Swimming with Sharks

July 1998—New York City

Alex Sontheim didn’t regret her move from Morgan Stanley to Levy Manhattan for one single moment, and she was sure Vincent Levy wasn’t sorry he had won her over with his generous offer last February. With a fixed salary of two million dollars plus bonuses and commissions, Alex was among the best-paid investment bankers in the city, and she had already silenced any skeptics on LMI’s board of directors with three spectacular deals.

Along with their revenues, LMI’s reputation in the highly competitive M&A market went soaring. Levy was euphoric; it couldn’t get better than this. General Engines and United Brake Systems were both blue-chip companies, and, through Alex, LMI successfully represented them. The Wall Street Journal called LMI a “serious competitor” to Merrill Lynch, Goldman Sachs, and Morgan Stanley in the field of M&A, and Alex was solely responsible for it. She had a keen sense for the markets, a sharp eye, ruthlessness, and experience—plus the necessary connections to remain at the top of the food chain in this business. From her office window on the fourteenth floor of the LMI Building, she had a fantastic view of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and the harbor. It was this breathtaking panorama that made her realize how incredibly far she had come in her career over the past years. She smiled in satisfaction. At the age of thirty-five, she felt well on her way to the top.

Now she was playing in the major leagues—and she had made it completely on her own. The telephone startled her out of her reverie. It was Zack, her former colleague at Franklin Myers and currently the managing director of LMI, to whom she more or less owed this job. He asked her to join a board meeting, scheduled at short notice on the thirtieth floor. Alex shut down her computer, grabbed her briefcase, and quickly rushed across the trading floor. It was already late on a Friday afternoon, and the normally hectic floor was deserted except for a cleaning crew. The traders had vanished into their weekends the moment trading closed on the NYSE. Alex swiped her badge through the reader next to the elevator door. Security at LMI was as tight as at the Pentagon; every swipe of the card was recorded by a central computer.

Alex assessed her appearance in the mirror, while the silent elevator transported her sixteen floors higher. It was far more difficult for a woman in her position to be accepted by colleagues and business partners than for a man. She had to be tough and unyielding, but without seeming masculine. She had perfectly mastered this balancing act after twelve years on Wall Street. She gave her mirror image a friendly smile. People in this city had long stopped making the mistake of underestimating her. Someone had once accused her of being cold and ruthless, but Alex saw this as a compliment—essential survival skills in this tough man’s world.

The elevator stopped on the thirtieth floor with a subtle ring, and Alex took a deep breath. She walked along a mahogany-paneled hallway lined with exquisitely lit expressionist paintings—surely originals and worth a fortune. The thick Aubusson runner rugs over the reddish marble swallowed the sound of her steps. Every detail of the furnishings exuded solidity, power, and success. Anyone who sat on the thirtieth floor had made it. Alex smiled. One of these days, in the not too distant future, her name would also be on one of these doors.

She knocked on the door of the large conference room—it was as wide as the whole building—and entered. The windows stretched from the ceiling to the floor, and the view to the east across the river to Brooklyn was spectacular. Although she had been here a few times before, she was impressed anew by the vast space. The thought flashed through her mind that this room was designed not just to impress but to intimidate.

The entire board of directors sat around the giant, polished round table, which looked like it was carved from one piece—like the legendary Round Table of Camelot: CEO Vincent Levy, Vice President Isaac Rubinstein, CFO Michael Friedman, Head Analyst Hugh Weinberg, Legal Department Head Francis Dayton-Smith, Chairman of the Board Ron Schellenbaum, Director of Emerging Markets and International Business John Kwai, and Managing Director Zachary St. John.

“Hello,” Alex said and smiled. “I hope I’m not late.”

Vincent Levy jumped up and walked over to her with a smile. “Oh no, Alex,” he said, extending his hand to her, “thank you for coming. I decided at the last minute to invite you to our meeting. After all, you made a major contribution to our recent successes.”

Alex smiled as she look around at the group’s benevolent but probing expressions. She couldn’t figure out Levy. There was a core as hard as iron hiding behind his smooth demeanor. People didn’t make it to the very top on Wall Street by being modest or friendly. She sat down between John Kwai and Zack. Her heart was beating in excitement when she realized that she was sitting as an equal among the most powerful men of the firm. Even though her job was exciting and satisfying, her next goal was to permanently establish herself in this circle. Levy spoke about the positive developments in M&A, but also about currency and equities trading and the underwriting of promising dot-com companies. Then Hugh Weinberg reported on his forecasts.

Levy had recruited Weinberg from Prudential Securities. Weinberg’s opinion was highly respected and second to none on Wall Street—he was known and feared for his accurate analyses and proven forecasts. Alex was filled with pride that he had such high regard for her work. His market analysis was followed by Michael Friedman’s dry report on the past quarter’s revenues and profits. When at seven thirty Levy closed the meeting by thanking all of the attendees, Alex wondered why she had been invited in the first place. She was standing up, ready to leave, when Levy signaled for her to stay.

“We are very pleased with your work here, Alex,” he began in a friendly tone once they were alone in the conference room. “Hugh is impressed by your profound market knowledge.”

“Thank you.” Alex smiled in acknowledgment. After all, they were paying her two million a year for that knowledge. But what did he really want?

“The efficiency and success of your work speaks for itself,” Levy continued, “and as you know, we are willing to reward success.”

His smile grew wider.

“We are considering a bonus of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars on top of your regular bonus payment.”

Alex wondered if she’d heard him correctly.

“That’s a significant amount of money.” With some effort she concealed her surprise and maintained her composure.

“Yes, indeed.” Levy smiled in a kind and paternal way. “But you work eighty hours a week and have delivered remarkable results in less than five months. Others need this much time just to get accustomed to a new company. Furthermore, LMI owes its excellent reputation in the area of M&A to you. Why shouldn’t the firm reward you for that?”

“Well,” Alex responded without batting an eye, “that’s incredibly generous.”

She had the feeling that she needed to be very careful. She had no idea where this intuition came from, but the feeling was there.

Finally Levy spoke. “I would like to make you an offer—here, between you and me. Nothing in writing. Let’s call it a handshake agreement. LMI could obviously give you the bonus in the customary form of stock options. But we could also transfer the money in cash, which means, well, tax free, to a foreign bank account.”

He smiled innocently, as if he hadn’t just suggested tax evasion to her.

“The decision is yours, Alex. Stock options are good. But considering your tax bracket, the advantage of a cash payment is obvious.”

Alex wasn’t quite sure whether she liked the proposal, but she slowly realized why Levy had invited her here today. He wanted to test her willingness to cross legal boundaries, to judge the extent of her moral scruples.

“Just slightly illegal, isn’t it?” she said nonchalantly, and smiled.

“Illegal.” Levy laughed quietly. “What an ugly word. By the way, I think that you already pay enough taxes, don’t you?”

Alex nodded. Whenever a few investment bankers got together, they always talked about legal tricks and loopholes to avoid taxes. The cut taken in taxes from salaries this high was enormous. A bank account in the Bahamas, Cayman Islands, Switzerland, or elsewhere was the rule rather than the exception.

“Let St. John know once you make a decision,” Levy said in a friendly tone. “But this is just one of two topics that I’d like to discuss with you. The other is the independence of your department.”

“I thought that you expected personal initiative?” Alex was surprised.

“Oh yes, I do,” Levy reassured her. “Please don’t think of this as criticism! Discretion is vital in your job. And we are certainly more than happy. But in the future, perhaps you can manage to inform the board about planned deals before you enter into initial negotiations with a client.”

He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.

“The board of directors,” he continued, “would like to stay informed about the activities in every department of the firm. This is pure interest, not control. You make all of the decisions as before, after consulting the CFO and the legal department.”

Alex looked at Levy for a moment and then nodded slowly. She was well aware of what one could do with information about imminent deals before other market participants could get in the game. There was a lot of money to be made by buying stocks of businesses prior to the public announcement of a takeover, which in turn would drive up the stock price. This was insider trading, and it was probably the most prohibited form of market manipulation. This is why investment banks were required to maintain “Chinese walls” serving as barriers between traders and investment bankers within a firm, so that undisclosed material information couldn’t be abused prior to its public disclosure. Levy was more or less asking her to circumvent this Chinese wall. Alex noticed the LMI president was eagerly awaiting her response, and she decided to cooperate.

“That’s no problem,” she said after a brief hesitatation. “I’ll keep you up to date.”

The relief that rushed across Levy’s face didn’t escape her notice, though his friendly smile soon returned.

“Excellent,” he said, satisfied. “I knew that we’d understand each other. You will report directly to Mr. St. John.”

Zachary St. John wasn’t particularly skilled in the banking business, but he very much understood the Wall Street power structure. He often threw parties at his penthouse apartment in Battery Park City, inviting only those he deemed important. Alex was invited for the first time this evening, and she was more than curious about who she would meet there. Invitations to Zack’s legendary parties were highly coveted in the Wall Street community because people exchanged important news, made contacts, and arranged deals while enjoying the finest food and the most expensive French champagne.

