typing in his password. The satellite phone sitting on the side table rang, and Dante answered it. Only a handful of people had the number, so he knew the call was important. The moment he heard the voice on the line, his heart stopped. It was his son’s preschool teacher, Ms. Papadopoulos. She sounded troubled, flustered. What was wrong? Did something happen at Beverly Hills Preschool Academy? Panic ballooned inside his chest. Was Matteo hurt? Had he fallen off the jungle gym again?
“Is everything okay?” he asked, despite the knot stuck in his throat.
“Have you heard from your ex-wife?”
Dante frowned, gripping the receiver. “No, I haven’t. Why? Is there a problem?”
“She’s thirty minutes late to pick up Matteo, and she isn’t answering her cell phone.”
Thirty minutes! Damn. How could Lourdes forget to pick up his son? His ex-wife was punctually challenged, but whenever he had spoken to her about being on time she’d shrugged off his concerns. Lourdes had no reason to be late. She didn’t work, hadn’t held a nine-to-five in years, and even though she had joked being beautiful was a full-time job, it wasn’t.
Hanging his head, he raked a hand through his thick black hair. Because of his furious work schedule, he’d agreed to let Lourdes have custody of Matteo, but he wondered for the umpteenth time if he’d made a grave mistake. His ex-wife was petty, thought the world revolved around her and used their son as a pawn. Dante wished Lourdes was a better mother—
Who are you to judge? his conscience interrupted. You see Matteo only once a week.
Dante felt helpless, as if his hands were tied. He wished there was something he could do, but he knew bad-mouthing his ex-wife to Ms. Papadopoulos was not the answer. He had always made a concerted effort to publicly support Lourdes, even when she was dead wrong, and he searched his mind for the right words to say. “I’m really sorry about this—”
“This behavior is unacceptable and hurtful to your son, as well. Every day, Matteo is the last child to get picked up from school, and it breaks my heart to see him cry.”
“Ms. Papadopoulos, this won’t happen again. You have my word.”
“I hope so, Mr. Morretti, because the next time your ex-wife is late to pick up Matteo, I’m contacting the Department of Children and Family Services.”
His spirits sank even lower.
“As an educator, I’m legally and morally obligated to report all forms of abuse and neglect to DCFS. I won’t shirk my responsibilities.”
Stunned, Dante couldn’t speak. Abuse? Neglect? The words rattled around his head, blaring like a police siren. His temperature rose and sweat drenched his blue polo shirt. He felt inept, as if he’d failed as a parent, and his heart throbbed in pain.
Peering out the window, Dante noticed the plane was still hundreds of yards from the terminal, and he willed it to move faster. Hurry up, dammit! I have to pick up my son! Dante opened his mouth to speak, to plead with Ms. Papadopoulos for understanding, but she interrupted him.
“The principal wants to speak to you and your wife about this matter, as well.”
“Ms. Papadopoulos, I’m on my way.”
“We’ll be waiting in the office. Please hurry. Matteo is very upset.”
Click.
Dropping the phone in the cradle, Dante checked the time on his gold wristwatch. Four fifteen. It was rush hour, bumper-to-bumper traffic on the I-10. It would probably take an hour—or longer—to reach Matteo’s preschool. Where is Lourdes? How could she do this? I love Matteo more than anything. Doesn’t she?
Dante dialed Lourdes’s cell number. He drummed his fingers on the table. Her voice mail came on, but her mailbox was full so he couldn’t leave a message. Dante struck the armrest with his fist. Anger burned inside him, surging through his veins. It took everything in him not to punch the wall, every ounce of his self-control.
Expelling a deep breath, Dante considered his next move. He had to find someone to pick up Matteo before Ms. Papadopoulos made good on her threat and called the Department of Child and Family Services. Women’s names and faces flashed in his mind, but since he’d never introduced any of his past lovers to his son, he didn’t feel comfortable asking any of them to help out. Dante considered calling his brother, but he knew it was a waste of time. Markos was either in court, or on the golf course wooing potential clients. A divorce attorney to the stars, who was also a partner at a prestigious law firm, Markos was the most sought-after and esteemed lawyer in the city. He was dating three very different women—a surgeon, an engineer and a drama teacher—and often joked there was more than enough of him to go around.
“Jordana!” The name burst out of his mouth and ricocheted around the cabin. A week ago, she’d left abruptly for her hometown, and after numerous text messages he had learned her mom was sick. To cheer up Ms. Sharpe, he’d sent her a lavish flower bouquet and a gift basket. He’d never met Jordana’s mother, but he hoped to one day, and planned to tell her she’d raised one hell of a woman. Was she back in town, or still taking care of her mom?
There was only one way to find out.
Dante punched in her cell number. Images of her scrolled through his mind, warming his heart. Jordana, with her bright smile and fun-loving personality, reminded him of his kid sister, Francesca. “Hello?”
Happy to hear her voice, he sighed in relief. “I need a favor.”
“Hi, Dante! I’m fine. Thanks for asking. How are you?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said, feeling contrite.
Jordana laughed. “Relax, buddy. I’m just kidding.”
“How was your trip?” Dante asked. He didn’t have time to shoot the breeze, but he was curious to know how her mother was doing. Based on past conversations they’d had, he knew Jordana adored her mom, and he hoped Ms. Sharpe was doing better.
“Good, but it’s great to be back in LA. There’s no place like home.”
“You grew up in Des Moines, remember?”
Jordana groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“How’s your mom feeling? All better and on the mend?”
Silence infected the line. Several seconds passed before Jordana spoke.
“She’s coming along,” she said quietly, her tone losing its warmth. “Thanks for sending her flowers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Helene so excited.”
“It was my pleasure. I’m glad she liked them.”
“You said you needed a favor. What is it?”
“Matteo’s school just called,” he explained, glancing out the window. He couldn’t see anything, but Dante felt the plane moving and knew that was a good sign. “Lourdes was supposed to pick him up at three twenty-five, but she’s missing in action, and I’m stuck at LAX.”
“Oh, no, that’s terrible. I hope she’s okay—”
“Screw
