Love’s Unselfish Gift Read online

  * * * *

  I was a new woman. His hands clasped mine after he released the binds, and, with our palms pressed together and our fingers entwined, Alanzo looked into my eyes and loved me like a man who wanted the promise of forever.

  Stroke after stroke, his gaze matched mine, and as if he felt me shut off the resistance, he lowered his mouth and kissed me when he came. His tongue slowly moved inside my mouth. He screwed himself tighter and tighter, deeper and deeper.

  “I love you, Suzy,” he whispered, releasing my hands and touching his open hand to my cheek. “I want you to know I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

  “Alanzo,” I whispered on a gasp.

  “Don’t say anything at all, hon. Just listen to me.”

  He slowly withdrew and tucked me against his side. “On paper you may have been my brother’s wife. In my heart, you were always mine.”

  I processed the kind of pain I must have caused him, and, at the same time, I wondered why it took him nearly two years to approach me.

  I wanted to know.

  “He’s been dead for over a year, and you’re just now telling me this.”

  “There were…complications.”

  “Complications?”

  “Suzy, I’m—damn it to hell.” He pushed me completely away from him and pulled open the bedside table at the same time he yanked his pants from the floor.

  Startled, I waited to see what came next. Everything with Alanzo was a surprise, and the sudden change in his demeanor left me to wonder and anticipate a shock factor.

  “I want you to marry me,” he stated flatly.

  “Is that a question, a proposal?” I asked, eyeing whatever he had clutched in his closed fist.

  Falling to the bedside, he clasped his hands, rolling around what I could see was clearly a stone. I squinted and sure enough, spotted the flash of gold.

  “Oh, God, Alanzo.”

  “Suzy,” he began, taking my hand in his. “When I go to bed with you, I don’t want a ghost under the sheets with us. My brother is dead. Bury him and marry me.”

  The cruelty of the way he proposed marriage struck me as heartless, and I couldn’t respond. A dropped jaw prevented a rebuttal but the shock of it all angered me and, regardless of how I felt—and undoubtedly, I felt something for Alanzo—the need for a speedy trip to the altar struck me as inconsiderate at best.

  “I’m not a PFC quarterback, and I know you don’t think I have anything to offer you, but I can make you happy, Suzy. I will. I swear it.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I finally managed at the same time he revealed a shiny four-carat diamond ring. If I’d wanted to add insult to the injury of saying no, then I could’ve easily managed. I knew whose money paid for the ring in his hand, and while I was tempted to wear it for show, the old Suzy couldn’t emerge under these circumstances.

  “Say you’ll marry me,” he said, taking my ring finger and massaging the bone with his thumb. “Give us a chance.”

  “Giving you a chance and marrying you are two very different things, Alanzo.”

  “Not when there’s love between us. You do love me, Suzy. A man can feel the love when he’s in bed with a woman who’s there because of what’s in her heart.”

  “Everything is happening so fast with us, Alanzo. I don’t know what I feel.”

  “Yes, you do. Search your heart and the only man you’ll find there is me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  His gaze narrowed and he pushed himself away from the bed. Pacing, he ran his hand through his hair. “You’ll always love Marco. I can accept that. The love you have for him will never die completely, but you have room in your heart for me, Suzy. There’s no one else for you except another Giovanni.”

  “And why would you say that?”

  “You think I don’t know how you feel when you’re with me?”

  “It’s been two days, Alanzo.”

  “That’s after what seems like a lifetime of waiting.”

  “You’ve had plenty of women in that short lifetime. Don’t think Marco didn’t tell me about them.”

  He copped a smile and then kissed my leg. “None of them were you.”

  “Of course not. In case you didn’t know, the designer in heaven was fired after they released my patent.”

  “Is that right?” he asked, chuckling.

  “Damn straight,” I said trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

  “Suzy, I don’t want to open the door one day, pick up the newspaper, and see where you’re front page news. I don’t want to turn on the television and hear about a Suzy Illiani Giovanni caper. I want to know where you are when I go to bed at night and roll over to kiss you the next morning before leaving for work.”

  That’s when it hit me. “Alanzo, do you even have a job now?”

  “I take it Marco never told you what I do for a living?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Naturally, he wouldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m a bookie. I’m sure you know what a bookie does for a living.”

  I gasped after his confession. A PFC player with a brother booking games wasn’t a favorable situation for any professional athlete.

  Staring at the ring, I revisited my first assumption. The ring Alanzo wanted to slide onto my finger wasn’t one his brother had bought and paid for after all. No, instead, it was worse, much worse.

  Alanzo made the purchase with dirty money. Naturally, I’d think so. PFC players and their wives were taught to run from the underworld found in sports and gaming.

  “Marco knew you booked games?” I wanted him to clarify.

  “Of course he knew. We’re brothers.”

  “And he was okay with your career choice?” I asked, trying to understand.

  “Suzy,” Alanzo said, cupping my face. “We were brothers, twins, who each took a different path when we pursued our dreams.”