Alex took a while to think about what she should wear. At first, she considered one of the business suits that she customarily wore in the office, but she finally decided on an outrageously expensive, tight red evening gown by Versace. Tonight, she intended to show everyone that she was a woman first and foremost—despite her cleverness and ruthlessness. She arrived at the penthouse at nine thirty. It never ceased to surprise her how extravagantly people lived in New York when they had the means. About two hundred guests were spread over five thousand square feet of luxury, sitting or standing in small groups, having a great time. Zack approached her with open arms, a broad grin, and a thick Cohiba cigar between his fingers. He welcomed her warmly, admiringly eyeing her dress and her lean, shapely legs. Then he showed her off to a few very important people.

The complete LMI board of directors was of course present, together with their wives, but also a diverse group of others: lawyers, brokers, analysts, and—of course—investment bankers from other firms. Alex’s initial inhibition quickly disappeared after she realized how easily she was accepted into this illustrious circle. It felt like everyone was competing to speak with her. Zack reappeared at one point, just as she was absorbed in a discussion with Kwai and Weinberg.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Zack said as he took Alex by the arm. “I’ll bring her back in a minute.”

“What’s going on?” Alex asked in surprise.

“Come with me,” Zack whispered with a mysterious grin on his face. “There’s a very powerful man you should meet.”

She was curious as she followed him through the maze of the penthouse and up to the sprawling rooftop terrace. A few men sat laughing together in comfortable rattan armchairs, drinking cognac, smoking the Cohibas that were offered in every room. Just as Alex stepped onto the terrace, one of the men turned around and their eyes met. The laugh on the dark-haired man’s face faded. He placed his glass on the low table and stood up.

“Who’s that?” Alex whispered into Zack’s ear.

“Sergio Vitali. You’ve heard of him before, right?”

Of course she had. Everyone in New York City knew Sergio Vitali. His face was shown often enough on television and in the newspapers. He was one of the most powerful people in town—a billionaire real-estate tycoon, if the press was to be believed. He made regular headlines for his large donations to social institutions and presence at the glamorous benefits and banquets of New York’s high society, where the most important deals were made. Sergio Vitali was a poster child for American business. According to Forbes, he was among the richest individuals in the United States. Half of Manhattan belonged to him. Vitali also owned hotel chains and casinos in Las Vegas, Reno, Atlantic City, and Miami. He ruled over a corporate conglomerate and traveled in his own private Learjets.

“Alex,” Zack said, “may I introduce you to Mr. Sergio Vitali? Mr. Vitali, this is Alex Sontheim, head of the M&A department at LMI.”

“I’ve already heard so much about you.” Vitali’s voice was pleasant, cultivated. “I’m delighted to finally meet you in person. Your excellent reputation precedes you, but no one warned me you were also an exceptionally beautiful woman.”

Alex laughed in embarrassment and reached for his extended hand. His handshake was firm and warm. His touch ignited a fire in her that quickly spread throughout her entire body. She had never met a man with such strong sensuality. The attraction she felt confused her—it was irritating and deeply frightening. She preferred to have everything under control at all times.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she responded, hiding her attraction behind a cool smile. No doubt, Sergio Vitali was the most attractive man she had ever met. His thick, black hair—graying at the temples—and the subtle wrinkles around his mouth and the corners of his eyes gave special character to his striking face. His profile was like a Roman statue. With this unforgettable face, he could have had a career in Hollywood. Yet, his steel-blue eyes were his most remarkable feature. Before they could exchange another word, Zack positioned himself in the widely opened terrace doors, clapped his hands, and asked his guests for a moment of attention. He gave a brief speech, but she didn’t catch a single word of it. She noticed that Vitali’s unsettling gaze rested on her, and she was torn between an instinctive aversion and a strange fascination. He unnerved her, and she wasn’t sure whether she liked it. Nevertheless, he proved to be a very entertaining and attentive conversationalist.

Vitali introduced her to his friend and lawyer, Nelson van Mieren, who was the exact opposite of him: short, chubby, and bald, with a friendly smile on his bulging lips. His quick, small eyes, hovering above his plump cheeks, belied harmlessness. After midnight, van Mieren said good-bye. Suddenly Alex found herself completely alone with Vitali on the terrace. She had drunk much more champagne than usual, and her initial wariness quickly turned into a thrilling curiosity. It was two thirty when she realized that she had talked only to Sergio Vitali for the entire evening. She thanked Zack for the invitation and politely but firmly refused Vitali’s offer to drive her home. Alex left the party with a tingly feeling, certain that she had left a lasting impression on one of the most influential men in the city.

On this Friday afternoon in September, Mark Ashton sat at his desk on the LMI Building’s fourteenth floor. His boss sat behind office doors, while his desk was in a cubicle. But this didn’t bother him. He enjoyed his work because it provided a welcome diversion from his private life, which was less than thrilling. About twelve years ago, the Harvard graduate and lawyer wound up on Wall Street. After six years at one of New York’s law firms, he joined LMI. But he’d failed miserably on the trading floor because he wasn’t cut out for the hustle and stress; he wasn’t greedy and ruthless enough to be successful.

Human resources had moved him to a position in syndication at his own request, and he’d been quite happy there for three years. Detailed calculations, financial statements, and financial analyses were more to his liking. When the new head of M&A was searching for someone good at mundane number-crunching, Mark applied on a whim and got the job. He didn’t regret it one bit. M&A was an exciting business.

Mark paused for a second, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. Alex Sontheim was the smartest and most competent boss he’d ever had. She managed to motivate her team like no one else. She noticed every error and registered all weaknesses, but she never exposed anyone publicly. Ashton quickly realized that he shouldn’t enter her office unprepared. Praise from Alex was a rare event, and the team she’d formed from this mixed group soon felt a sense of devotion that was unparalleled in the egocentric world of Wall Street. The entire department worked late into the night and on weekends without complaint. Closed deals were celebrated after work at the St. John’s Inn, Luna Luna, or Reggie’s at Hanover Square.

For the first time, Mark felt like an integral member of an efficient team, and he owed it all to Alex. If for no other reason than that, he decided to pledge loyalty to her. He especially wanted to find out whether she’d be interested in what he had uncovered about a potential client during his research. His findings seemed suspect, and Mark wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The Wisconsin-based Hanson paper mill was one of the largest paper mills in the country, and they had shown interest in acquiring the prestigious, but almost bankrupt, American Road Map publishing company. Mark questioned the motivation behind this because he couldn’t identify any good reason for it. In order to find out more about the company, he researched the Hanson paper mill and discovered to his surprise that it was owned by a holding company called SeViCo from Panama. SeViCo was owned in turn by a company called Sunset Properties, which had incorporated in the British Virgin Islands in 1985. No information was available whatsoever about Sunset Properties. None of this had mattered so far, but it was striking that American Road Map was already owned by Sunset Properties via a company called Sagimex S.A., of Monaco. Why should one company acquire another, both under the same owner? Mark chewed on his lower lip. Should he tell Alex what he had discovered about Hanson and American Road Map?

“No,” he ultimately said out loud to himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

His job was to assemble the right numbers in order to prepare an attractive takeover offer. If the deal went through, the legal department would take care of everything else.

The day was pure hell. The market was inexplicably restless and had been for the past few weeks. The mad rush at the opening of the stock exchange was like the gates at the Super Bowl. Alex worked on the new deal under intense pressure, leading one telephone conference after another and poring over complicated financial reports. She scarfed down a sandwich for lunch, and if she wanted to avoid working throughout the entire weekend, dinner would have to wait. It was almost three thirty when her direct line rang.

“Yes?” she said and rubbed her burning eyes.

“Hello, Alex.” The sonorous voice—so close and unexpected in her ear—automatically quickened her pulse. “It’s me, Sergio.”

“Hello, Sergio.” Alex forced herself to sound relaxed. He had called her the day after Zack’s party and invited her to lunch. His aura of power impressed Alex. She liked his attentiveness and was dazzled by the possibility of a closer relationship with him. This made her overlook the less-than-flattering rumors about the source of his incredible wealth—and the fact that he was married. During their increasingly frequent meetings, Alex noticed how fascinated he was by her and how he tried to impress her. She had acted cool and aloof until she was certain she had him hooked. Wielding power over a man like Sergio Vitali was more exciting than anything that she had previously experienced. Alex hadn’t had time for a long-term relationship with a man. She spent an occasional noncommittal night with someone, only to disappear before dawn.

But Sergio Vitali was different from everyone else. He was definitely the Rolls-Royce of men, and he could be her ticket to New York’s high society. When she’d arrived in New York at the age of twenty-three, her one and only goal had been to pursue her career. This dream had become reality some time ago. She was part of a multibillion-dollar game that was played every day behind magnificent facades. She was one of the major players of the financial world. She thought she would be satisfied once she was successful, but she quickly realized that it wasn’t enough, and her ambition kept driving her. She wanted to be like the people who bought houses on Long Island, Westchester County, or Cape Cod; who were invited to the most important social events without a second thought.

