Lonzo: Book 2 (Tycoon Series Book 2) (10 page)

Eyes were glued on her. Men openly undressed her in their minds as her perfect figure walked past, while the women in the crowd were covetous of the gems on this fantasy set.

She hardly noticed, intent in giving justice to the magnificent showpiece. She personified sexiness and grace.

When she made her final turn, the audience jumped to their feet and gave her what most models would have traded their false eyelashes for—a standing ovation.

A mix of emotions engulfed her—elation, sadness and relief.

Tonight was her final catwalk appearance.

She would leave this world behind and disappear.

VI Headquarters, Rome

One week later

The little bitch pulled a fast one on him.

This was the first thing that came to mind when he was informed that Jordana Almueda failed to show up at the airport. He immediately rang Blackwell.

Half an hour passed before he received a call from his chief security guy, who gave him the info he needed.

She left the States on a chartered flight to London three days ago.

From thereon, she disappeared. Without a trace.

He toyed the paperweight on top of his desk, his anger growing with each passing minute.

He’d been duped. Again.

He laughed bitterly.

He waited for her like an idiot. He had his villa readied for their reunion. He’d shopped for gifts. He almost went crazy counting down the days. Shit, he even counted the minutes.

He sported blue balls for days because he refused to jerk off. He wanted her that bad. He thought she would honor their agreement.

Cazzo!
He should have known!

“I’ll fly to London first then take the connection to Rome,” her lying lips said when he took her to the airport more than a week ago.

He had insisted that she use his jet but she swiftly declined. She told him she had to settle something with an affiliate agency in London.

He believed her. He fell for her con.

Because he thought with his cock, not his head.

Fuck!

He rubbed his temples.

There must be a reason for her caper.

The possibility that she might have been kidnapped came up. For a minute, that worried him.

But if that were the case, Bastian would’ve informed the authorities of her disappearance. There was no media blitz happening and it had been days.

Then why did she pull this stunt? And why hadn’t she cashed the check yet?

He’d get the answers out of her but he had to find her first.

Blackwell would find her for him soon. She can’t evade him forever.

When that happens, she would be at his mercy. He would punish her, that was a certainty. The severity depended on how she would reason herself out of this one.

For now, he’d grit his teeth and deal with her haunting image in his head.

He can handle it when he was with business associates during the day. But it was pure torture at night. That incredible time they had a week ago kept playing in his mind.

He was losing precious sleep over her. He was becoming pathetic.

Maybe he should leave Rome for a while. Go skiing at the Swiss Alps or play at the gaming tables of Monaco. He was quick to dismiss the idea. Thinking about it bored him already.

Fuck, even his sex life was suffering. He did try, but his cock wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t even get it up.

“Shit!” he cussed as he tossed the paperweight across the room in frustration. He needed to do something to keep his sanity.

But it was no use. Nothing occupied his mind except her.

Was she with Chris or another man? Were she cavorting around naked?!

The thought made him see red.

Fuuuuuuuck!

Frustrated, he turned to his computer and began to check his emails. Like the paperwork on his desk, his unread emails had accumulated, numbering into a thousand or so unread items. Most of the emails were meeting updates and daily market trends and these he immediately trashed, cutting the number into half. He made a few more clicks to filter and sort his email by date.

The first unopened item went back to the day he left for the vineyard.

A particular email stood out. It came from Blackwell. It was a supplementary report on Jordana. He recalled that Patrizia tried to get him to read a printed copy of the same report but he was in such a hurry to get to her that it slipped his mind. His heart began to race. He was about to open the attachment when his phone rang.

“What?!” he barked at his assistant for the interruption.

Patrizia cleared her throat. “It’s your uncle on line one, Mr. Vitale. Shall I put him through?”

Great.
Since the papers got hold of the story about his split with Jordana, Thio Fredo never forgot to remind him that he was the fool of the century for letting her walk away.

He was in no mood for another verbal onslaught from the old man today. “Tell him I’m busy,” he ordered.

“I already told him that, sir—” his secretary calmly replied. “He didn’t believe me.”

“Then think of something! What am I paying you for if you can’t even—” he went on irritably.

“—he said it’s about Ms. Almueda and it’s imperative that he speak with you.”

The mere mention of Jordana’s name was enough to change his mind.

What did I tell you? You’re pathetic, Vitale.

“Put him through.”

There was a click before he heard the raspy voice of his uncle on the other line.

“You watching the television, boy?”

What?

“No, Thio. I’m still at the office.”

“You got one hooked up in your office, am I right?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you called just to ask my viewing habits?! I’m in the middle of something here—” he said crabbily.

There was a long silence from the other end.

“Jordana is in the news.”

“She’s always in the news, Thio. Look, I can’t chat with you right now. I’m busy—”

“Well,
nipote
...how about this? She quit.”

“She quit what?”

“Hmp! Would love to tell you the details but you’re too busy. So,
ciao
!”

And the line went dead.

He was dumbfounded.

He hastily got a hold of the remote of the LED screen in his office and switched it on. He began to scan the news channels.

