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 me talk to my son—”
“This isn’t about being perfect. This is about being a good parent.”
“I messed up. There, I said it. Is that what you want to hear? Happy now?”
Dante cocked an eyebrow. Did I hear her right? Lourdes never, ever owned up to her mistakes, even when she was wrong. His ears had to be playing tricks on him.
“None of this would’ve happened if you’d paid for me to have a chauffeured car.”
Cha-ching! Shaking his head, he stared down at his cell phone with disgust. It didn’t matter what the issue was, Lourdes always found a way to make it about money. Up to her neck in debt, she couldn’t afford to maintain her extravagant lifestyle, and she expected him to continue supporting her. Hell, no. Lourdes was spoiled, and he refused to indulge her every whim. Matteo didn’t need a chauffeured car, or three live-in nannies, or any of the other expensive crap she wanted money for. Her monthly alimony check was more than the average person earned in a year, and he wasn’t giving her another dime. “If you want a chauffeured car, then pay for it yourself,” he snapped. “Pick up Matteo on time—”
“Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not the boss of me, and I don’t have to listen to you.”
“This isn’t about me. This is about doing what’s best for our son.”
“You’re not my husband anymore, remember? I dumped you for a real man...”
The insult hit him like a fist to the gut. There were hard feelings on both sides, years of pent-up anger and frustration, but Dante held his tongue. He knew the truth and that was all that mattered. During their marriage, he’d honored his vows, and respected her as his spouse. Unfortunately, Lourdes couldn’t say the same.
“What time are you bringing Matteo home?”
“Why? It’s not like you care about him...” Realizing his mistake, he winced and slammed his mouth shut. It was too late; the damage had been done. The line went dead, and guilt troubled his conscience.
Ending the call, Dante chastised himself for losing his cool. Lourdes brought out the worst in him, always had, but he had no right to disrespect her. He’d apologize later, when he dropped Matteo off, and then he’d have an honest talk with her about his concerns. Lourdes had to do better, had to start putting their son first or... Dante trailed off, couldn’t finish his sentence.
Or what? questioned his inner voice. What are you going to do? Quit your high-paying, jet-setting job and become a stay-at-home dad?
The thought was outrageous, laughable even, but Dante didn’t chuckle. There was nothing funny about his predicament. He was worried about his son’s well-being and needed sound advice. But not from Emilio and Immanuel. His brothers were living the American dream, so happy in love they talked about their significant others nonstop. Dante didn’t want to hear about how wonderful their partners were. Not when Lourdes was making his life a living hell.