  “Oh,” I said, grabbing the sheet and holding it securely against my chest. “So that’s how you explain being a criminal?”

  “I’m not a crook, baby. I make my money like most everyone else—pushing pens and shuffling papers.”

  “Tell me something, Alanzo,” I tried to construct the question in a way designed to retrieve answers, quickly weighing the pros and cons of asking anything at all in the first place. Did I want to know the truth? Or did I already know without further inquiry?

  “Did Marco ever throw a game and cause the Rascals to lose?”

  Alanzo licked his bottom lip. “How many games have you known Marco to lose, huh?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Scratching the back of his neck, Alanzo said, “No, Suzy. He didn’t cause the Rascals to lose any games in order to pad my pocket.”

  I knew better. The way Alanzo’s eyes darted down and to the left, I didn’t believe him.

  “Maybe not, but I bet he made sure they didn’t cover the spread in a few of the games, huh?”

  “What do you know about spreads?”

  “Enough to know that the Rascals rarely covered them the last two years when Corby had his surgery and Marco slid into the QB position.”

  Alanzo looked at the ring. “You’re a smart lady, Suzy.”

  “Smart enough to know what he did was illegal if you aren’t denying it.”

  “And if I do?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you now.” Leaving the bed, I hurried to the closet and found my robe. I tied the satin belt before turning around. “You used your own brother and his career to inflate your bank accounts.”

  “I helped him out too, little woman. Don’t ever forget it.”

  “How?” I turned around in the modest bedroom I once shared with Marco. “I didn’t see a lot of money. Practically everything Marco made went to charities.”

  “Suzy, Marco had dreams for you, and he had plans, he just never shared them with you.”

  I took the revelation like a shot through the heart. “He had pl
ans, dreams you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dreams that included me but still he chose to share those ideas with you?”

  “I was his brother.”

  “And what kind of dreams are we talking here?”

  “Big ones,” he said with dancing eyes. “Great big ones,” he added confidently.

  “And where would someone like me find those dreams now?”

  “I don’t know. I guess if you’re looking for those now, you’re going to have to look for them in me.”

  “I’m talking about the money.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Where is it?”

  “Someplace warm,” he assured.

  “It’s dirty money. You know this, right?”

  “There’s a lot of it. Dirty or not, and it’s ours.”

  I swallowed tightly. I tried to remind myself of what I’d known to be true about my husband.

  Marco was a player’s player. On the outside looking in, he had the world by its horns, but he never rode the bull.

  Alanzo was full of shit. Surely to hell and back, Marco wasn’t the kind of man who placed wagers on his own games and allowed his brother to set the kind of lines guaranteed to pad bookmaker pockets. Then again, I had to go back and ponder his ninety-percent-charity rule. There was a lot I didn’t know about Marco.

  And even more I didn’t understand about his brother.

  Chapter Nine

  Two Days Later

  “Thanks for coming,” I said, opening the door to greet Corby.

  “Thanks for the invitation. Today was my day to watch the kids.”

  “Oh really?” I asked, studying the tall hunk standing in my doorway. “Where’s the little woman today?”

  “Sucking up to the team owners and doing the public wife thing. Making the press think I’m the world’s best PFC husband.”

  Corby followed me to the den. I sat down after waving toward the sofa across from me. “I have a few things I need to ask you.”

  Corby looked toward the stairs across the foyer. “Where’s Alanzo? Is he here?”

  “No,” I stated flatly.

  Corby suddenly looked uncomfortable. “When will he be back?”

  “I’m not seeing Alanzo right now,” I informed. “I told him I needed some space and asked him to go back to South Padre.”

  “He won’t stay there long.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s in love with you, Suzy, and the man has it as bad for you as—”

  “You can say his name here, you know.” Then I added for smart-ass appeal, “This is a safe place.”

  Corby wasn’t amused. “We all miss him, Suzy.”

  “Enough to protect him in his death as much as you did when he was alive?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I reached under the coffee table and pulled out a large boot box. “I have enough evidence in this box to fry you and Mark while tarnishing my deceased husband’s good name.”

  Corby stared at the box. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The first beads of sweat popped on Corby’s forehead, and it was rare when I saw him sweat. “This probably doesn’t concern me,” he added, standing. “Maybe you should call Mark and ask him to stop by later.”

  “Sit down, Corby,” I said firmly.

  “Suzy,” Corby said, “If you think you’re going to run a game of sorts here, you’re looking at the wrong player on the field. I’m not guilty of anything. Whatever you have in that little box of yours, I’m sure it doesn’t concern me.”

  I removed the lid and pulled out a few photographs from the top. The first one showcased a man affiliated with a known mob boss from New York. “This fellow was indicted three years before Marco died. You’ll recognize him. Indictments came down for gambling, prostitution, and money laundering.” The man in the picture was seated in between Corby and Marco. Mark stood behind them shaking hands with another familiar mob face, a fellow responsible for placing the mob boss behind bars. He was later dubbed a “rat” by the press.

  “Where the hell did you get that?”

