No Fooling Around: Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy Read online

  “All right,” she said stiffly. “Good night.”

  Then she closed the door, and it was too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Iola

  Visiting the prison was another new experience, but a lot more intimidating than going to the circus.

  There was a long list of instructions, an identification check, drug dogs, and x-ray scanners like they have at the airport. Not to mention that I’d had to wear a bra without underwire so I wouldn’t set off the metal detectors.

  So maybe it wasn’t surprising that when one of the stony-faced guards informed me I’d only be allowed limited contact with the inmate, I joked that my brother and I usually called each other Cersei and Jamie when we went for full contact. Yes, I’m ashamed to admit it was a Game Of Thrones incest joke. Bad taste, but fortunately the guard’s blank stare told me he hadn’t got it anyway.

  If only the intimidating nature of the place didn’t mean it was all but impossible for me to stop there. The guard’s frown deepened when I added it was a good thing that incest jokes in a prison weren’t handled like bomb jokes at an airport, or I’d need to start prepping for a cavity search. And his stare grew flinty when I asked, “What’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever found in a visitor’s back cavity? Anyone ever try to smuggle in bolt cutters? Guess you’d have to be pretty tall?”

  That’s when I saw him motion to another guard and I forced my lips to shut off any more babble before my cavities really did get examined.

  Walking into the visitation room, my nervousness increased, turning into a cold, sweaty fear that made my clothes stick to me and my mouth feel dry.

  Since the age of thirteen, I’d been dreaming about the day I’d get to see Santino again. Without the prison setting of course.

  I’d imagined how he’d throw his arms around me and tell me how he’d missed me. How we’d both tearfully promise never to lose each other again.

  But now all kinds of doubts were crowding in. After what Asher had said about his drug cartel connections, that fantasy seemed remote.

  Would he still be boyish? Would he have gang tattoos? Would his head be shaved? The photos at his house had shown a man who was heart-wrenchingly like my photos of Dad, but he didn’t look older than his early twenties in any of them, so even the most recent must have been taken years ago.

  Would I even recognize him?

  The visitation room was full of tables, but the flinty-eyed guard directed me to the one where my brother sat alone at the table, waiting.

  As soon as I laid eyes on him, my throat closed and I wanted to cry.

  Santino still looked a lot like Dad.

  If he wasn’t in a prison jumpsuit and looking tired, with dark lines around his eyes and mouth, he’d be strikingly handsome. His hair was as short as when he was a boy, and as my memories of him came flooding back, an ache built in my chest.

  I remembered fighting with him in the back of our parents’ car, and getting into trouble for poking my tongue at him at the dinner table. I remembered how he’d forbidden me to enter his room, and how I used to go in anyway. I remembered how he’d ruffled my hair and called me ‘kiddo’. How I’d caught him smoking, and when he’d made me promise not to tell, I’d felt special because he was trusting me with his secret.

  I stumbled toward him, wanting to hug him. But the thirty-two-year-old version of the brother I remembered so vividly didn’t stand up, instead gazing at me with such a cold, appraising look that I faltered. I’d intended to go around his side of the table, but my steps slowed.

  Though the guard had said we were allowed to hug at the start of the visit, Santino stuck out his hand instead. He stayed sitting, offering his hand across the table in a clear gesture for me to sit down.

  This wasn’t how my imaginary reunion with my long-lost brother had ever happened in my head, but perhaps he had some kind of prison reputation to maintain. Hugging could be a sign of weakness in this place. The room was full of his fellow inmates after all, and the last thing I wanted was to make his time in prison any harder.

  I sank onto the seat, relieved to take the pressure off my shaky legs, and I shook his hand even though my sweaty palm was probably clammy and unpleasant.

  “Hello Iola,” he said in the deep, gravelly voice I’d heard on the phone during our single phone call.

  “It’s really good to see you, Tino.” My brother’s old nickname sounded childish now. Maybe it was the wrong thing to call him in a place where we could be overheard, especially if he was worried about maintaining a tough reputation.

  “I mean, it’s not good to see you in jail,” I added. “But I’m glad to know you’re okay after not having seen you for such a long time.” I drew in a shuddering breath, positive I was saying the wrong things. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

  His eyes darted from one side to the other as though he needed to check out the other people in the room, and my suspicion he was worried about his reputation increased. “I’m as okay as I can be. My sentencing hearing’s on Monday.”

  “Is it all right if I come to your hearing?”

  His gaze landed back on me. “You’ll give my lawyer a character reference?”

  Surprised, I said, “Well… okay. But I haven’t seen you for so long, I don’t know what I’d say.”

  “Make it up. And make sure it’s glowing. They don’t know we haven’t seen each other.”

  “Um.” I felt awkward, but didn’t want to argue. It was only natural for Santino to do anything he could to get the lightest possible sentence. We clearly had different moral codes, but that was only because we’d been exposed to different kinds of people. Besides, I could understand why my brother was desperate.

  “Your lawyers are appealing your conviction, right?” I asked. “You’ll get a retrial so they can clear your name?”

  “Appeal was turned down.”

