Date Rape New York (32 page)

Valentino tried to wrench Grazia’s phone out of her hand. “People like you disappear all the time in this city,” he hissed. “I have contacts. One call from me and you’re kidnapped.”

“Detective Cargill has these photos,” Grazia murmured. “If something happens to me, he will email them to Francisco. He wanted to do that before I left New York. He’s sick of scum like you polluting his city.”

Valentino sneered, “Everyone has a price, especially poorly paid cops.”

They were struggling over the phone with the screen facing them, so both Valentino and Grazia saw the text message that appeared on the screen. It was from Sophia.

“I just emailed Francisco the photos,” Sophia texted. “I thought about this all night. Francisco will rape women again. So will Valentino. We can’t stop them. But we can punish them.”

Valentino’s face went white.

“You better get out of here,” Grazia whispered. “Keep running until you reach a place in the world where you can’t be found.”

Valentino pushed his chair back and stood up. At that moment, Francisco’s secretary came into the room. She slid a note in front of Francisco, who glanced at it and frowned. He reached over and turned on his personal smartphone. He tapped on it, then picked it up and held it closer to his eyes. He swiped slowly, over and over, moving from one photo to the next. Then he looked up, his face white. His eyes slid around the conference table. They stopped at the empty chair next to Grazia. Then they moved to Grazia.

Grazia held his gaze.

For a long minute, Francisco stared at her. Then he slumped back in his chair. Slowly, he swiveled his chair and looked out the huge windows at the city and the sea. Then, with the tired motions of the defeated, he tapped his smartphone and put it to his ear. He pushed himself out of his chair slump-shouldered, and went into the hall.

Grazia went over to the floor-to-ceiling window by the buffet and looked down at the sidewalk many floors below. After a few minutes, Valentino came out the doors. He crossed quickly, his long legs scissoring below her. He waved at a taxi. It eased toward the curb. Valentino stepped into the street to meet it, reaching for the door before the taxi had stopped.

But he was too late. A security guard had followed him to the curb. He waved the taxi on with a flick of his fingers. Another security guard appeared on Valentino’s other side.

A black limo pulled out from the underground parking and eased smoothly to the curb. The security guard opened the back door. Hands reached out and pulled Valentino inside. The limo moved away from the curb. In a few seconds, it had slid into the flow of Naples traffic, as smoothly as the waves had slid back into the Mediterranean Sea those nights on the sand in front of Francisco’s beach house.