Alex gave in to Sergio’s persistent courtship after six weeks. It was easy for her to sleep with him. He was an exceptionally attractive man, and his breathtaking apartment on Park Avenue—once he finally brought her there—made him even more desirable in her eyes. Pure luxury spread over two floors with their reflecting thirteen-foot ceilings. The salons were furnished with the finest antiques, French crystal chandeliers, and thick carpets. Alex had heard of these stately apartments that only the super-rich could afford, larger than some country houses, but she’d never seen one from the inside.

The memories of her first night with Sergio sent pleasant shivers down her spine. To feel this well-composed man completely losing control of himself filled her with a thrilling sense of power. Sergio was crazy for her, and that in itself was flattering. But she’d left the next morning before he woke up so he wouldn’t think he could claim his prize after just one—admittedly very exciting—night. Less than eight hours later he was standing at her apartment door to invite her to lunch at the Crow’s Nest at the Water Club, which he had reserved entirely just for the two of them. “Impress me,” Alex had challenged him on a date a few days ago, and Sergio had obliged.

“How are you, cara? How is work?”

“Suffocating.” Alex signaled her secretary Marcia to put the files that she was carrying on her desk. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I wanted to ask if you already have plans for tonight.”

“Oh.” Alex quickly scanned the mountain of files in front of her. “I still have a lot more work to do. It depends.”

“It depends on what?”

“On what you are about to suggest.” Alex smiled lightly. By now Sergio should understand that she wasn’t the type to come running when he snaps his fingers.

“Hmm,” he responded. “I don’t know if you like things like this, and it’s short notice, but I wanted to ask if you’d like to accompany me to the Stephen Freeman Foundation charity dinner at the Plaza tonight.”

He said this in such a casual tone, as if he were inviting her ice skating. Alex straightened in her chair. She quickly forgot her work. She needed to reconsider her priorities, and the opportunity that Sergio offered her was clear. “But if you are too busy with work…” Sergio’s voice sounded regretful, with a mocking undertone.

“My work isn’t going anywhere,” Alex replied.

“So you’ll join me?” Sergio asked.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

“Good,” he responded. “I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”

Alex smiled in satisfaction as she hung up the phone. This would be another big step in the right direction: socializing with the city’s most important people. Without a doubt, her first appearance on Sergio Vitali’s arm would attract attention. Alex smiled triumphantly at her reflection in the window and then picked up the telephone. She had to look absolutely perfect. She had just four hours.

At dinner, Alex was seated between Sergio and Paul McIntyre, the commissioner of the New York City Department of Buildings. The other people at their table were Vincent Levy and his wife—who showed no surprise at seeing his head of M&A at Sergio Vitali’s side—the famous real-estate speculator David Baines, Senator Fred Hoffman, and a few other important members of high society. After listening to Levy’s and MacIntyre’s wives discussing Cayman Islands vacations, and the building commissioner’s wife raving about the wonderful luxury apartment that Vitali had generously placed at their disposal, she quickly wrote off the wives of these influential men as uninteresting. She had never cared for female companionship, and this type of women’s talk seemed like the epitome of wasted time to her. Instead, she concentrated on the conversations among the men at the table as they discussed a construction project on Staten Island. As Alex’s eyes wandered through the splendidly decorated ballroom, she noticed many celebrities. The realization that she was sitting among them filled her with an intoxicating sense of victory. But the other attendees were also eyeing her with curiosity, because it was scintillating for Sergio Vitali to appear in public with a woman who was both completely unknown and beautiful.

Alex enjoyed Sergio’s undivided attention the entire evening. He made her laugh time and again with anecdotes about the people around them. The seven courses of the gala menu were exquisite, and the accompanying wines were wickedly good. After the official speeches were given, Sergio asked her to dance. Alex wasn’t a particularly good dancer, so she was glad that they could hardly do more than turn on the overcrowded dance floor.

“Did you see Vince Levy’s face when he saw us together?” Alex giggled. “What do you think he’s thinking?”

“He probably thinks the same thing as everyone else here.” Sergio smiled. His blue eyes examined her with an intensity that triggered a familiar sensation in her body. “Namely, that we’re sleeping together.”

Alex managed a relaxed smile.

“If I had known that you had such a bad reputation, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with you,” she said.

“Really?” Sergio raised his eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t care about my reputation.”

“Indeed, I don’t,” Alex said with a smile. “But I do care about my reputation.”

“That’s what I like about you, Alex,” Sergio responded with amusement. “You remind me of myself. You’d do anything to reach your goal.”

“Certainly not anything,” Alex countered. “I might be ambitious, but there are definitely limits.”

“And what are those?”

“Why don’t you find out?” Alex stared deep into his blue eyes. Sergio returned her gaze. His hand slid from her waist to her bare back, and he pulled her closer to him. How had she managed to keep him at a distance for six weeks? She longed for him with every fiber of her being.

“You know I will,” he murmured. His voice so close to her ear sent a shiver down her spine. “I want to find out everything about you.”

They danced for a while without saying a word, until the music abruptly ended and the band took a short break. Sergio held Alex tightly in his arms, gazing at her while the other couples left the dance floor. They turned back to the table, her holding his arm. Time and again, Sergio—who apparently knew everyone there—stopped to introduce her to someone. Once they’d reached their table, Alex felt Sergio’s body flinch at her side and stiffen for a split second. She followed his gaze. Paul McIntyre and Senator Hoffman, a white-haired giant, were talking to another man who looked vaguely familiar to Alex. The man stood up and put on a thin smile when he saw Sergio.

“Ah, good evening, Sergio.”

“Good evening, Mayor Kostidis,” Sergio responded smoothly.

Of course! That was Nicholas Kostidis, the mayor of New York City, who was incredibly popular but controversial. She had seen his distinctive face often enough on television and in the newspapers. Before he became mayor, he made a name for himself as a district attorney who prosecuted many investment bankers and who also earned a reputation for being America’s most successful Mafia hunter. Alex studied him with curiosity. He was about the same age as Sergio, yet he wasn’t as good-looking in a classic sense. He would have seemed almost insignificant at first sight—compared to the imposing appearance of Senator Hoffman, Paul McIntyre, and the handsome Sergio Vitali—if not for the forceful intensity of his fiery, almost-black eyes that impressed and unsettled Alex. Kostidis’s posture exuded self-confidence and power. Sergio and the mayor sized each other up with cold looks. Alex could almost physically feel the tension between the two men, who were quite similar, despite their completely different appearances.

“Alex,” Sergio finally said, “have you met our esteemed mayor, Nick Kostidis?”

Kostidis turned his gaze toward her. His eyes, both cool and burning, hypnotized her.

“No, I haven’t.” She returned his gaze with a smile. “My name is Alex Sontheim. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Sergio raised his eyebrows mockingly as she spoke. Kostidis’s face showed skeptical interest as he extended his hand and held hers for a moment.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said politely, leaning closer to her. “It’s always nice to see a new face among the all too familiar crowd.”

Sergio interrupted before she could respond.

“I hear that you managed to bring the Zuckerman case up to the investigation committee,” he said casually.

“Oh, yes!” Kostidis smiled, letting go of Alex’s hand. “It took a lot of effort to convince them, but I think that it’ll be worth it.”

“I highly doubt it, but I wish you the best of luck,” Sergio replied, also smiling. Alex looked back and forth between them in confusion. Pure hatred was boiling beneath their politeness.

The ferocity and fearlessness in Kostidis’s eyes contradicted his friendly tone of voice.

“Thank you,” he said, “but in my experience luck won’t save you when you dive into a pool of sharks. In any case, I wish you a pleasant evening. Enjoy yourself. Miss Sontheim, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Alex simply nodded. Kostidis patted Paul McIntyre on his shoulder and moved on.

“Asshole,” Sergio growled once the mayor was out of earshot. He pulled Alex’s chair closer so she could sit down. She wasn’t quite sure whether or not she liked Nick Kostidis, but he was an extraordinary man in any case. This is what she told Sergio after they sat down at the table again. Sergio looked at her with a mysterious expression in his eyes.

“Nicholas Kostidis is the plague,” he said in a cold voice. Alex looked at him in astonishment. “He is a power-hungry, ruthless fanatic who is obsessed with the idea of turning this city into a children’s playground.”

“But safety and a lower crime rate are good things.” Alex, who’d heard about the mayor’s no-tolerance policy for combating crime, objected innocently. Sergio gave her a piercing look for a moment and then laughed.

“They certainly are.”

“Kostidis is a demagogue and an agitator,” Vincent Levy noted after ensuring that no one else was listening to him. “He’s dangerous because he doesn’t accept anything but his own truth. He is so popular with ordinary people because his truth is so simplistic.”

He lowered his voice.