  “What? No!”

  He shrugged, and I forced myself to bite my lips together to keep from blurting anything else. I wanted to object, to rave about how awful and unfair it was, and how broken our justice system must be. But what good would that do? Santino already knew those things a lot better than I did, and talking about it would only make him feel worse.

  “What kind of sentence do you think you’ll get?” I asked instead.

  The table between us was pitted, and he used his fingernail to pick at one of the scratches. Though he was acting like our meeting was no big deal, the gesture was a nervous one. Maybe he was secretly as anxious as I was, and as desperate to reconnect?

  “Depends on the judge. And if my idiot lawyer gets me concurrent terms.”

  “Let’s hope so.” I spoke as though I knew exactly what he meant, though I wasn’t even sure what drug offences he’d been convicted of. How could an innocent person go to jail when they’d done nothing wrong?

  “You look good.” He was still picking at the table. “Marrying that rich English prince must have agreed with you.”

  I didn’t want my brother to think I’d been living a perfect life, not thinking about him at all, so I rushed to correct him. “Actually, it was a big mistake. My ex-husband isn’t a good man. I’m much happier without him.”

  “You ditched him?” Santino sounded surprised. “Hope you at least kept his money, and whatever your title was. Your Royal Highness, or whatever.”

  “I didn’t have a title. Benedict is the son of a baron, which meant I was just Mrs. Appleby.”

  “That’s not fair.” One side of his mouth twitched up in a humorless smirk. “Not that either of us would expect anything to be fair.”

  I leaned in, wanting to reach across the table and touch his hand, but not daring to. “I didn’t keep any of Benedict’s money, which is why I was so grateful when you gave me your house to look after. When you called, I was too surprised to string words together, and I’m not even sure I managed to say thank you.”

  “You’re living there?” His incredulous tone made me blink.

 
“You didn’t want me to?”

  “I thought you had a mansion in England. Never guessed you’d come back to America, let alone move into my house.”

  “Well, it’s a beautiful house. I’m happy to be there.” I frowned. “But why did you give it to me if you didn’t think I’d move in?”

  “I was trying everything I could think of to stop them confiscating it. Thought if I didn’t technically own it anymore, the cops couldn’t take it.” He shrugged. “Didn’t work. They’re taking it anyway.”

  “But why did you try to give it to me?” I caught my breath, afraid of the hope I felt. I wanted him to say it was because he was sorry he’d never tried to get in touch. That he’d wanted us to feel close again, like when we were kids. For him to tell me he’d missed me, and we’d always mean everything to each other.

  “Because I didn’t think you’d use the house,” he said with a frown, as if it should have been obvious. “If I gave it to anyone else, they’d only sell it.”

  I let out a long, disappointed breath that sounded as though I were deflating.

  But the heavy pain in my heart was unreasonable. It was unfair of me to expect more from my brother when we hadn’t seen each other in so long. Now we were back in contact, we’d have time to get to know each other again. I’d be able to visit every weekend, and our family bond would strengthen. I’d make sure of it.

  Santino leaned forward. “Listen, all my furniture and stuff is still in the house, right? You need to clear it out. Put it somewhere safe so they can’t get their hands on it, okay? I’ll need that stuff for when I get out, so leave the house empty for them.”

  “Is that legal?”

  He jerked backward, squinting at me as though I’d asked something crazy. “You know they already took my cars, right? They’ve got my money and business. Vultures will strip me clean and spit out my bones. Is that what you want?”

  I swallowed. “No, of course not. But… well, thanks for trying to give me the house. It was what I needed to get away from Benedict. Living rent free for the last few weeks has been a big help.”

  “They’ll kick you out soon enough. Sorry, kiddo.”

  My heart lifted when he called me kiddo, like he used to when we were young, and I managed a smile for the first time. “Don’t worry about me, Tino. I’ll be okay.”

  He grunted. “Do me another favor before you move out. If that bastard Asher Lennox is still living next door, throw a bomb over the fence. And write my name on it.”

  My stomach clenched. “Excuse me?”

  “Lennox set up my arrest. He’s the reason I’m here, and he did it to get his greedy hands on my house.” Santino screwed up his face, looking to the side like he wanted to spit and was searching for something to spit into.

  “Asher told me he wanted to buy the house. But he—”

  “You talked to him?” My brother leaned forward, his eyes growing sharp.

  “Yes, I’ve been talking to him.” I had no idea how much to tell him. Santino’s expression was darkening, like he was getting angry.

  “Lennox wants to pull my house down to build some apartments, and he had the plans drawn up a year ago. Months before my arrest, engineers and architects were already working on it.”

  I shook my head. “That can’t be right. He couldn’t have been drawing up plans back then.”

  “Check the date on the plans.” Santino’s voice was harsh. “The shifty bastard was getting them drawn up before he even moved into the house next to mine.” He made a fist on the table, his knuckles going white. “The whole thing was a set up from the start. A total con job. He put me here to make a profit.”