And there it was.

A RAI newscast showed a clip of Leandro Bastian’s press conference announcing her retirement from modeling.

The press were wild with their questions.

“Is she going to rehab?” one reporter asked.

Bastian was visibly irked. “Jordana is not a substance abuser. Never was. And she’s too sensible to be one. So that’s a stupid question.”

“Is she pregnant?”

“Have you seen her at the recent VS show?” Bastian barked his reply.

“Yes.”

“Did she look pregnant to you?”

The reporter who asked, grinned.

“Right. Next question…” the manager said dismissively.

“Is she getting married?” another queried.

Lonzo held his breath.

“No. She’s not.”

“Can you explain why she suddenly decided to retire at the height of her career?”

“Ms. Almueda has been working since she was barely in her teens. She feels that she needs to focus more on her other interests now. She wishes that her privacy and decision be respected,” he heard Bastian say. And with that, the conference came to an end.

The news stunned him.

Where the hell was she?!

Ludgvan,

Cornwall, England

Contrary to what others thought, the English countryside
was a great place to disappear in, she mused. That was, if you know how to blend in.

She’d been staying at this secluded part of England for four months now, since she announced her “retirement”. She lay low, kept mostly to herself—she only went out when necessary. To keep human contact to a minimum, she had arranged for her supplies to be delivered at her doorstep and paid for necessities in cash.

On her first month here, she was scared and fidgety. She feared someone might see through her disguise and report her whereabouts to the press. So far, her redhead wig effectively hid her identity. No media had managed to trace her here.

The few villagers whom she met took her presence at face value. They didn’t pry and kept their distance. She must’ve looked like a struggling soon-to-be single mom.

And of course, she also used an assumed name.

A few months passed before she felt secure enough to lower her guard a bit, venturing to the village once a week to see the village doctor for her pre-natal checkups.

As she approached her sixth month, her pregnancy became obvious.

During her last visit, her doctor cautioned her to take extra care.

“Your blood pressure is a bit up, my dear—” Dr. Meredith Cliburn remarked after checking her vitals.

She was alarmed but the doctor pacified her fears quickly.

“It’s gestational hypertension. Sometimes it happens to women who are in the latter stage of their pregnancy.”

“Will it affect my baby?” she anxiously asked.

The lady doctor gave her a direct look. “Normally, gestational hypertension will not cause problems when managed and treated promptly.”

“What do I need to do?”

“We have to constantly monitor and manage your blood pressure so that it does not turn to pregnancy-induced hypertension.”

“Isn’t that… eclampsia?” she said with dread.

“No. But it may lead to that if unchecked. If untreated, it can lead to low birth rate, premature delivery and worse, there is a risk of you and the baby dying.”

She paled.

The doctor allayed her fears. “As I’ve said, we need to take steps to make sure you and the baby remain healthy.”

The doctor put her on a special diet and prescribed her additional supplements.

Since then, she’d been extra careful with what she ate.

She cut her sugar intake and indulged in her food cravings every two weeks.

This month, it was chocolate éclairs.Today was one of her “village outing” days and she dropped by the coffee shop to buy the pastry.

“Here you go, miss,” the coffee shop attendant smiled as he gave her the éclairs.

“Thanks,” she smiled back.

“You want a hot beverage to go with that?”

“Uhm…thank you, but no,” she declined, still smiling as she turned to leave, walking toward her Mini Cooper parked outside the shop.

She searched for her car keys in her bag.

She carefully drove back to Robin’s Nest, the cottage where she was staying.

The cottage was originally a 19th-century barn. It was lovingly restored by its current owner, a reclusive local artist, into a habitable dwelling. It was he who leased the property to her for a year.

When she saw pictures of the cottage on the internet, she was immediately drawn to it for some reason or another. It was detached from the main property and tucked behind tall iron gates and hedgerows. Best of all, it had a four-acre private landscaped garden that featured a terraced lawn, perennial flowers, exotic plants and shade trees.

It was right in the middle of Penzance at St. Ives. It was near the beaches and well-known coastline spots. It was also about five-minute ride from Mount’s Bay. The location was perfect for a nature junkie like her. Best of all, the fresh air was good for the baby, too.

Fifteen minutes later, she carefully parked her small car in the gravel-lined, secluded driveway.

As she entered the cottage, she was greeted by the warmth of the house, courtesy of the newly-installed storage heater. Though small, the cottage had enough modern provisions to make everyday living comfortable: flat screen tv, dvd player, microwave, electric oven and even internet access.

She went straight to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk before carefully walking over to the dining table to enjoy the pastries she had bought.

She got her appetite back, unlike in the early days of her pregnancy.

She was beginning to get that “glow” that pregnant women have.

She felt her baby move and kick inside her large, rounded middle.
Someone’s awake early
, she thought with a smile as she rubbed her tummy lovingly.

“Hello, kiddo. We’re having mommy’s favorite eclairs.”

The baby gave another happy kick in response, which made her giggle.

Another thought crossed her mind and made her sigh.