“He has turned this city into a police state and—”

“Kostidis can do whatever he wants,” Sergio interrupted him, casually waving at a waiter, who immediately refilled their glasses. “Even with his tailored suit and silk tie he’s nothing but a pathetic little Greek from Bed-Stuy, with a bark that’s louder than his bite.”

Both men laughed disdainfully.

“What investigation committee was he talking about?” Alex inquired.

“It’s Kostidis’s new obsession,” Sergio said dismissively. “He’s been after me for years. He keeps trying to intimidate my employees, hoping that someone will reveal a dark secret in my past and serve it to him on a silver platter. His hatred of anyone who has an Italian name is pathological. Maybe he was beaten up by an Italian bully as a child.”

He laughed carelessly and raised his glass.

“Here’s to our mayor and his incredible ambition, which will someday do him in.”

Alex saw the cold sparkle in Sergio’s eyes, but she preferred to keep silent. There was no reason for her to side with Kostidis.

A half hour later, she excused herself. She smiled as the motion of the crowd ushered her through to the foyer; she had almost forgotten about her encounter with the mayor. It was a great pleasure for her to belong among these privileged people who don’t think twice about spending more money on a dinner than an average worker earned in half a year. She wandered around the long corridors of the Plaza for a while before she realized she was lost. She found herself in front of the entrance to the kitchen, turned around, and almost collided with two men who were moving quickly toward a door with a sign that read Personnel Only. To her surprise, Alex spotted Nick Kostidis. It seemed that the mayor was trying to leave the hotel through the back door.

“Oh!” Kostidis smiled once he recognized her. “Did you plan on inspecting the kitchen, Miss Sontheim?”

He remembered her name! The other man’s cell phone started ringing, so he walked a little further away to take the call.

“No, I… I’m just a little lost,” she replied. Kostidis was only slightly taller than Alex. She couldn’t stop staring at his dark eyes. He had unusually long and thick eyelashes for a man.

“You’re not from New York, right?” he asked.

“No, I’m from Germany. But I’ve lived here for twelve years.”

“Germany!” Kostidis gave her a friendly smile. “The land of poets and thinkers! What brought you here of all places?”

“My career,” Alex responded.

“Do you work here?” He raised his eyebrows.

“What did you think?” She gave him a mocking look. “I’m not a rich heiress. I was with Morgan Stanley for six years, and now I work at LMI.”

“Aha. Banking. The big money.” Kostidis laughed, but his eyes remained serious and inquiring.

“I like my job.” Alex suddenly felt the need to justify herself. “I like this city, too. New York is so alive.”

“Yes, indeed it is.” Kostidis nodded. “My parents came from Greece, but I was born and raised here and never had the desire to live anywhere else. I spent some time in Washington DC for professional reasons, but I felt like I was in exile there. For me, there’s just New York. I love this city despite all of its shortcomings. And I put all my energy into making New York a more beautiful and livable place.”

Alex stared at Nick Kostidis. She was amazed at his sincere excitement and passion. He gestured with his hands when speaking, and his lively mannerisms captivated audiences. She remembered again that Levy had called him a demagogue and thought about Sergio’s contemptuous words. Now that she had met Kostidis in person, she was no longer surprised at how he had won the mayoral elections with such an overwhelming majority. He had an almost magical magnetism and the rare talent of making a person feel like the most important human being in the world. The people of New York loved and worshipped him because his words were followed by actions. He had done more for public safety and improving the quality of life than his predecessors had accomplished in ten years.

“Nick?”

The young man with the thin blond hair and the smug look on his face had finished his phone call and was coming toward them. He eyed Alex with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“Are you coming, Nick? We have to go.”

“I’m coming,” Kostidis said, without averting his penetrating stare from Alex. “I’ll catch up with you, Ray.”

“Okay.” The man obeyed reluctantly.

“My babysitter.” Kostidis smiled regretfully. “One appointment chases the next, and Mr. Howard makes sure that I show up everywhere on time and stay long enough. I don’t envy him.”

He extended his hand to Alex.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Sontheim.”

“Yes, I… I think so too,” she stuttered and sensed to her chagrin that her cheeks were turning red like a schoolgirl’s.

“Allow me to give you some advice, even though we hardly know each other.” Kostidis leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “Be careful with your choice of friends. Though it may be exciting, swimming with sharks is dangerous. Unless you are a shark yourself, which I don’t believe.”

He let go of her hand and smiled again.

“By the way, you’ll find the restrooms by going downstairs from the foyer.” He winked at her one more time before opening the door and disappearing. Alex was stunned. She dealt with important and influential people on a daily basis and had long stopped being easily impressed by them, but Nicholas Kostidis just managed to do exactly that.

Sergio Vitali entered the warehouse at the Brooklyn docks. The sign above the entrance door said Ficchiavelli & Sons—Italian Wine and Food Company. The last thing he wanted was another pointless discussion with his wayward youngest son, but Cesare had screwed up big time once again. Nelson had bailed Cesare out of jail that morning, and Sergio ordered him to bring the boy to Brooklyn. The offices, warehouses, cold-storage rooms, and loading ramps were deserted on this Saturday morning. There were three men waiting for Sergio in the front office. He greeted Silvio Bacchiocchi and Luca di Varese with a nod and scrutinized his youngest son, who looked back with a mixture of defiance and fear. He remained seated with crossed arms while Silvio and Luca stood up. Cesare was twenty-one, a handsome young man with the same blue eyes and sensual mouth as his father, but unfortunately, he didn’t have the slightest inclination toward any kind of work. In contrast to his older brothers, Massimo and Domenico—who both graduated from high school and college with determination and now worked for their father’s company—Cesare wasn’t particularly bright. Besides that, he had an unpredictable temper that got him into trouble. Sergio was often forced to use his connections to help Cesare. Over the years, he’d donated large sums of money to seven different schools in hopes his son would at least manage a high-school diploma, but all his efforts were in vain.

“Hello, Cesare,” Sergio said. He was not in the mood to deal with this spoiled brat.

“Hi, Papa,” Cesare responded.

“Stand up when I talk to you.”

Cesare raised his nose and remained seated. Sergio’s expression turned as cold as ice. His cheek muscles tensed. Silvio Bacchiocchi was particularly familiar with this expression and he feared it. Silvio was in his late forties, blond and blue-eyed like so many of his Northern Italian ancestors, and had a tendency to gain weight. He had worked for Sergio for twenty-five years. Thanks to Sergio, he’d become a wealthy man, and he showed his gratitude with unconditional loyalty. No one who knew the friendly and constantly cheerful Silvio would have thought it possible that he managed his boss’s business fearlessly and with a iron fist, stopping at nothing.

“Come on, stand up when your father talks to you,” he said to Cesare, who obeyed reluctantly. Sergio looked at his son and noticed his runny nose and the thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“You’re using that goddamn stuff again, aren’t you?” he asked. Cesare rubbed his hands nervously and wiped them on his jeans while evading his father’s gaze.

“Answer me right now!”

“Sometimes. But not much.”

That was a lie. Sergio had seen enough cokeheads in his life to recognize the tell-tale signs of abuse. He wasn’t even surprised. Behind his loud mouth and his brutality, Cesare was a weak person.

“You got yourself arrested, you idiot! Why didn’t you run away?” Sergio was enraged at his stupidity. “You actually still don’t get it? Your last name is Vitali. You know what that means. Why didn’t you throw the stuff away once the cops showed up? The press will jump on this, and once Kostidis gets wind of it, no one will be able to help you. You’re such an idiot, Cesare!”

There was complete silence in the small office. Cesare’s dumb, confused grin made Sergio even more furious. Kostidis had been after Sergio for years and was only waiting for a weakness, the slightest mistake, or a moment of foolishness—something like this—in order to strike. Sergio knew all too well that Cesare’s mindless behavior could shake his well-established power structure. When it came to assault, the cops sometimes turned a blind eye, but dealing drugs was a crime they addressed with full force. As a result of the fanatic mayor’s tough policies, drug dealing was almost considered worse than murder, and even small-time crack dealers from the Bronx or East Harlem were severely punished.

“Silvio will get a lawyer for you,” Sergio said to his son, “one who has no ties to us. Then we will see what he can do for you. If the cops dig in their heels, then unfortunately there’s nothing that I can do.”

“What does that mean?” Cesare’s grin vanished.

“That you’ll go to the slammer for a while.” Sergio stood up. It was pointless to talk to the boy any longer. He turned away.

“Hey!” Cesare grabbed his father’s shoulder. He quickly turned around as if electrified and pushed his son away. The disgust in Sergio’s eyes made Cesare back off. He had never seen his father so furious.

“Papa,” he began, “you can’t let me—”

“I’ve given you every conceivable chance,” Sergio said, trying hard to keep his composure. “I hoped that you’d grow up one day and understand what life is all about. But instead you get into fights like a child, snort cocaine. You drink your life away. You’re getting dumber by the minute. I despise stupidity. It’s the worst thing on earth.”

