We’d tried to make it work and ended up friends. But he would always own a small piece of my heart. I needed to call him and tell him I was in town. Maybe I’d invite him and his wife, Genevieve out to dinner. I wondered how old their baby was now and if they had had other children. It would be good to see them. It would no longer sting to see James happy as a family man—which was all he ever wanted. It was all I ever wanted for him. But it was something I couldn’t give him.
I tuned back in. “Where was dude’s security detail when he was whacked?”
“Dude? His name is Sam Glass. Or was. The security detail is based at the opera house—mainly to make sure performers leave rehearsals and get safely to their cars. Up until now, the worst of it had been protesters trying to block the entrances and exits of the opera house and a few rotten eggs thrown.”
“Classy.”
“Right?” Dante said and tapped the steering wheel again with his manicured fingernails. It was his nervous habit. “But obviously, it might have escalated if Glass was murdered.”
“Good times,” I said. “And for some reason you thought I should serve on the committee for the opera’s fundraising gala, so now suddenly this is my concern?”
Dante sighed loudly, clearly exasperated.
This wasn’t my crisis.
“Gia. Serving on the committee for the gala is going to be the very best way to get to know the movers and shakers in San Francisco. If you’re going to own a hotel, you are going to want to be friends with them.”
“Be friends? Do you even know me?”
“At least pretend to like them,” he said. “It will go a long way in getting everything approved for our remodel. Plus, the gala is in two weeks. We’ve been working on this for a year. In other words, all the hard work is done. All you have to do is show up and act nice. Which I know is going to be tough for you.”
“Fine,” I bit the word out, half joking, half serious. “For you, Dante. I’ll do it for you.”
“Thank you.”
Seven
Back in my room, I ordered a bottle of Pellegrino and a charcuterie board and started doing some deep dives into the backgrounds the hotel management team. If someone was crooked, it would probably be one of them. They were the only ones with the power and access to embezzle the hundred grand that had gone missing.
After looking at start dates and backgrounds, I narrowed it down to three people who could possibly be embezzling. They had means and motive. And sure enough, all three were on the gala board. Dante was right. It was a good spot for me to be.
I examined the three names:
Maxwell Carlton, the general manager of the hotel.
Stuart McBride, the food and beverage director.
Cynthia Turner, the hotel maintenance engineer.
I’d have Danny find out more—pull all their financial information. That way we’d know if one of them was suddenly flush enough to buy a new home or if any of them was deep in debt
I shot him a quick text. I didn’t tell him I was in town. He was used to getting my requests for help from around the world. I’d surprise him in person.
After getting a cramped neck sitting on my bed hunched over my laptop, I decided all suites in the new hotel would have small tucked-away desks with business centers built in.
I decided to go for a nice long walk to wake up.
On my walk, I found a neighborhood market and grabbed some fresh fruit and a bottle of tequila. I’d have a shot and toast Nico before I had to attend the stupid committee meeting for the gala. I made a point to spend at least twenty minutes each day remembering my soulmate and partner in crime. I missed him so much. It seemed as if the pain would never lessen. For so long after his death, every time something interesting happened to me, I’d think, “I can’t wait to tell Nico.” And then realization that he was gone would set in again. At least that no longer happened. Baby steps.
Now I spend twenty minutes each day talking to him as if he was sitting there with me. Call me crazy. I don’t care. It was actually what kept me sane after he died.
Back in my hotel room, I took a long shower and then dressed in a white, fluffy robe, and poured a shot of the tequila.
I pulled a chair up to the window and faced the Golden Gate Bridge.
The first time I’d ever heard of Nico had been in San Francisco. He’d scared the shit out of me. We were enemies then. He wanted to take Rose away from me. How strange that he had later become the greatest love of my life.
I always believed the saying in A Bronx Tale: We only have three great loves in life. I’d had mine: Bobby. James. Nico.
I was done.
And it was okay.
I didn’t need a man in my life. Not anymore.
I had a slight buzz on and part of the bottle was drained when Danny called me.
“I did some digging on your people,” he said. “I’ll email the reports, but it looks like none of them have had any odd financial fluctuations.”
I tried to hide my disappointment.
“I’ll keep digging,” he said.
A bit later, I was about to get in the shower, when Dante called.
“Yo, I’ll be there in an hour,” he said.
“Where’s this meeting anyway?”
“The restaurant. Skyview.”
I already knew that.
“Wear the Versace pantsuit I had sent to you.”
“What pantsuit?” I glanced over my shoulder.
“Should be in your closet.”
I leaped up. “What the fuck? If I’m going to stay here, nobody better come in my suite when I’m not here. That’s bullshit.”
And sure enough after I raced into the bedroom and glanced in the closet, I saw a freaking white pantsuit hanging from a hook.
I thought of the weapons I
