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“Mr. Fontana, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble just to hear me say the same thing I’ve expressed to you in all the communications you’ve had with my office. I don’t do biographies, and I’m not going to change my mind. I have no desire to know about your notorious life. It feels safer that way.”
Fontana chuckled. “First of all, please call me Max.”
“No offense, but I was specifically told that people who called you anything other than ‘Maximillian’ have been known to disappear,” Bash said warily.
Max burst out laughing. “That is certainly what my father would have wanted people to believe, and I’m sure he was the one to perpetuate the rumors. He was disappointed that his only son wanted nothing to do with his business, and for a long time, he let me believe he would respect my wishes. It wasn’t until I graduated law school and was ready to join a prestigious law firm that I learned it had all been a lie.”
“What did he do?” Morgan asked.
“Let’s just say that any firm who hired me would be financially crushed. I would become a major liability, so I had no choice but to comply. I eventually became head of the legal department and refused to overlook any questionable business practices,” Max explained.
“Questionable as in breaking kneecaps or threatening people with bodily harm?” Bash asked sarcastically.
“Bash!” Morgan scolded.
Max held up his hand. “I’m aware of our company’s reputation and mine by association, but we aren’t the mafia. That is not how my family does business. There are financial ways to make people comply. You can make a lot of money manipulating deals. Edging out the competition. My father and grandfather were certainly unethical businessmen. Fortunately, that sort of violence was beneath them. Not that the methods they used were any less destructive, but they didn’t see it that way.”
Bash’s jaw tightened, forcing down his anger. “I’m having a hard time believing that. Apparently, those two men shooting at us didn’t get the nonviolence memo.”
Max sighed and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I understand that actions speak louder than words, but I’m asking for a chance to explain. When my father died six months ago, my cousins Enzo and Leone assumed that one of them would step into his shoes, mainly because I’d been so reluctant to immerse myself in the business. Unfortunately for them, my father didn’t trust either of them and always kept them on a short leash. Just like their father and grandfather before them, that side of the family has no aversion to doing whatever is necessary to make money or eliminate the competition. That most likely includes me. I’m currently trying to identify the traitor in my company. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out because there are few in my confidence. The only person who should know I’m here is the pilot.”
“So why are you so hell-bent on me writing your story?” Bash asked.
“To be honest, I’m not.”
Bash sat up straight. His expression turned from confusion to rage. It had all been a deception. He bit out every word. “Then tell me why the fuck we’ve been on this merry-go-round?”
Morgan put a gentle hand on his arm.
Fontana remained calm. “I needed an excuse to meet with you. We have personal business to discuss.”
“What business could you and I possibly have to discuss?” Bash asked incredulously.
He reached into his inside jacket and pulled out some photos. He handed one to Bash. “Do you recognize the woman in the picture?”
It only took a couple of seconds for recognition to set in. Bash felt like his heart had stopped. It was a picture of his mother when she was young. Maybe late teens or early 20s. One he had never seen. All kinds of questions swirled in his head. How could he possibly have a picture of my mother? Is this supposed to be a threat? Was this how he intends to get me to write his book. Use my mother? He didn’t care how dangerous this man was. He was not going to be able to use his mother for leverage. Well, the joke is going to be on him.
“What the hell is this? You think you can threaten my mother to get me to comply? You bastard!” Bash moved to lean toward the man, but Morgan hung on to his elbow preventing him from smashing the man’s face in.
“No, Bash!” she shouted, using her weight to hold him back.
“What?” Max said. “No! No! It’s nothing like that.” He held up his hands in defense.
Bash could feel the heat rush to his face. “Well, it doesn’t fucking matter! You can’t use a dead woman!” he bellowed. Then he watched the blood drain from Fontana’s face as he fell back against the park bench and clutched his chest. His eyes became unfocused. Bash was afraid that he was having a heart attack. Instinct told him to check the man’s pulse, but his fury was too acute to force himself to move.
“Oh God,” Morgan breathed, falling to her knees in front of him. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and began to monitor his heartbeats. “Are you okay, Max? Are you having chest pains?”
The man didn’t answer. Maybe didn’t hear her speaking. Bash just watched and waited. Frozen in place.
“His heart is racing,” Morgan finally said. “We should call 911.”
Max tilted his head to meet Morgan’s eyes and offered her a weak smile. “Thank you, Ms. Skylar, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine in a minute. It was … so unexpected. Finding out that Izzy was … had passed,” he choked out his words.
“My mother’s name was Gwen, not Izzy,” Bash said defensively. “It can’t be my mother in your picture. If that’s why you came to see me, you have wasted a trip.”
Fontana stared at him for a full minute before he spoke. There appeared to be tears in his eyes. “I knew her as Isabel, but she was Izzy to me. And I would never have hurt her, let alone threaten her life.”
Bash had no idea how to respond. They couldn’t be talking about the same woman, but he couldn’t deny the picture looked like a younger version of his mother. Except the woman in the picture had long, honey-blond hair, and his mother’s hair had always been midnight black, cut in a short bob.