Cesare’s face turned red, and he clenched his fists. His father was the only person on this planet he feared. But he hated him to the same degree.

“Don’t act like you’re a saint!” Cesare yelled at him. “Do you think I don’t know how much money you make with this stuff? You don’t give a crap!”

“Correct,” Sergio said, looking at him coldly, “but I’ve never used it myself, and I have definitely never let myself be caught with drugs by the police. That’s the difference.”

“What am I supposed to do now? I’m your son! You have to help me!” Sheer panic shone in Cesare’s eyes. He’d been dead certain that his father only had to make some phone calls to straighten things out.

“I’ve come to the painful conclusion that all of my efforts to make a sensible human being out of you are a waste of time.” Sergio’s voice was gruff with contempt. “You don’t even consider for a second that you have endangered all of us. I don’t feel like rescuing you anymore. All that I have ever received from you in return was ingratitude. If you don’t want to follow my rules, then don’t expect me to help you.”

The corner of Cesare’s mouth twitched nervously. He was freezing and sweating at the same time.

“When they send me to prison,” he said, giving his father an anxious glance, “and ask me about you, then I’ll tell them everything I know.”

Sergio’s expression turned to ice. Silvio and Luca exchanged a troubled glance. That was the worst thing he could possibly have said. Cesare suddenly realized that he had made a huge mistake. His last remnant of confidence fell away, and tears sprang into his eyes.

“Papa!” he cried. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But you just did.”

“I would never do anything to hurt you!”

“That’s not possible.” Sergio grimaced. He smiled contemptuously. “You have never cared for anything but women, drugs, and fistfights. Just keep on like that.”

“Papa!” Cesare whined. He stretched out his hands. “I’ll never take drugs again, I swear to you! Please, don’t go! I’m your son!”

“Unfortunately, you are. But I have to leave. I have appointments.” Sergio looked at his watch. “Luca, you come to the city with me. I still need to discuss something with you.”

Sergio scowled at his son.

“You’ve failed to understand my most important rule, Cesare.”

“Rule? What do you mean?” Cesare nervously looked back and forth between his father and the other two men, who were standing next to him with blank faces.

“Don’t shit where you eat.”

His father’s uncharacteristic outburst of vulgarity made Cesare wince.

“Keep me posted, Silvio,” Sergio said and left the room accompanied by Luca. Cesare sank down in his chair and began sobbing.

Luca di Varese sat down next to his boss in the back of the limousine. He sensed what Sergio wanted to talk to him about. Luca was a silent and slender man, thirty-eight years old. He came from the South Bronx and was orphaned at the age of four when his parents died in a building fire. His mother was the cousin of Sergio’s wife Constanzia. Sergio had gotten to know the child and noticed his intelligence. He sent Luca to a good school, paid for his college degree in business administration, and made him the CEO of the Crown Regal Corporation at the tender age of twenty-six. This corporation managed all of the hotels and casinos that Sergio owned throughout the country, but the illegal part of his business was also embedded in it. Luca di Varese supervised illegal gambling, prostitution, and drug dealing for his boss, as well as laundering the funds that came from these lines of business.

“This boy is turning into a serious threat,” Sergio said after a while, shaking his head pensively. “He can’t stay in the city under any circumstances.”

“You really won’t help him?” Luca asked.

“Of course I will,” Sergio sighed. “I hope that I can straighten out this matter by the end of today. As soon as the charges against him are dropped, he must get out of here for a while. I’ve thought about Europe.”

“He could work for Barandetti in Napoli,” Luca suggested, “not for us, of course, but in fish wholesale or his warehouse. Drive around a forklift. Things like that.”

“Call Michele. If he doesn’t have anything for him, try Stefano Piesini in Verona. It wouldn’t hurt Cesare to spend a summer working in a vineyard.”

Luca nodded. They sat silently in the back of the limousine.

“However, I doubt that he’ll stay in Europe for the whole summer.” Sergio’s voice had a gloomy undertone. “His mother will take him in again. As usual.”

He turned his head toward Luca and looked at him sternly.

“I will say this only once and only to you, Luca”—his voice was quiet—“but if the situation arises, I expect that you will not hesitate, not for one second.”

Luca looked at his boss without flinching.

“I don’t care whether he is my son or not. I will sacrifice him before he causes me serious trouble with his stupidity. Do you understand that?”

Luca nodded.

“Will you promise to take care of this personally?”

Luca di Varese’s face didn’t reveal what he thought about his boss’s decision. He didn’t ask any questions or try to put in a good word for Cesare. Luca’s loyalty was unconditional, devoid of criticism.

“I promise, boss.”

Alex was drenched through to the skin when she returned home with her groceries late that afternoon. She placed the four grocery bags on the kitchen table and transferred their contents to the fridge. It was totally empty, as usual. Sergio had actually planned to spend the day with her, but then another appointment had gotten in the way and he had someone drive her home at nine thirty. Whenever Alex came from his Park Avenue apartment to her place in Greenwich Village, she felt like Cinderella, and she was annoyed that she didn’t have time to look for a nicer place. She lit a cigarette and thought about the past evening. She grinned as she remembered the many admiring and curious looks. People were curious because Sergio Vitali only had eyes for her the entire evening. Half of New York was surely speculating about who she was and what kind of relationship she had with Sergio. It was simply unbelievable how far she had made it! She felt like she was walking on air. The ringing of her cell phone startled her out of her thoughts.

“Good afternoon.” It was Zack, and he sounded smug. “Did you enjoy your excursion into the world of the rich and beautiful?”

“What do you mean by that?” Alex played dumb. How could Zack know where she’d been last night?

“Vince told me that you were with Vitali at the Plaza. He was somewhat…surprised.”

“I’m an adult. I can go out with whoever I want,” Alex responded more coldly than she had intended.

“Of course.” Zack laughed in a suggestive manner. “So do you fancy Vitali or just his connections?”

“That’s none of your business, Zack,” Alex snapped.

“It isn’t,” he admitted. “But now I understand why you keep brushing me off. Why would you waste your time with me if you’ve hit the jackpot?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Zack said in a spiteful tone. “Vitali fucks any woman he likes.”

“Are you mad because you don’t do it for me?”

“Nonsense,” Zack said with a laugh. “You’re not even my type.”

Alex’s laughter was forced. Zack was upset. Not because she consistently brushed off his overtures, but because she was in the process of passing him on her way up the social ladder. She’d spent the entire evening sitting at Vince Levy’s table at the Plaza and he had not. Maybe he was jealous about her success and her favorable position with LMI’s board. She realized she needed to deal with him very carefully in the future. He was an enigma, and it wasn’t good to have him as an enemy.

“Listen,” he said, “I actually wanted to talk to you about Micromax. I heard from a reliable source that they have serious management issues and that last quarter’s numbers were dressed up considerably. There are a couple of major film companies that are more than eager to get their hands on Micromax. This could turn out to be a good deal.”

Alex hesitated. Was Zack trying to meddle in her deals, or set out bait with this information?

“That sounds pretty interesting,” she answered. “Let’s talk about it on Monday. Okay?”

“Right.” Zack’s tone was no longer smug or upset. “And Alex, can I give you some advice?”

“What’s that?” Something inside of her went on the defensive.

He hesitated for a moment.

“Stay away from Vitali.”

Another warning! First Kostidis and now Zack. Why would he warn her about Sergio? Was he simply jealous, or was she doing him an injustice?

“Thanks, Zack,” she said, “you don’t have to worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope so. See you on Monday.”

Nelson van Mieren sat sweating under an umbrella on one of the terraces at Sergio’s luxurious villa on his private Cinnamon Island, part of the British Virgin Islands. He was disgruntled as he watched his boss and this Alex Sontheim walk up from the bay to the villa holding hands. They’d been cruising in Sergio’s snow-white, one-hundred-foot yacht Stella Maris—on which they’d come down here six days ago. Meanwhile, Nelson had been sitting around uselessly. Sergio had called him yesterday morning in New York and asked him to come here, although he very well knew that Nelson hated the climate and the entire island.

Nelson flew to Tortola and took a helicopter to the island, only to be the third wheel all night. With growing unease, he observed that Sergio had changed. Even a blind man could see how crazy he was about this blonde bitch. Nelson hoped that he could leave that same evening, but Sergio didn’t appear to be in a rush to tell him why he wanted to speak with him so urgently. It was almost unbearable for Nelson to watch Sergio in action. When Sergio jumped into the pool with this broad after dinner, playing around and making out like a teenager, Nelson retreated.

Nelson had never seen Sergio behave so childishly in all the forty years they’d been friends, and he felt something almost like jealousy. The two met at an all-boys Catholic boarding school in Philadelphia, where they were sent at the age of six. Nelson van Mieren was much more than a simple lawyer. He was well versed in both commercial and criminal law, and he had been Sergio’s right-hand man for almost thirty years. They had built an enormous empire together.

