Matteo’s her son, too, and I find it hard to believe she’d deliberately hurt him. I know you guys have had your problems in the past, but give Lourdes the benefit of the doubt...”
A bitter taste filled his mouth. Dante was pissed. Mad at himself for marrying Lourdes Faison four years ago. If he could turn back the hands of time, he never would’ve hooked up with the buxom hairstylist on New Year’s Eve. They’d met at an upscale martini bar and had spent a wild, drunken night at his swank bachelor pad. Two months later, Dante learned he was going to be a father. It took weeks for him to come to terms with the news, then he’d done what any stand-up guy would do—he’d popped the question.
Dante scowled. He didn’t have a choice; her father had threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t. His heart wasn’t in it, but since it was the right thing to do, he’d played the role of the devoted fiancé. But just days after their lavish, three-hundred-guest wedding in Palm Springs, Dante had realized he’d made a huge mistake. Lourdes complained incessantly, spent money recklessly and treated his staff like crap. In spite of her diva behavior, he remained committed to their relationship. Coming home from work and seeing his infant son was the highlight of his day. It was what gave him the strength to endure a loveless marriage.
His thoughts wandered, returning to the worst day of his life. One week after their two-year anniversary, Lourdes left their estate with Matteo and filed for divorce. Dante never saw it coming, was blindsided by her deception and betrayal. She went on to publicly humiliate him, telling sensational stories to the newspapers that tarnished his reputation. He’d never forgive her for vilifying him in the press.
“Do you want me to pick up Matteo? I can go get him right now.”
Relief flooded Dante’s body. He could breathe again. “I’ll call Matteo’s school and let them know you’re coming. Thanks, Jordana. You’re the best!”
“I know, and you can tell me how fabulous I am the next time we have lunch at Spago. I’m an aspiring actress who can’t afford to eat at fancy restaurants, so it’s your treat!”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want—”
Hearing the intercom, he broke off speaking and listened intently.
The first officer thanked him for his patience, and Dante jumped to his feet. Putting on his sunglasses, he grabbed his suitcase and marched through the cabin. “I’m leaving LAX now,” he said, jogging down the aisle. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Don’t rush. I’m going to take Matteo to the park to feed the pigeons.”
“Thanks again, Jordana.”
“No worries, friend. I’ll see you soon.”
Anxious to see his son—and to give his good-for-nothing ex-wife a piece of his mind—Dante jogged down the steps, ducked into the white Lincoln Navigator waiting on the tarmac and told the middle-aged driver to step on it.
Dante arrived at the Pacific Palisades apartment complex at six o’clock, annoyed he’d spent the past two hours stuck in traffic. Worse, he still hadn’t heard from Lourdes. As the car drove to the entrance of the building, he spotted three men dressed in basketball jerseys and jeans idling near the glass doors. They were smoking, guffawing so loud Dante could hear them through the car windows. He wondered for the umpteenth time why Jordana wouldn’t move to a better area. One with less crime and graffiti and fewer nefarious characters.
La Brea, a diverse, multicultural neighborhood nestled between downtown and Hollywood, was known for its unique architecture, eclectic boutiques and restaurants, and vibrant nightlife. Dante had rental properties all across the city, in posh, affluent neighborhoods such as Bel Air and South Valley, but whenever he encouraged Jordana to move, she’d say, “I can’t leave La Brea. I love it here! These are my people!” Dante didn’t know what that meant, found it odd that she enjoyed the company of hoods and scoundrels, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Although he owned several office buildings in the area, he rarely visited La Brea, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Jordana’s apartment.
Stepping out of the car, he nodded at the men in greeting. They gave him the once-over and grunted in response. Dante strode through the front doors and into the sunny foyer.
Taking off his sunglasses, he wrinkled his nose. The air held the scent of onions, the reception area looked in need of an extreme makeover, and tenants were standing around waiting for the elevator, complaining about management, the recent string of apartment break-ins and last month’s exorbitant rent increase.
Seconds passed, then minutes, but there was no sign of the elevator.
Growing impatient, Dante stalked through the lobby and ducked into the stairwell. Hearing his iPhone ring, he stopped in his tracks and retrieved it from his pocket. He read the name on the screen, and his eyes thinned and his face hardened like stone. Now she wants to call back. Almost two hours later? Is Lourdes out of her damn mind?
Fuming, he put his cell to his ear and gave voice to his anger. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, unable to govern his temper. “Ms. Papadopoulos called me in a panic because you forgot to pick up Matteo. What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to get us in trouble with Child and Family Services?”
Lourdes yawned, then spoke in a drowsy voice. “I’m sorry. I dozed off while watching TV and I just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s Nayoko?”
“I had to fire her. She was stealing from me.”
“Sure she was,” Dante grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. This wasn’t the first time Lourdes had fired a nanny, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. His ex-wife loved playing the victim and would do anything for attention, even make up stories about her staff.
“It’s the truth. Why would I lie?”
Because you’re a habitual liar, he thought but didn’t say. “I called you more than a dozen times. You didn’t hear your cell phone ringing off the hook?”
“It hasn’t been working properly.”
Dante didn’t believe her. He was tired of her lies and half-truths. He couldn’t stomach more of her bullshit today. “Did you go to the bar at lunch? Is that why you forgot to pick up Matteo? Because you’re drunk?”
The silence was deafening, and it confirmed his worst fears. Fighting with Lourdes wasn’t the answer; it wouldn’t solve anything. But he had to get through to her. “Tell me the truth.”
“I just did.”
Dante wanted answers, and he wasn’t letting Lourdes off the hook until she came clean. Since the divorce, he’d tried to keep the peace, to be the bigger person, but not this time. He had to speak his mind. “You need to get yourself together. Matteo should be your number one priority, not drinking or your stupid friends.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.”
“We can’t all be perfect like you,” she shot back, her tone heavy with sarcasm. “So quit giving me a hard time for being human, and let
