Charmed (2 page)

She couldn’t react, unable to respond. All she wanted was to have him in her arms, and prayed she would. Hoping it would be soon, she reached up and touched the phone, tracing her fingers over Adam’s lips.

“Adam,” was all she said.

As promised, Adam called Ella again when he arrived in Rio to let her know he was safe. The call had been short; he said he’d call again later once he was home. The view of the city on the descent into Galea᷃o airport was spectacular. He tried to describe it to her, but was unable to find words to do justice to the panoramic beauty.

The crowded expanse of buildings pressed between the Brazilian Atlantic shoreline and green mountains was majestic. The huge, balloon-shaped bay, stretching twenty miles inland, was surrounded by giant mountains shaped into steep cliffs and deep valleys. No matter how many times Adam saw the harbor he was always astounded by its sheer beauty.

His driver, Miguel Santana, picked him up at the airport. Of Puerto Rican and Cuban decent, Miguel had dark brown eyes and olive skin. Keeping his dark hair short, dressed in casual slacks with short-sleeved shirt and light jacket, he looked every inch the professional he was. Serving as both driver and bodyguard, his wide chest and bulging biceps deterred any unfriendly approach. He was armed, the shoulder gun holster hidden by his jacket.

Adam slid into the bronze Chrysler 300, and Miguel shut the door securely behind him. The bullet-proof armored car was not only comfortable, but would get them safely to the Bianci residence. Streets were crowded and traffic clogged, so it would be slow until they got outside the city. Due to the narrow streets and tight intersections, stretch limos were never seen in Rio. The Chrysler was more to Adam’s taste anyway.

Speaking to Miguel in Portuguese, Adam inquired about Rio, wanting to know of any news or events. Miguel spoke in his native language, his gruff voice easily intimidating to others. But Adam knew his own safety and that of his family was his driver’s first priority. He was relieved to hear that his mother and sister were securely at home, waiting for him.

Looking out the window, Adam saw Cristo Redentor, or Christ the Redeemer as the tourists called him. Perched on the peak of Corcovado Mountain the ninety-eight-foot-tall statue towered over the city, a symbol of Brazilian Christianity. Dotted on the mountain slopes were the favelas, the slums ruled by drug lords. The crime and violence of Rio was juxtaposed with the vibrancy of nature surrounding the city, and the generous, friendly nature of the Brazilians. It was truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and to Adam it was home.

Winding out of the city and toward the family home, Adam realized how much he missed his mother and sister. Despite the circumstances, he’d be glad to see them. It hadn’t been that long, as he’d been home to visit at Christmas. Fondly, he remembered being with them, attending a performance of
Los Pastores
(“The Shepherds” in English) depicting the Nativity. They’d attended midnight mass at church. Later, they’d enjoyed a Christmas day meal of turkey, chicken, ham, rice, beans, and mashed potatoes, followed by fresh and dried fruits.

Adam spotted the low, ranch-style house hidden among the trees. The pale, rose-colored brick and clay-tiled roof structure was inviting. Many of the inhabitants of the city were apartment dwellers, and Adam was pleased his family resided in the same home he grew up in. It was more comfortable, but more importantly, it was safer. The trust fund he’d set up for his mother and sister took care of their needs. He was amenable to providing for them, but ensured the funds were untouchable by any other.

Pulling up the driveway, Miguel parked and stayed with the car while Adam went to the house. Nico Moretti, his personal bodyguard, stood outside, his imposing figure a warning to any that thought to harm the family. Strong, standing six feet and one hundred ninety pounds of solid muscle, no casual criminal would defy him. Nico was striking, with his deep brown hair, sharp features, and steely gray eyes. Solidly built and trained in the art of protection, he was like a wall between criminals and those he protected.

“Ola,” Adam greeted him, saying a few words in Portuguese, patting his shoulder, and heading for the front door. Other guards were strategically scattered in the trees. Times had not been good recently. If he hadn’t known before, Adam knew then that he was needed at home. No matter that he could afford to pay for security—there were some things he must tend to personally.

