Power and Possession(30)
When Camelia married a wealthy man, Anton knew his sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. He didn’t know until later that the marriage was deeply troubled, nor had he discovered until recently that Rafe was his son.
He’d been told two years ago after Maso Contini was found dead in a Bangkok hotel room, a plastic bag over his head in a last act of autoeroticism. Six months later, Anton’s wife was discovered lifeless in one of the Istanbul Four Seasons’ garden suites. An overdose it was said. The young man lying dead beside her in bed wasn’t mentioned in the police report.
Separated from his wife’s family business by gratuitous circumstance, Anton retired soon after and proposed to the only woman he’d ever loved.
“Let’s talk about something else.” Camelia ran her fingers through her thick, dark hair in a quick, restless gesture. “Forget the past. We’re happy now.”
“Good things come to those who wait.” Anton’s smile was tender. “And you don’t look a day over seventeen, sweet Mila.”
She blew him a kiss. “Flatterer.” But she was still stunning at fifty-two, tall, slender, with exquisite bone structure and glorious golden eyes.
Anton shook his head and smiled. “It’s the truth, ma chou.” A few years older than his wife, he hadn’t aged as gracefully. Almost too thin, like a marathon runner who’d run one too many races, his hair was gray, his face deeply lined by the stress of a long criminal career. “I’m pleased Rafe has your looks, not mine.”
“He’s determined like you though.” Camelia smiled. “I recognized that same unshakable will when he was still very young. Remember how you kept all the bullies away from me when we were growing up?”
He smiled. “You were too beautiful. Some people resent that.”
“And too poor, don’t forget.”
He frowned. “That always amazed me—the poverty in our village. A pecking order was pointless.”
She shrugged. “Nevertheless, it existed and you were my protector. Later, Rafail took over that role. Regardless of how he liked to bluster and threaten, Maso was always a little afraid of Rafail. It was a blessing that as he became more disturbed, he was rarely home.” A small sigh. “If he hadn’t threatened to disown Rafail if I left him, I would have walked away a thousand times. But even as a young child, Rafail was always in the labs when he was home. Maso knew how much he loved the company.” Her eyes closed for a second, then opened again. “Tell me I wasn’t foolish to stay.”
“Of course not. You wanted the best for Rafe.”
“And you were married to—”
“An organization equally ruthless, survival a constantly moving target.” He lifted his shoulder in a small dismissive shrug. “We both did what we had to.” Although Anton wished there was a way to kill someone over again; Maso deserved it. But he only said, “Rafe turned out well. You deserve all the credit.”
Camelia laughed softly. “I’m not so sure. He was a law unto himself from the cradle. But he had all my love. And I had him. We survived.”
“Perhaps there really is justice in the world,” Anton murmured, though he knew better, he knew you made your own justice. Reminded of that law of the jungle, he said, abruptly, “Do we have to worry about Rafe not answering his phone? Or his going ashore? I wouldn’t have thought he’d walk away from his annual party.”
Camelia smiled. “You worry too much. He’s very competent.”
“Humor me. I have many years of fatherly worry to make up for.” Anton’s lashes lowered faintly. “You really should have told me about Rafe, you know that.”
“And you know why I didn’t. You might have interfered and been hurt. Or Rafail or I could have been hurt. Maso was unpredictable.”
Anton sighed. “You’re right, of course.”
The young boy seated beside them at the table suddenly sat up, waved his smartphone, and screamed, “I won! I won! I won!” He beamed at his father. “I told you I wasn’t too young to beat this game, Papa! I told you!”
Anton smiled and answered his son in French, the young boy’s first language. “Congratulations, Titus. Now finish eating.”
“Can’t. I’m doing the next level.” His thumbs were already flying over the icons, his attention fixed on the screen. “I’m going to win that too.” He glanced up and grinned.
Memories of their afflicted pasts were abruptly set aside to attend to a six-year-old boy who didn’t have a care in the world other than losing an occasional video game. He’d been cosseted since birth by his father, his new stepmother was very kind, and his older stepbrother could play video games like a wizard. “Can I stay up late?” Titus asked without looking up. “Can I? Can I? Please! This next level is awesome!”