Nelson didn’t like Alex Sontheim, and he was less and less pleased with how she had turned Sergio’s head. There was no doubt that she was exceptionally beautiful and very intelligent, yet that was exactly what worried him. It would have been different if she were a dumb bimbo, but intelligent women were dangerous. While the two of them enjoyed their day together, Nelson came to the conclusion that he needed to put a stop to Alex’s influence. He couldn’t allow Sergio to listen to people other than him, especially not a woman.

Alex finally disappeared into the house. Sergio poured himself a whiskey and joined Nelson on the terrace. He wore a relaxed smile and looked years younger in shorts and a T-shirt. They talked for a while before Nelson cut to the chase and asked Sergio why he had called him here.

“I’d like to ask you for your opinion in a personal matter,” Sergio responded. Nelson was in a state of red alert.

“I have never felt so content in my life.” Sergio leaned back and stretched out his legs. “Since I met Alex, I feel like I’m thirty again. She’s incredibly good for me.”

“Well, well,” Nelson replied.

Sergio kept smiling and swirled the ice cubes in his glass. “What do you think of her?”

The question sounded casual, but Nelson was instantly aware how critically important it was for him to give the correct answer. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. The tropical temperatures put a strain on his circulation.

“I would appreciate hearing your honest opinion,” Sergio said.

Nelson hesitated.

“She’s an attractive woman,” he answered elusively.

“Yes, indeed, she is”—Sergio nodded, somewhat impatiently—“but there are many other things that I love about her. I’m thinking about divorcing Constanzia.”

“You can’t be serious!” Nelson stared at his friend in disbelief. “You mean that you want to marry that girl?”

“I’ve never met a woman like her before.” Sergio smiled dreamily. “She has her own will. She is successful. Just thinking about her makes my heart beat faster. This has never happened to me before. I’m fifty-six now, and I’ve realized that I don’t want to continue my life as it was before. Everything is much more fun with Alex.”

“Fun!” Nelson snorted derisively. Now he was seriously concerned. “You sound like an eighteen-year-old! I’ve never heard you talk like this. What has this woman done to you?”

He kept an eye on his friend. It wasn’t enough to bad-mouth Alex. He needed to instill some doubts about her in Sergio’s mind.

“What do you know about her, her origins, her motives? Does she like you, or is she only after your money, your power? What girl wouldn’t be thrilled to cruise on a hundred-foot yacht to the private island of one of America’s richest men?”

“Why do you say that?” Sergio straightened up and threw an indignant look at his lawyer. His smile had vanished, and a deep groove formed between his eyebrows.

Nelson answered carefully. “Because I want you to realize what you put on the line when you carelessly trust someone you hardly know.”

“I’ve never been careless!” Sergio replied vehemently.

“That’s why I’m even more surprised about what you just said.” Nelson observed his friend attentively. Sergio was usually very good at hiding any type of emotion, but at this moment Nelson could read his friend’s face like an open book. Sergio was dangerously serious about this woman.

After hesitating briefly, Sergio said, “Over the last few weeks I have given some thought to Alex assuming Shanahan’s role. She does an excellent job at LMI, and she’s clever and cold-blooded—”

“For God’s sake, Sergio!” Nelson interrupted him. “Think about what you’re saying!”

“What do you mean?”

“Sergio.” Nelson leaned forward, and his voice was insistent. “You know how risky this is. Please, think about it! How well do you know Alex? How much can you trust her? What will you do when she suddenly has scruples? We can’t afford another situation like we had with Shanahan.”

Sergio was silent for a moment. He also knew that Levy’s mistake with Shanahan had cost him a bundle and was not so easy to sweep under the rug.

“For as long as I’ve known you,” Nelson said as he laid his hand on his friend’s arm, “you have never let yourself be guided by personal emotions, and you’ve always done pretty well with that approach. Fine, you bang the girl, you like her. She’s definitely beautiful and clever, but that’s exactly what makes her dangerous. You have to watch out for clever women.”

Sergio grimaced. This wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“So you don’t like Alex?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter whether I like her or not,” Nelson countered. “Women have no place in our business. They are too unpredictable. And I think that Alex is especially unpredictable. Maybe it would make a difference if you weren’t involved with her. To be honest, I think that this is far too risky for you and for all of us.”

Sergio stared at his friend.

“You asked for my advice,” Nelson said coolly, “and here it is: keep her away from your business. It’s enough if she does her job well and Zack takes care of the rest.”

Sergio was silent. Emotion and reason fought a violent battle behind his impassive face. He stared off without saying a word. The only sound to be heard was the chirping of cicadas in the hibiscus below the terrace. Nelson hardly dared to breathe. Finally, Sergio released a depressed sigh.

“You’re probably right,” he said reluctantly, and Nelson had the feeling that he had just barely avoided a catastrophe. His trip down here suddenly seemed worth the exertion.

“Come on, don’t make such a face.” He sneaked a glance at his watch, trying to decide if he could catch a flight back to Tortola before Alex reappeared with a phony smile to invite him to stay another night. “Enjoy her company for few more days. But don’t let her wrap you around her finger. A little distance won’t hurt.”

Sergio nodded slowly.

“Thanks for your advice, Nelson,” he said convincingly. “I’m probably just getting old and sentimental.”

“Nonsense. Alex is a pretty girl. Keep her for the bedroom if you like.” Nelson heaved his corpulent body out of the rattan chair. “I’ll leave the two of you alone now. I have an appointment with Chester Milford to get to on Tortola about the terms for the new IBCs. I’ll see you in the city in a couple days.”

When Nelson left, Sergio poured himself a whiskey at the bar and gazed out over the emerald-green water. He had been hoping for a very different response from his friend. Maybe Nelson was right. But maybe not. Sergio had never asked for advice on his personal life before, but he also had never experienced such intense and confusing emotions.

Since their first meeting, Alex haunted his thoughts. For the first time, a woman had appeared in his dreams. Her initial standoffishness had driven him wild. Most women offered themselves as willing prey once they realized who he was, taking the thrill out of the chase. But Alex had kept him on tenterhooks for six long weeks. The combination of restraint and passion when their eyes met provided continuous fuel to the wildfire she set inside him. He courted her persistently, and their first night together proved that the wait was worthwhile. Sergio had been with many women, but his experience with Alex was beyond comparison. Their pent-up desire had discharged like thunder and lightning. They’d done things together that he—who was more old-fashioned—had never dreamed of and had even felt a prudish reluctance to try. They’d made passionate love through the night. They finally fell asleep, breathless and exhausted, as the sun was rising. Sergio knew he was in love. This made for an even harsher realization when he woke to discover she had simply left. She had done just as he always did—she’d slept with him and left, not asking if they would meet again. He was offended, but her resistance made him even crazier about her. For the first time in his life, Sergio couldn’t understand what was going on inside of him, but he determined that morning that he would possess this woman at all costs. In the weeks that followed, he was happier than ever before in his life. The days on the Stella Maris and Cinnamon Island confirmed his suspicion that Alex was the love of his life.

He had expected Nelson to validate his actions, to give him some type of blessing. But Nelson’s words had sobered him and instantly dissolved his euphoria. He suddenly felt like a sentimental fool who had been seduced by a woman. Angry, Sergio downed the whiskey in one gulp. Nelson was right. He needed to keep Alex at a distance.

May 1999

Alex and Mark sat on a bench enjoying a lunch of chicken sandwiches from Bandi’s Deli. They were soaking in the warm sun at Battery Park, just like many other employees from the nearby financial district. Alex stretched out her legs, wiggled her toes in the comfortable sneakers that she had put on in place of elegant pumps, and watched a horde of tourists embark on one of the Circle Line ferries heading for to the Statue of Liberty.

“Mark, have you been to the Statue of Liberty?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered. “Three times.”

“I’ve never been,” Alex said. “What’s it like?”

“Well,” Mark said in between bites of his sandwich, “you have to wait in line forever because there’s only one elevator that holds a maximum of two people. Or you can squeeze up the narrow stairwell with the crowd and have a fantastic view of the butt ahead of as you climb step by step for about an hour.”

“My God,” Alex said, dismissing the idea, “that’s settled.”

“My grandmother arrived in America on a ship from Europe in 1943. She’s Jewish,” Mark said. “When she first saw Lady Liberty, she realized that she had escaped the Nazis, the war, and the bombed-out cities, and that she was finally free. She told me and my brothers about it so many times that I had to see it for myself.”

Alex swallowed the cynical remark at the tip of her tongue when she sensed Mark’s honest emotion. And she had assumed he was an unemotional and somewhat boring person!

“The Statute of Liberty is a symbol of our democracy,” he continued, “and whenever I see her, I feel a sense of humility and gratitude that I am able to live here and not in Africa or, say, Russia.”

“You’re a real philosopher,” Alex replied, teasing him. He responded to her sarcasm with a skeptical look.

“Haven’t you ever thanked God that you have so much good fortune in your life? That you are healthy, smart, good-looking, and managed to take advantage of your opportunities?”