Serena, his mother, rushed to him the moment he stepped inside. He noticed the bandage across her right cheek just before she hugged him with all her might. “Adamo…Adamo,” she cried, using his Italian name.

He hugged her tightly. “Mamma… Lo sono qui… Lo sono qui,” he said, reassuring her that he was really home by repeating, “I’m here…I’m here” in Italian.
His mother cried from the joy of having him home, and also from the comfort having him near provided. Things hadn’t been easy for her.

On the other side of the room, Adam saw Fiorella patiently waiting, as lovely as ever. Her light, reddish-brown hair waved softly, her light green eyes glistening. “Fiy-owREY-Laa,” he said, pronouncing her Italian name. “Il mio piccolo fiorellino,” he said, calling her “my little flower,” as the Italian name, Fiorella, meant little flower.

And a flower she was, a natural beauty, about five feet three inches, small boned and delicate. Her pleasant smile radiated across the room, and Adam smiled back, still hugging his mother, who was not willing to let him go. With his arm still around her, he walked toward his sister, who flew into his arms.

“You’re home,” she said. “You’re home with us.”

“Yes, for a while,” Adam assured her.

Serena stepped back to get a better look at her son. She motioned for him to sit down, anxious to talk and hear about everything in California. In her early forties, she was alluring with her thick dark hair, large dark eyes, and classic bone structure. Originally from Naples, she had the darker features of southern Italians. Both Adam and Fiorella had gotten their father’s lighter characteristics. He used to taunt them as children that Serena wasn’t their real mother, but they knew that wasn’t true.

Off to the kitchen to prepare food and drinks, Serena left them alone for a few minutes. Although used to her slight limp, both her children felt a pang of sadness, knowing it was a result of Claudio’s physical abuse years earlier. As soon as she disappeared around the corner, a conversation in English ensued; Adam was used to speaking it, and Fiorella spoke it nearly as well. He’d arranged tutoring for her, knowing it would be a valuable ability in the business world.

“Adam,” she said, knowing he was used to his American name. “Tell me everything. What have you been doing? I want to know all.”

Adam told her the highlights of business, as much as she would understand. She’d just turned eighteen, but stayed at home. In Brazil, it wasn’t so easy for a young girl to move out on her own. He made sure to linger over details about food and restaurants, knowing that she planned to open her own establishment. For most young Brazilian women that would be an unreachable goal, but his sister was a talented cook, accomplished with many types of cuisine. Of Italian descent, she was familiar with Portuguese, Brazilian, and Italian alike. Adam had assured her that restaurants were good business in the tourist areas of the city, and it would be a good investment. Thus he’d volunteered to provide the capital for her venture.

Fiorella’s local restaurant wouldn’t open until the current family situation was under control. The procedures for opening a commercial establishment had already been started as the time and cost involved was extensive, so Adam knew it was wise to start early. Utilizing his strong partnerships with trusted Brazilian law firms and local business, progress was being made.

“Is she okay?” he asked Fiorella, referring to the bandage on his mother’s cheek.

His sister sighed and ran her fingers through her fine hair. “Yes, the doctor says she is,” Fiorella replied, “but she may have a scar.”

Adam felt adrenaline course through his veins at the thought of what had happened. “I still don’t see how he got in,” he said, fuming.

“No, no he didn’t. The way this place is guarded; I don’t think he’d try that. It was when she was out. She’d gone to lunch with some friends, and Claudio waited until she went alone to the ladies’ room. In the dark of the hallway, he grabbed her, scared her to death.

“He wanted to know exactly where you were. We’ve never told him about your home in Newport, and he watches your place here, knows you aren’t around.

“He’s desperate to reach you, Adam. He’s crazed. He threatened her, told her that if she didn’t tell him where you were that he’d hurt her. And he meant it, I know he did.

“Mamma fought. She was angry, and struggled, but he’s much stronger. Yet she slipped from his grip. But in her attempt to flee, she slipped and cut her cheek on a metal ledge…where the pay phone was. It cut deep.