  “I found it last year right after Marco died but didn’t think it meant anything. I shoved it under my bed, and it wasn’t until Alanzo somewhat admitted the truth to me that I decided to drag this out from under the old love mattress once more.

  “I’d find something better to do with that mattress if I were you, Suzy. I suggest you burn whatever else is in that box.”

  “You look worried, Corby.”

  “You’re playing with a fire too large for you to contain.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.” Corby pursed his lips, and about the time he took a step toward the foyer, Mark rushed through the front door.

  “Good damn thing you’re here,” Corby said, extending his thumb toward Suzy. “You may want to look at her private collection there, buddy. Someone provided Suzy with pictures of our friends from New York.”

  “Really?” he asked, unconcerned at first, but his expression soon changed when he read and probably translated the worry on Corby’s face. “Friends from New York, you say?”

  “Yeah, you remember Geoff and Cort?”

  He swallowed hard and then reached for the box. “Here, let me take a look at what you have there, Suz.”

  I tried to yank the box back, but with his grip secured, my effort didn’t pay off. “I said, let me see.”

  He flipped through the photographs and then some of the notes. Those notes, I imagined, proved the most troubling. Those detailed accounts offered play-by-play proof of the team effort to throw some of the games or manage the point spread. Even the over or under totals, the points scored throughout the course of various games, looked rigged.

  “Does Alanzo know you have this?” Mark asked.

  “Alanzo doesn’t care,” I said flippantly.

  “The hell he doesn’t,” Corby said, pressing one key on his cellular phone.

  “Speed dialing your bookie?” I asked.

  “No,” Mark said, studying me. “He’s placing a 9-1-1 call to a man you obviously know better than we do.”

  * * * *

  Mark and Corby evidently thought Alanzo secured a fast hold and tight grip on me. From what I gathered, they needed him to clean up the mess his brother left behind. In the process, I suppose they wanted him to come back to Dallas and take care of me, too, but they started sweating bullets when we seemed romantically interested in one another.

  I pressed for answers, but my persistence didn’t do any good. Corby and Mark weren’t the kind of guys who explained their actions. They were the kind of men who, when caught with their pants down, refused to take the time to pull them up. Instead, they stood up, smirked, and later put the screws to the person they felt deserved it most.

  “So, all this time, Marco was dirty?” I asked.

  Mark and Corby exchanged a quick glance, and then Corby said, “Marco loved you Suzy. That’s the only thing he ever wanted to do was love you, and that’s really all you need to know.”

  “He lied to me!”

  “How?” Mark asked. “By omission?”

  “Yes!”

  “Shit, Suzy. Grow up. The man made over ten million dollars a year with his salary and endorsements. He didn’t owe you any explanations. He provided for you, and if it wasn’t enough, then you should’ve taken it up with him while he was living. There’s nothing you can do to change the past now.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  Without a second to spare, I gained Mark and Corby’s full undivided attention. “What are you saying?” Mark asked.

  “The world of sports is a big place,” I reminded him. “I have friends and connections in the media.”

  “So what are you implying? You want to blackmail us?” Corby asked.

  “No, if you tell me what I want to know, then I plan to give you this box and all of the contents right now.”

  Mark sat on
the edge of the couch. “Start talking.”

  Corby paced the floor. Poor Mark, I mused. He had no idea how to handle this, and Corby, who thought faster on his feet, probably wouldn’t save him.

  Mark was married to me for several years, but even he didn’t realize where this conversation was headed. But Corby did. He’d been played by a woman too many times in the past. He knew precisely where this conversation would take a difficult and rocky turn and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

  Chapter Ten

  The questions I wanted answered could’ve been satisfied by a simple yes or no response. Only, I expected to hear no-no-no straight across the board. When I didn’t, well, things became complicated fast.

  The man I loved and adored wasn’t the man I married. The obvious unraveled quickly after I started digging for information. Corby and Mark were covering up something and most likely protecting their own hides.

  “Start at the beginning,” I said. “And don’t leave anything out. How did you two get involved with this? Why was Marco rubbing shoulders with bookies when he was the most talented—sorry, Corby, but it’s true—quarterback to ever play in the PFC?”

  “Marco loved you, Suzy.” Corby danced around the questions and, just as expected, Mark began his head nod. When Corby spoke, Mark became a yes-man.

  “Yeah,” Mark grumbled. “He loved you. I know he did.”

  “Like you love Cassie?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Mark snapped. “Like I love Cassie.”

  “Really?” I countered, rubbing my lips together. “I wonder what Cassie would think if she discovered what I know?”

  “My God, are you threatening me?” Mark asked.

  Corby tried bluffing. “You can have the damn contents. I refuse to betray a friendship,” he said, walking toward the door. “Marco was my friend in life, and I’ll be damned if I’ll run him down now that he’s dead. There’s no way you’re going to find the answers you need from me.”

  “He was cheating on me,” I stated flatly unsure of where that came from. This wasn’t about me. This was about his career.

  Mark took a deep breath. Corby held his and I expected him to turn blue at any given time. Instead, he opened the door and left without saying goodbye.