“Yes. I got my third shot of antivenom and no additional painkillers to deal with it. Let’s go before my willpower gives out and I start crying like a five-year-old.”
We were walking down the hallway to the front door when he said, “Catalina, I won’t let anyone hurt you. I won’t abandon you.”
A few days ago, I wouldn’t have believed him. He had abandoned me, and he’d done it during one of the worst times of my life, when I’d needed him most. But I knew better now. I still didn’t understand why, but Alessandro was determined to put himself between Arkan and me. And I would do the same for him.
“I know,” I told him and made myself smile.
Chapter 11
Alessandro insisted on driving again.
“Do you have a problem with the way I drive?”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep stealing the keys?”
He glanced at me. “It keeps me occupied. My eyes are on the road and my hands are on the wheel.”
I decided it would be a great idea to shut up and keep my own eyes on the road.
Cheryl Castellano owned an office suite in Felicity Tower off West Loop. The office in the brand-new thirty-five-floor tower came with perks, like private elevators, chartered helicopter service, complimentary access to a world-class steakhouse, and a private courier firm. Clearly House Castellano’s show of humility didn’t extend to their business accommodations.
I didn’t want to see Cheryl right now. I needed to be sharp and alert for this conversation, and instead I was still tired and slightly loopy from the medication. Too much had happened today, and this wouldn’t be an easy interview.
Bern’s background on Cheryl had been rather brief by his standards, only about twelve pages. She was the Head of House Castellano, forty-one, widowed, two sons and one daughter, ages twenty, eighteen, and sixteen. Both parents deceased. Her only living relative was her uncle, also a Prime animator. She married Paul Renfield, a Significant animator, at twenty, and he took her name. He had no House; he was a statistical anomaly born to Average parents and he died in his thirties from a preexisting heart condition.
House Castellano made their wealth in the construction industry, and among the five board members, Cheryl’s resources were second only to Felix’s. She seemed obsessed with charitable giving. The list of the organizations she contributed to was a mile long, everything from Red Cross to the local Bright Minds of Houston scholarship fund. She sat on the boards of a dozen charities and floated through the top ranks of Houston’s elite thanks to her wealth and stellar reputation.
If her House had ever been involved in a feud, Bern couldn’t find any trace of it. Knowing my cousin, it annoyed him to no end. He’d gone through the trouble of making a graph of her charitable donations, which showed a rather steep climb.
I checked the list of the charitable contributions again. Something was off about it. Most people chose a few worthy causes. Cheryl didn’t. She gave money to everyone, always a significant but not a huge amount, and she never did it anonymously. Connor and Nevada gave more than her, and nobody knew because they gave to charity for the sake of the people who needed it rather than their own.
My phone chimed. Albert Ravenscroft wanting to FaceTime. He always wanted to FaceTime.
I accepted the call. He appeared on the screen, tall, smiling, and handsome in that particular “traditional good looks” way. Perfectly symmetrical features, solid jaw, straight nose, clear blue eyes, dark hair that would be wavy if he let it grow out. All the things indicative of good breeding, money, a healthy diet, and lots of leisure time to play sports. He was smart and decisive, he wanted to marry me, and he refused to take no for an answer.
He was also the only person outside the family who knew about Leon and Audrey.
“I didn’t think you would answer. Today is my lucky day.” Albert smiled. “Are you free for dinner?”
I would need more information to answer that question. If he had shared what he knew with someone, I could be free for dinner, but he wouldn’t like what would follow. “I don’t know yet.”
“So, it’s a maybe? I’ll take a maybe.”
Next to me, Alessandro muttered something under his breath.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“Nothing special. I haven’t seen you in two weeks and I miss you.”
Say something normal. “That’s sweet.”
Alessandro turned and looked at me. I ignored him.
“When will you know if you’re free?”
“I’m not sure. I’m working. What’s the latest I can text you?”
“Catalina, you can text me anytime. If tonight at 1:00 a.m. you decide you want ramen, or bulgogi, or caviar, text me and I’ll pick you up.”
If I wanted any of those things, I would get them myself. “Leon says hi.”
No reaction. “How is he?”
“You know, the usual. I’ll text you later.” I waved and hung up.
Alessandro switched lanes with razor-cut precision. “Who was that?”
“That was Albert Ravenscroft.”
“Is he the reason you need a pregnancy test?”
“What?” His voice was so neutral, it took the words a second to penetrate.
“When you were injured, you said you would get whatever tests needed, including a pregnancy test. Is he the reason for it?”
Oh you idiot. “I said I would take a pregnancy test because any time something is wrong with a woman, they do a pregnancy test. I could walk into a hospital with my arm cut off and they would want me to pee in a cup before they did anything about it. I’m not sleeping with Albert, and if I was, it would be none of your business.” I waved my arms. “I could be sleeping with half of Houston and it would be none of your business.”
“True, but if you were sleeping with half of Houston, how would you ever get anything done?”
“I’m great at multitasking.”
He steered the car around the curve of the U-turn, guiding Rhino under 610 to West Loop South. “You’re wrong.”
“How so?”
“Your relationships are my business. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I’ve been protecting myself from Albert and his marriage proposals for months without your help.”
He made a right into a short street that ended in a parking lot. The glittering building towered before us, all pale grey stone and floors and floors of windows reflecting the blue sky.
“Of course he wants to marry you.” Alessandro’s voice iced over.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it.”
“He’s in love with you. You said proposals. That means he’s asked you more than once and you’ve said no.”
Argh. Just because he proposed doesn’t mean he wants to marry me . . . No, that’s stupid . . . “And?” There. Nice and noncommittal.
“Arkan approaches him, asks him to cooperate, and in return Albert gets to swoop in when things are at their worst—”
“Swoop in? What is he, a turkey vulture?”
“—and play the white knight when you need him most. A good plan.”
“You need to have your head examined.”
“What kind of a Prime is he?”
“Quit it.”
“No matter. I’ll find out.”
We drove into the parking lot.
“Alessandro, what makes you think that someone would go through the trouble of attacking a House as dangerous as ours just to marry me?”
He parked and twisted toward me. “Catalina, have you seen yourself? Like in a mirror?”
“Oh please.”
“Did you show him your wings?”
“Why would I show him my wings? What do they have to do with anything?”
“What do . . .” Alessandro made an obvious effort to control his voice. “There are men in this world who would stop at nothing to be with you. You’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, and if they knew how dangerous you were, you would get buried in proposals. There isn’t a House out there that wouldn’t want to add you to their arsenal. And when the wings come out, it’s all over. I’m the best antistasi on record, anywhere, and when I saw you, I stared like an idiot. I could’ve stood there, listening to you talk for a year.”