  I sat back, my mind spinning and my bones growing cold. Could it be true? Asher had proven his talent for scheming, but if he’d been drawing up plans that early, it meant…

  “You think Asher moved in next door, then had you arrested just so he could buy your house?” My voice came out hesitant and small.

  “I know he did. When they let me out of here, I’m going to rip his liver out and stuff it down his throat.” My brother’s fist unclenched and clenched again on the table and when he scowled, he looked a little scary.

  “That’s enough,” announced a male voice from behind me.

  I jumped. Though prison guards had been patrolling the room, I hadn’t realized one had walked so close.

  “Visit’s over,” said the guard. “Say goodbye.”

  I scrambled to my feet, my heart thumping so hard it was hurting my chest.

  Santino got up too. “Don’t forget about putting my stuff somewhere safe, and writing a character reference for the judge.”

  “Yeah. I mean, I won’t forget, but—” I shook my head, babbled something about seeing Santino at his sentencing. Then I rushed for the door.

  Once safely back in my car, I sat in the driver’s seat staring at my phone. I felt sick, like I’d eaten something bad, and the pounding of my heart was as heavy as a metronome.

  I had to know the truth, but I was scared of what I might find out.

  Taking a deep breath and screwing up my courage, I called Asher.

  “Hey.” He sounded like he usually did, with his voice giving nothing away. But then he added, “I’m glad you called,” and I heard his breath catch a little, like he was hopeful about what I might say back.

  The sound made my heart ache. Part of me wanted to pretend everything was fine so badly, I had to talk myself into asking what I needed to know.

  “Asher, what date did you apply for the permit for your building?”

  There was a long silence. So long my stomach had plenty of time to sink. In the length of that silence, I could hear the truth.

  “I applied for the building permit before Santino was arrested,” Asher said finally, his tone all too calm. “I needed the approval in advance, so I could arrange a loan with the bank.”

  I had to swallow to be able to ask my next question. “Did you have my brother arrested so you could buy his house?”

  “We should talk about this in person, not over the phone. Where are you?”

  My gaze went to the cold gray building in front of me. I was still in the prison parking lot, in the shadow of the concrete monolith.

  “Tell me the truth, Asher. No more lies.”

  “I never meant to lie to you.” He drew in an audible breath. “The truth is, I discovered Santino’s links to the cartel a long time ago. I bought the house next to him knowing it would be my best chance to get him arrested. After moving in, I asked Mason to bring in a surveillance team so they could watch him from my spare bedroom. I knew if they busted Santino doing drug deals in the house, they’d be able to confiscate it. And I called my contact in the Justice Department to make sure they did.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and after a moment I closed it again. How had I not suspected any of that? All this time I’d been kidding myself I wasn’t gullible anymore, yet I’d let another man fool me. Had I not learned anything?

  “I told you what the drug cartel did to my family,” said Asher. “That’s why I planned to bring them down. The financial benefits were a bonus, but the main reason was because I needed to see Frankie punished. And Santino…” He paused. “Iola, your brother’s just as bad as Frankie. I’m not sorry for putting him behind bars, only about hurting you. Prison is where Santino belongs.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  My mind was full of memories. Santino hunched over at our parents funeral, his eyes red and his fists tight. Santino fighting with our uncle, so hurt and angry he was being sent away to school that he was sobbing while he yelled. On the day they told me he’d disappeared, I was devastated to have lost the last member of my family, but I wasn’t really surprised. He’d worn his pain like visible wounds, and his rage had made him glow.

  My brother had never been given much of a chance. Life had plotted against him long before Asher had.

  “Iola, your brother’s a criminal.”

  My anger
flared. “You’re not the judge. You don’t get to decide.”

  “Nobody forced Santino to break the law. I just brought his activities to light.”

  “And made a profit while you were doing it. How much money are you going to make, Asher? How much will you pocket from selling my brother out?” I was really asking how much money he stood to make by selling me out, but implying it was enough. Asher was a smart guy. He could read between the lines.

  “Iola, please. We need to have this conversation face-to-face. Tell me where you are.”

  I stared at the thin, high vertical windows in the prison building that probably let in a meager amount of light while allowing no view to the outside world.

  “How much?” I demanded.

  “Twenty-five million dollars.”

  “Twenty…?” I trailed off, shocked into silence. Then I swallowed. “But it wasn’t about the money?” My sarcasm came through loud and clear. “You’re really trying to tell me twenty-five million bucks didn’t factor into it?”

  For seven years, I’d lived in a world where money ruled and appearances were everything. Life had been luxurious, no expense spared, but the only things I’d really wanted were to have a husband who loved me, and to feel like I belonged.

  Instead, I’d been treated like Ruff. Trained and groomed, and bought out at parties to be shown off to Benedict’s friends.

  “I need the money, but it wasn’t the driving force. It wasn’t why I wanted Santino in jail.”

  “Benedict never let me have any cash of my own. He set up accounts at the places I was allowed to shop, and I could only buy what he wanted me to have. He controlled me with money, and good people don’t do that, Asher. You shouldn’t be able to buy and sell people.”

  “I would never—”

  “Then why does it feel like you sold my brother?”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Iola. I shouldn’t have done that.”