the booths, like we’re talking top secrecy. The thought makes me roll my eyes. I even see a couple of Rottweilers running around behind the fence.
I’m not going to break in tonight. As much as I hate the thought, I’m going to admit defeat and have a few hours of sleep.
SILVINA
I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are made of stone. Unyielding, they hold me down, keeping me in my dream world. Gioele’s smile is lit by the sun, clouds like gossamer sifting through it. I shake my head, laughing, until my laughter stops and his smile fades into a sky turned thunderous.
The thunder is inaudible, but in charcoal-colored belches, it swells and shrinks around me. The distance between us is short. They hobble toward me as if they’re on foot. Sure, they’re made of air, but deep down I know that lead weights hold them down. That’s how they can stagger toward me, feeble, with the lusty grins of small thirty-something mobsters homing in on my breasts.
I squirm. I can’t move with my arms on my back. Finally, I wake up to the moans of my own panic. My mouth feels like cotton, and the hunger from last night has tripled. The walls of my stomach must be grinding against each other, leaving them raw. It’s a visual that has me dry-heaving.
Thank goodness, no one’s in the room. I’d rather be on my own in the dark, gagging up small droplets of what’s left in my stomach, in lieu of having the attention of a beautiful psychopath.
The door opens, and the light is turned on. John’s hair is in immaculate order. He’s wearing expensive khakis and a light blue sweater that looks like cashmere.
“Aww, look at my pretty Silvina. Uncomfortable?” He lowers himself in front of my face, elbows on his knees while he studies me. “You look a bit green. Is it envy?” He winks, while I shut my mouth into a thin line.
“I’ve got something tasty for you today.”
“No,” I gasp out, my imagination taking me to the same place his does. The difference is he likes to make his fantasy reality.
“No?” He pouts playfully. “You’re my guest, though. I insist.”
Fear creeps up my scalp, and when he waves for his men to come in too, I let out a pitiful yelp. “Please, don’t. I’ll do anything for you. I— Anything. Just don’t let them touch me.”
I regret my outburst immediately. He loves my fear. I expect him to study me lovingly, like he did yesterday, only to make me suffer some more.
The thing about psychopaths is that it’s hard to know what they’ll do next. Now, he just sends me a half-interested side-glance before beckoning Mazzi closer.
In my panic-drenched state, the fumes of fresh coffee get me first. Next, it’s hot bread, scrambled eggs and lox. John takes over the tray and seats himself next to me on the bed like we’re a couple. My mouth waters, betraying my disgust.
“Hike her up against the headboard,” he tells his guys.
Mazzi’s fingers purposely run over my exposed breasts before he grabs me under my arms and tips me into a sitting position. My arms are still tied, and like this, I’m going to lose all feeling in my hands in minutes. I’m leaned hard against the wood, my chest arching with nothing to hide behind.
“You perverts,” John says. “You want her to enjoy her stay here, don’t you?” He bobs his head to them, looking sincere. My stomach does a flip. Even so, it can’t overpower the urge to survive, to devour everything on the tray he holds.
“How can she do that when you’re ogling her like that? Cut her free so she can eat. Then, give her the pink tee on the chair over there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course, sir.”
A small hope grows in my chest as they do what they’re asked. I wiggle my wrists discreetly, not wanting to reveal how good this tiny freedom feels.
I ignore the fingers that pull on my nipple to see its reaction before they let go and help me into the t-shirt. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in a position that’s actually good. John pulls the blanket up to my hip. He folds out the legs on the tray and places it over my lap.
“All right. No one’s going to say that John Ulrich Himmel isn’t a considerate host. This bread was baked by my mother. It’s still warm. See?” He takes my hand and makes me touch it. “The marmalade is a family recipe too. You should try it. You’re going to need a lot of energy today. Do you take your coffee with cream and sugar?”
I nod out that yes, both cream and sugar today, please.
He lifts a finger when I want to add my own sugar. Sternly, he studies me while he mixes in what he finds to be the appropriate amount of each. Then he lifts it for me to drink. I try to take the cup myself, but he stops me with an, “Eh-eh!”
My hands sink together with my hope.
John takes great pleasure in watching me inhale sips of coffee. His light eyes run over my face, then pay special attention to my throat while I swallow. “You’re so very pretty. I knew I’d made the right choice with you. Are you ready for some food?”
I nod. Somehow, saying a single word of agreement with this man feels wrong. I do need food, though.
John leans in, whispering quietly against my ear. “You can choose. Would you like to eat bread with marmalade first, or egg and lox?”
“Egg and lox.”
“O-oh, she’s a girl who knows what she wants,” he tells the entranced men at the foot of the bed. The one named Zetticci has hands that hang along his sides. I can’t help thinking they’re only there because he can’t do whatever he wants to me. Lord, may they stay that way. “Isn’t that nice, amici?”
“Yes, sir,” they reply, off sync by half a beat. It creates an eerie faux echo in the room.
Unsure, I lift a hand, wanting to get a hold of the Caesar roll filled to the brim with fluffy yellow goodness and pink fish. He waits until I’ve almost seized it before he says it again. “Eh-eh!”
A rigid finger in the air makes me drop my hand again. “You’re my esteemed guest today. Let’s see. Is this the right amount?” He cuts a little piece and holds it up for me. I nod again.
He kneads the bite into a small ball, first with one hand, then adding the fingertips of the second hand. “Okay. Open up, my dear.”
I’m so hungry, I’m salivating. I have to swallow before I can open my mouth for him. In front of me, Mazzi’s lips part too in unconscious empathy, waiting for the food the way I am.
“Mmm. Like that.” John deposits the bite in my mouth, and it’s an explosion of aroma and taste on my tongue. Two fingers glistening with juices, he waits while I chew. For these seconds, I’m in Heaven. Never has food tasted better than this.
“Good?” he whispers.
I bob my head.
“Say it.”
“It’s good.”
His fingers come to me again, empty this time. I look up, not understanding, until he arches his brows at me, jutting his chin toward his hand. “Suck them clean.”
I blink. Another game? Please, let’s not play games right now. There is so much delicious food left on that plate.
“There are no napkins, and my fingers are dirty. Clean them, and you’ll get more food.”
My exhale shivers. Of course, I suck his fingers clean. Even with the groan expelling from him. Even with the Italian curses mumbled from the end of the bed as his men watch me. I just want more food.
It’s taken us half an hour to get through his meticulous ritual, and I’ve finished every morsel of the egg-and-lox roll. He’s just started feeding me bread with homemade marmalade between sips of sugary coffee.
“In some cultures, it’s a sign of deep love to hand-feed someone. Isn’t that beautiful?” he asks.
“Yes, but it’s a lot faster to eat on your own.” I’m not prepared for the slap I get for that. It’s on the same cheek as last night.
“Are you an ungrateful bitch?”
“No.”
“Are you not content with the way I treat you? You don’t enjoy the meal I’ve had prepared for you? I can take it away again, just like that. Do you realize how lucky you are?”
“Ma’am, you’re lucky, for sure.” Zetticci stares at me with wide, sincere eyes. They almost look friendly in this instance.
“I’m content. Thank you so much. The food is delicious,” I rush out. “I just thought you must be busy, and you probably have other things to do. It’s very kind of you to feed me the way they do in those other cultures, as if you love me.”
The set of his jaw softens, but the darkness of his gaze takes longer to dissipate. “Don’t test my patience, pretty Silvina. You’re here because I do love you deeply.” His nostrils flare as he side-eyes me. “You don’t love me yet, but by the time we’re done, by the time you’re broken and broken in, you’ll love me as much as I love you.”