“Seeing her injured, he disappeared. Mamma screamed and several servers rushed to her. She was taken to the hospital right away, and had stitches. The cut was jagged, and the doctor thinks she may always have a mark. Or maybe plastic surgery could fix it, if she decides to do that.”

Adam clenched his fists. “He’s crazy. Claudio is crazy,” he said, spitting out his father’s first name. Neither he, nor his sister, ever called him father. They never had, not feeling the love of a father since they were children. Claudio was all they’d ever called him, if they spoke to him at all.

He was crushed that his mother had been injured because of him. In Claudio’s desperation to get his claws into his son again, he’d harmed Serena, his dear mother. It was unforgivable. Adam had all his property in California under a corporate name that his father couldn’t trace. But given enough time, he’d likely figure it out. Claudio needed to be dealt with.

Serena called them to the kitchen, pulling Adam from his upset over his father. Together, they sat at the wooden table for a late meal of Brazilian-style gumbo made by his sister, accompanied by a cassava flour and cheese, baked bread called Pao de Queijo. Adam took a gulp of his Skol lager, still angry that his father would threaten or harm his mother to get to him.

But then nothing was beyond Claudio. It was no secret what his father wanted from him, but Adam mentally fumed that he should deal with him directly, not pick on defenseless women. One thing was certain: Claudio would have to deal with a son who was no longer a boy, easily pushed around. The reckoning was coming, and it wouldn’t be pleasant. There was no avoiding it; for the family’s future Claudio Bianci had to be dealt with.

Adam talked well into the evening, plied with questions from his mother and sister. He filled them in on his life as well he could, and even told them about Ella. Speaking of Ella wrenched his heart. It wasn’t right that they had to be apart, and he wished his arm was around her the whole time he talked with his family. Ella was his family now too; she’d become a part of him, and being without her was unbearable.

It may have been a mistake, but hopefully a minor one, to tell them about Ella. So far Adam had kept her away from his life in Brazil. Just saying her name in his family home pulled her closer, ever closer to the danger. If Serena and Fiorella knew about Ella, then someone else could find out. His worst fear was that his father would find out. Yet he trusted his mother and sister. Plus they had no discourse with Claudio.

Hours passed before Adam left for his own home in Rio. After saying goodbye to his family, he spoke to Nico, letting him know that security needed to be increased. He intended to assign personal guards for his mother and sister, to be with them night and day. Shifts would be arranged. Now that Adam was back, Nico would see to his personal protection in coordination with Miguel, giving him no reason to fear for his own personal safety.

It would make no sense for Claudio Bianci to harm his son, because he wanted something from him. He was more likely to injure those he cared about to gain leverage, but then with a mad man one never knew; all the more reason for Ella to stay in Newport and remain unknown. A meeting was set with his attorney, Quinn Bauer, for the following day, and Adam contemplated encouraging his mother to press charges for the assault. Yet he knew it would be fruitless.

It was her word against his, and with the protection of his criminal friends, Claudio might escape any penalty. If all else failed, he could buy off the authorities. Adam hoped to learn something from the investigation Quinn was conducting at his request. He needed to find out what his father was up to, sure that it was unsavory. On the way to his home, internal stress mounted. He was back in the thick of it, back in Rio, long his father’s turf—but Adam vowed to change that.

At his villa, Adam grabbed another beer and sat out on his deck by the pool. His cook had stocked the refrigerator with food and drink, before leaving for the day. Only the guards surrounding the luxury home were left to keep a vigilant watch. It wouldn’t take long for Claudio to hear of his son’s return.

Looking out at the glossy pool water, lit with spotlights, Adam felt the void of being without Ella. Now that he’d found her, he didn’t want to be without her. But he had no choice. Gazing off into the distance at the ocean gleaming in the moonlight, he decided it wouldn’t always be like this—not if he had anything to say about it.

After finishing his beer, he called Ella, and the image of her on video was bittersweet. He wanted to hold her, to smell the sun in her hair, and feel the softness of her skin. The screen of his phone was an unsatisfying substitute. He told her about dinner, and how good it was to see his family, skipping over any sordid details. That would come soon enough.