Corrupted Queen - Nicole Fox Page 0,95

on the corner of my desk. Only then do I answer the phone.

“Yes?”

“I warned you, Gabriel,” comes Miguel’s smooth voice.

“You threatened me,” I point out, leaning back in my chair. “That’s not the same thing.”

“I can’t decide if you’re more an idiot or a fool for letting your woman write that article.”

I’m an idiot and a fool, but I won’t admit that to him.

I chuckle humorlessly. “That’s the thing with Alexis, she tends not to seek my permission.”

I spin in my chair, staring out at the shining sea of windows from the building across from mine as they reflect the glow of the morning sun. In a way, coming to the end is almost a relief. I finally know where Alexis and I stand, and the Cartel is about to lose its one bargaining chip for good. I will be the most unfettered man in prison.

“You should have done a better job controlling her,” Miguel growls. “You know what happens now.”

“I have come to terms with it,” I tell him, mostly because I know my resolute calm will irritate him to no end.

Besides, there is nothing I can do to argue, and I’m certainly not going to beg. Alexis damned me from the moment our eyes first met in Fiamma nearly three years ago, and I have been on borrowed time ever since.

“Goodbye, Miguel.”

I hang up, luxuriating in the knowledge that somewhere out there, I have stolen the slimy dirtbag’s smile.

It only takes an hour before two policemen burst into my office, brandishing a warrant for my arrest. If they were coming to arrest Gabriel Belluci, don of the Italian Mafia, they would have come with more muscle. As it is, they have come to arrest Gabriel Belluci, son of Fabrizio Belluci.

Murderer of Fabrizio Belluci.

“Stand facing the window, place your hands behind your back, and don’t move,” the younger of the two commands.

I follow his instructions, staring out at that geometric smorgasbord of windows, roofs, and clean industrial lines one last time as he snaps handcuffs on my wrists. Sometime in the past couple of hours, new evidence has surfaced in my father’s case. An anonymous tip has led them to a piece of my father’s bloody shirt and a bullet casing with my fingerprints on it. I don’t know where the Cartel had it planted—I suspect somewhere on my property—but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough to cast serious doubt on the theory that my father killed himself at our cabin in the Poconos, enough to suggest that he died right here in New York City, and that I had something to do with it.

I don’t fight the police. Gabriel Belluci, CEO of Belluci Inc., doesn’t fight. If I want there to be any chance of me making it out of this investigation without the police uncovering the whole dirty business, I need to play the part of the docile CEO to the tee.

I pass through the office, my employees staring and whispering amongst themselves. I rearrange my features to give them the impression that I’m scared. Confused.

All the while I am planning my revenge.

31

Alexis

It feels odd to be watching Gabriel disappear into the back of a police vehicle while sitting on the couch in his luxurious living room. The news keeps replaying the same shot of him approaching the car and being guided in over and over again, and I don’t blame them. He’s absolutely gorgeous, even in handcuffs. Perhaps especially in handcuffs. His eyes scan the assembled crowd of onlookers, as though looking for someone.

Looking for me, maybe? His Judas?

The news report only says that Gabriel is being arrested for the murder of his father, which would certainly be more than enough crime for one person if that person wasn’t also the don of a powerful crime syndicate. Considering that the report doesn’t make any connections to the article published today about organized crime and purple heroin, either his involvement is not public knowledge yet or his arrest today is—and this seems unlikely—a coincidence.

It’s my fault. It has to be. No way he’d get randomly arrested on the day my story broke unless the cops made the connection. I just wonder how they did it. I was careful to keep the details about the Italian involvement in the operation vague. I thought by doing so, I might be able to preserve some of my relationship without sacrificing my journalistic integrity.

Stupid, I know. Gabriel was never going to forgive me for this. Now that it’s led to this public