Alex suddenly felt uncomfortable. She crumpled the sandwich wrapper and tossed it into a trash can next to the bench. What did God have to do with her success? She was the one who worked so hard and sacrificed so much!

She tried to lighten the tone of the conversation with a joke. “What, are you a Jehovah’s Witness or something? A Scientologist?”

“No,” Mark countered seriously, “I’m Jewish.”

“That was supposed to be a joke.” Alex grimaced.

“I don’t joke around about God or faith.”

She looked at him and shrugged, but his comment called to mind the values that her strict Catholic parents had instilled in her. She hadn’t set foot in a church for years, though there were more than twenty-five hundred churches in New York. Suddenly she had a guilty conscience. She glanced at her watch, brushing off feelings of embarrassment.

“Lunch is over,” she said. “Duty calls!”

“I hope I didn’t upset you,” Mark said as he straightened his tie. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Forget it,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They walked back through the park without exchanging a word. A man walking by stopped in his tracks.

“Mark? Is that you?”

They turned around. Alex had never seen this man before. He was in his midthirties, with tan skin; he was wearing mirrored sunglasses. With his jeans, Knicks T-shirt, light-brown Timberlands, and a backpack over his shoulder, he looked like a tourist.

“Oliver?” Mark asked in disbelief. When the man nodded, both of them laughed and hugged each other heartily.

“Alex,” Mark said, “may I introduce an old friend of mine, Oliver Skerritt? We were law school roommates at Harvard. Ollie, this is my boss, Alex Sontheim.”

“Hi, Alex.” Oliver took off his sunglasses and reached out his hand with a smile. He had a nice face, with a thin goatee. He exuded a casual confidence.

Alex responded with a smile. She instinctively felt his gray eyes judging her and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

“How long have you been back in the city?” Mark inquired.

“Three weeks,” Oliver replied, grinning. “There’s nothing worse than working where other people go for vacation.”

“Where were you?” Alex inquired politely.

“The Caymans.” Oliver grimaced. “On business, unfortunately. Luckily, I had the chance to do a bit of diving.”

“Oliver works for the Financial Times,” Mark explained.

“Really?” Alex was surprised. “So what were you doing in the Caribbean?”

“A piece about offshore companies,” he said vaguely. “I’m somewhat familiar with the subject.”

“That’s a gross understatement,” Mark interjected. “Oliver was with Simon, Weinstein & Cooper. He specialized in corporate law. After that, he was a fund manager at Trelawney & Hobbs and managed speculative and high-risk hedge funds.”

Alex looked at the man with renewed interest.

“Why are you working for a newspaper now?” she asked. Oliver smiled, but his eyes remained serious.

“I was simply tired of my job,” he replied. “You are drilled to be a ruthless and unscrupulous machine, and it’s all about more money and financial success. I wanted to preserve a shred of humanity for myself. I like the whole business much better from the outside, and I finally don’t have to keep my mouth shut.”

“Did you get fired?” Alex asked directly.

A mocking look sudden flashed in his gray eyes.

“No.” There was a hint of amusement on his face. “I simply quit, bought a house on Martha’s Vineyard, a loft in the Village, and turned my hobby into my profession.”

Alex couldn’t understand how someone would trade a position at Trelawney & Hobbs—the world’s largest investment company—for a job at a newspaper, and she suspected that he had been fired after all. “And what’s your hobby?”

“Uncovering scandals,” Oliver said with a smile, “and making them public.”

Oliver and Alex sized each other up disdainfully.

“So you’re a whistle-blower,” she declared, and he became serious.

“If necessary, I also do that,” he said, “and this is why I advised Mark to quit his job at LMI as soon as possible.”

“Oliver,” Mark started to say, “how could you say that in front of my boss—”

“It’s okay, Mark.” Alex stared firmly at Oliver. “Can you explain to me why?”

“I’d give you the same advice,” he answered. “You still have a good, clean reputation in the industry, but that could change very soon if you keep working at that place. I’ve uncovered some pretty sensitive details that are directly tied to LMI. And this isn’t about market manipulation or tax evasion, but substantial fraud and at least one life lost.”

“Is that so?”

“Have you ever heard the name Gilbert Shanahan? No? Just ask Mark about him.”

Mark’s face looked like he would prefer the earth to open up and swallow him.

“Imagine,” Alex said, growing impatient, “that I’m not interested one bit in this Gilbert. I have a well-paid, fascinating job, and I have worked very hard to get to where I am today.”

Oliver gave her a penetrating look.

“A couple of years ago I had the same reaction,” he said. “It hurts to admit that you are just a cog in the wheel of a giant criminal machine.”

“Please listen closely, Mr. Skerritt,” Alex interrupted Oliver harshly. “You could get into serious trouble if you keep making insinuations that you’ll be hard pressed to prove.”

“Shanahan was targeted by the SEC,” Oliver replied, unmoved, “because he moved funds of unknown origin to various offshore tax havens. He was on his way to an SEC hearing when he was run over by a stolen truck with stolen license plates. The truck was found a few weeks later burned out in a parking lot in Vermont. Shanahan’s widow claimed that her husband acted under orders of LMI’s management, which they obviously vehemently deny. At the time, Levy assured the police that Shanahan was not acting in a professional capacity.”

“Stop it!” Alex hissed. “I have no interest whatsoever in your absurd conspiracy theories. Let’s go, Mark. Our lunch break is long over, and we have a lot of work waiting for us. Have a nice day, Mr. Skerritt.”

She turned on her heel and marched off, not deigning to give Oliver Skerritt another look. Mark only caught up with her at the park’s exit.

“Alex, I… I’m so sorry.” He was out of breath. Alex stopped abruptly and looked at her employee.

“I don’t want to hear another word about this,” she said emphatically. “LMI is paying us both handsomely, so we owe them our loyalty. If you happen to disagree with me, I suggest that you take your friend’s advice and hand in your notice. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes.” Mark nodded and lowered his head.

Alex started walking again. Why did Skerritt’s words get to her? She should have just brushed them off with a smile and a shrug. But suddenly there was this tiny, nagging doubt planted deep inside her, a whispered warning that called to mind her private conversation with Levy. At the time, she’d accepted the bonus and decided to have it paid in stock options instead of cash. And she’d asked herself ever since how a serious investment bank could offer a hundred and fifty thousand dollars of unaccounted money. Why did Zack fly to the Bahamas, the Virgin Islands, or Grand Cayman every few weeks? Damn it! A chill overtook her, but then she chased off these gloomy thoughts. She didn’t want to know anything about it. She wanted to do her job without being disturbed. Forget Oliver Skerritt!

It was difficult for Mark to focus on his work for the rest of the day. The encounter with Oliver at Battery Park was by no means a coincidence. He had carefully arranged it. Over the past weeks, his doubt had grown about the legality of the deals that he was working on. During his research for the current Micromax deal—which appeared to be unspectacular at first—Mark had discovered that Finley Desmond, the majority shareholder of the Los Angeles-based Ventura Film Corporation who wanted to acquire Micromax, already owned a large equity stake in Micromax by means of a dubious Canadian company. This Canadian company was in turn owned by a familiar player, namely SeViCo Holdings, which was owned by Sunset Properties. This was a rather strange coincidence; it almost looked like money laundering. Mark didn’t like the thought of working for a company that was involved in shady business. It was becoming clear to him that something wasn’t quite kosher at LMI.

When he told Oliver about his suspicions, Oliver shared many more details with him. He suspected that Alex knew about everything. Mark refused to believe him, but he was deeply disappointed that Alex wouldn’t even listen to Oliver.

He vividly remembered how Gilbert Shanahan had changed in the weeks preceding his death. Before joining LMI, he was the top equities trader at Cantor and owned multiple Ferraris and a mansion on Long Island. Before he died, this pompous man had turned into a bundle of nerves, a shadow with bloodshot eyes who twitched every time the telephone rang. He couldn’t handle the pressure that he was under anymore. Mark saw Shanahan every day and observed his growing panic, expecting him to have a breakdown. Was Shanahan really involved in illegal activities on his own account? Or should he believe Oliver’s version—that Levy used Shanahan and ultimately sacrificed him when it seemed the shady wheeling and dealing might blow up?

Was Alex possibly involved in the same business as Shanahan? Mark stared at the wall. He admired his boss. It wasn’t as easy as it had been ten years ago to find a well-paying job if you didn’t specialize in a particular field. These two factors had prevented him from following his friend’s advice. But what if Alex really did know about the dubious connections between her clients and—

The ringing of the telephone pulled him out of his thoughts. It was Alex. She was waiting for the LMI profit forecasts to finance the Micromax deal for Ventura. Mark grabbed his files and left for Alex’s office. He would continue to observe everything. That was all that he could do.

