Only the bartenders knew Rafe, Dante, Nick and Falco owned it. They wanted it that way. Their lives were high profile; The Bar was not…although, to their amazement, it became what was known as a “destination,” which made the four of them laugh. It was where they often got together Friday nights and whenever they wanted to down a few beers, relax and talk.
Right now, though, nobody was relaxing. And that was Dante’s fault.
The bar was shadowed, as always. Comfortable, as always. A Wynton Marsalis CD played softly in the background. The bartender, unasked, had brought Nick a bottle of Anchor Steam, Falco a Guinness, Dante a Belgian white. Their usual drinks, their usual booth, the usual cool jazz…but the atmosphere was tense.
Nick and Falco kept looking at each other, raising their eyebrows, rolling their eyes toward Dante.
What the hell’s going on? they were saying in every way that didn’t require speech, because neither of them wanted to ask. Dante’s mood was, in a word, grim. His silence, his flat stare, the very set of his mouth made that painfully clear.
Still, even a brother’s patience went just so far, and at last Falco decided to go for it.
“So,” he said briskly, “you took the last couple of weeks off, huh?”
Dante looked up. “You got a problem with that?”
Falco’s jaw shot forward. He started to answer but Nick silenced him by kicking him in the shin.
“Just asking,” Nick said.
A muscle knotted in Dante’s cheek. “I flew to Brazil last week. And took this week off. Okay?”
“What’s doing in Brazil?”
The muscle in Dante’s cheek took another jump. “I bought a ranch.”
Falco and Nick looked at each other. “A ranch?”
Falco’s question sounded more like “Are you nuts?” but Dante could hardly blame him. His brothers were trying to figure out what was going on. Well, hell, who could blame them? So he nodded, drank some beer, then looked across the table at the two of them.
“Correction. I almost bought a ranch. It was the old man’s idea. I went down to buy it for him.”
“Our old man was gonna buy a ranch?” Falco cackled. “That’s a joke, right?”
“Actually,” Dante said, after a beat of silence, “I ended up trying to buy it for myself.”
“You were going to buy a ranch,” Nick said, shooting Falco a worried look.
Dante drank some more beer. “Not for myself, exactly. For—for someone.”
The brothers waited. Finally, Falco sighed. “Do we have to guess?”
“You remember a year ago? A little more than that. I was dating a woman.”
“Wow,” Nick said, “that’s amazing. You, dating a—”
“Her name was Gabriella. Gabriella Reyes. A model.”
Falco nodded. “Yeah. Tall. Hair a lot of different shades of gold. Spectacular legs. And what appeared to be one amazing pair of—”
“Watch your mouth,” Dante growled.
His brothers raised their eyebrows.
“You want to tell us what’s going on?” Nick said.
“No,” Dante snarled…
And told them everything.
When he was done, nobody spoke.
He could see his brothers trying to take it all in. Hell, he’d have done the same in their place. A woman from the past. A baby. A ranch in foreclosure, a sneaky lawyer, an option that expired in twenty-four hours. It sounded like an old Western movie, except it was real.
Finally Falco cleared his throat.
“You’re sure the kid is yours?”
“I’m sure.”
“Because remember that time, years ago, Teresa Whatshername—”
“Gabriella is not Teresa Whatshername,” Dante said sharply.
“No, no, of course she isn’t. I only meant—”
“I know. Sorry. It’s just—It’s tough, you know?”
Nick leaned forward. “So, let me be sure I understand it all. You have a son.”
“Cutest and smartest kid you ever saw,” Dante said softly.
“But the woman who gave birth to him—”
“She has a name,” Dante said, his voice sharp again. “Gabriella.”
“Right. Gabriella. And she scammed you into buying this ranch—”
“Did I say that?”
“Well,” Falco said, “you don’t have to say it. From everything you told us, it’s obvious.”
“Nothing’s obvious,” Dante said coolly. “But, yeah, I bought the ranch for her.” He gave a mirthless smile. “Thought I’d bought it, anyway.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“And the ranch is what she wanted.”