May 17, 1999

Alex was dead tired as she rode the subway home. Earlier that day, she had finally closed a major deal she had been working on around the clock for the past week. Yet, she left the party with her team at Luna Luna after just one drink. She didn’t feel like celebrating. She felt simultaneously burned-out and electrified. The stress didn’t bother her, but the article in the Post’s gossip column someone had placed on her desk during lunch did. Alex boiled with rage after reading it. Sergio had attended a charity golf tournament last weekend on Long Island with supermodel Farideh Azzaeli on his arm for the third event in a row. Sergio had asked her to make time for him, which she did. She even turned down two other invitations so she could be with him. But he stood her up and she was left at home waiting for his call. Since their return from Cinnamon Island, Sergio had completely changed his behavior toward her. Before the trip, he had sometimes called her three times a day just to say hello, but since their return he called only once in a while to get together for sex. Alex couldn’t understand what changed. She was hurt, and she was incredibly angry that she—who was so competent and powerful in her job—had lost control of the situation and let a man humiliate her like this.

Alex climbed the subway stairs at the corner of Broadway and Eighth Street and picked up some pasta from an Italian restaurant and a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino, stubbornly ignoring the repeated humming of her cell phone as she made her way home. When she finally checked, she saw that it was Sergio. She had no desire whatsoever to talk to him. She was well above playing second fiddle to a starved, cow-eyed model. She turned at the corner and saw the bicyclist too late. He tried to brake, but the front wheel and handlebars slammed into her hip and elbow. The bag with the pasta and the bottle of wine slid from her hands.

“Damn it!” she yelled at the bicyclist, who almost crashed. “Open your eyes!”

“You could watch where you’re going, lady!”

This voice sounded familiar to Alex, and she took a closer look. After a few seconds, she recognized Oliver Skerritt.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Are you chasing after another conspiracy? Why are you in such a rush?”

Then he recognized her and grinned.

“What a coincidence,” he said. “Honestly, I was just grabbing some food at Giovanni’s. I’m sorry.”

“You just ruined my dinner.”

Alex bent down to pick up the broken glass.

“Wait, let me help you.”

“No thanks, I’ve got it. Ouch!” Alex cursed as she cut her finger. Her emotions overcame her: she was mad at Sergio and feeling tired and hungry. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Here.” Oliver handed her a clean tissue, which she wrapped around her bleeding finger as they both continued picking up the remnants of her dinner.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I can’t stand to see girls cry.” He looked up and smiled, his face level with hers. She realized that he had beautiful eyes. His hair was a little shorter than it was a few weeks ago, and looking closely, she found him quite attractive.

“I’m not crying anymore,” she replied, “but now I have to find myself something to eat.”

“How about a plate of tagliatelle al salmone over at Giovanni’s?” Oliver straightened up. “As compensation for damages, so to speak.”

Alex looked at him suspiciously for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t feel like sitting in her apartment alone hoping Sergio might possibly appear at her door because she wouldn’t answer the telephone.

“I’m really hungry,” she said, “but I’m in no mood for an evening of abstruse conspiracy theories.”

Oliver looked at her bemusedly and then adopted a solemn expression.

“I swear,” he said, raising his hand as if making a pledge, “that I will not utter a single word about LMI or Gilbert Shanahan.”

“Okay.” Alex had to smile reluctantly. “It’s a deal. But if you mention them even once, I’ll get up and leave on the spot.”

“I would never risk such a thing,” Oliver responded and picked up his bike. “I’m a journalist in my heart and soul, but I’m not an idiot.”

He really wasn’t. He was downright entertaining and had a good sense of humor. Over big bowls of pasta and a bottle of Chianti, he told her about his childhood in Maine, where his father owned a few fish trawlers, and his student days at Harvard and in Europe. He had lived and worked in Paris, London, Frankfurt, and Rome over the course of his career. He and Alex got to talking about Frankfurt, ordered a second bottle of Chianti, and then a third. Alex’s cell phone was turned off, and she was surprised how quickly the time passed. It was after midnight when they left the restaurant. Oliver had kept his promise and not said a word about LMI or Shanahan. Alex struggled to walk in a straight line and stumbled over the curb. Oliver let go of his bike just in time to grab hold of her.

“Oops,” she mumbled. “I think I had a little too much to drink.”

His embrace felt good. They stared into each other’s eyes and before she knew what was happening, he leaned forward and kissed her. She could not contain the flash of lust that coursed through her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with passion. They broke apart and shared a moment of breathless eye contact. The second kiss was longer and more passionate than the first. She liked Oliver. Very much. Sergio had cheated on her and stood her up with some model. Ha! In less than a half hour since discovering his infidelity, she’d gotten back at him.

June 14, 1999

Sergio Vitali looked silently at the photos spread on his desk. He flipped through them slowly and was annoyed to notice his hands shaking.

“Who is this guy?” he asked, trying to control his voice.

“His name is Oliver Skerritt,” Silvio Bacchiocchi responded. “He’s a freelance journalist for the Financial Times and he lives on Barrow Street in the Village.”

A wave of jealousy washed over Sergio. For days now, he had been trying to reach Alex to no avail. Her secretary kept making excuses, and his voice mails remained unanswered. So he had sent Silvio to follow her, and now he had to face the fact that she was running around hand in hand with another guy! He had done what Nelson suggested. With this nitwit Farideh Azzaeli, he had been trying prove to Alex that he didn’t need her, even if it was terribly difficult for him to do so because his longing for Alex almost drove him crazy. Sergio was annoyed by his obsession; he couldn’t bear the thought that she was seeing another man.

“How often does she see him?” he asked.

“Three times last week,” Silvio said. “Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. They spent the entire weekend together. They went to Central Park, a couple of bars, the Washington Square Arch, and went shopping.”

“Did she also… stay overnight?”

“Er… yes.”

Sergio swept the photos off his desk and stood up. With a stony expression, he stared down over the city from his office window on the top floor of the VITAL Building. The thought that she may have talked to this guy about him, maybe even laughed about him, was eating away at Sergio. This humiliation was a defeat that he could hardly bear. “What do you want me to do?”

Kill the bastard, Sergio thought, but then he relaxed.

“Nothing,” he said without turning around. “Watch him and keep me posted.”

Silvio picked up the photos and left the office. Sergio sat down at his desk and buried his face in his hands. Nelson was so right about her! He had almost trusted Alex! He really thought that he meant something to her! Now, she was more interested in a miserable newspaper hack who rollerbladed in the park! For the first time he could remember, his private life consumed him to such a degree that he neglected his business—which made him even angrier. Alex had developed into a dangerous obsession.

Alex couldn’t get out of the annual charity event sponsored by LMI at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, though she considered every conceivable excuse. A personal invitation from Vincent Levy was an order. For a moment, she considered asking Oliver to join her so that he could get a closer look at these Wall Street sharks—whom he loved to observe and disparage—but then she decided against it. She really liked Oliver. He was funny, sensitive, and intelligent. She didn’t feel an unpleasant pressure to play any role with him. The last weekend—the third they’d spent together—might not have been as spectacular as the ones with Sergio, but it was much more relaxed and entertaining. She and Oliver went roller-blading in Central Park, visited the Frick, shopped at Zabar’s, and spent an entire afternoon people-watching in Washington Square Park. And the day built up into a great night together. There was no tense competition for dominance between them, no tactics, no acting as with Sergio. Sergio! He was the real reason Alex didn’t want to attend this event, but she couldn’t avoid him forever. For three weeks, she had consistently ignored his phone calls, voice mails, and the flowers that he sent to her office.

When she arrived at the Met, the tension was almost unbearable. Sergio was suddenly right in front of her. She had almost forgotten how it felt to be in his presence. He looked breathtakingly handsome. If she thought her time with Oliver would erase all her feelings for Sergio, then she was mistaken.

“Good evening, cara,” he said. The sound of his dark voice made her shiver. “I was hoping I’d see you tonight.”

“Hello, Sergio,” Alex replied with a tentative smile. “I hoped so, too.”

“You look stunning.” Sergio didn’t say a single word about how Alex had been obviously avoiding him. He pretended everything was just fine. They chatted for a while, just like distant acquaintances, until he finally posed the question that seemed to burn in his soul.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve been avoiding me the past few weeks?” He made it sound casual, taking two glasses of champagne from the passing waiter’s tray and handing one to Alex. She noticed that Zack was roaming near them, curiously watching from the corner of his eye.

“Why should I avoid you?” she asked.

“I was wondering the same thing.” He sipped his champagne and observed her closely.

“I’m very busy at work.” Alex lowered her voice. She knew Zack’s ears perked up. “And when I saw in the paper that you’d rather be accompanied by Farideh Azzaeli, I figured you were tired of me.”

He smiled, but his eyes were penetrating.

“Are you jealous?” he inquired.

“No, I’m not. I certainly know other men besides you.” She said this with a sense of malicious satisfaction as she watched the smile fade from his face. “I don’t need to be stood up. There was a time when I thought that you cared about me, but you obviously don’t. I don’t feel like playing games.”

Sergio raised his eyebrows.

“Games?”

“Exactly. What else would you call this? A relationship? First you call to tell me to keep my weekend open, and then I read in the newspaper that you’re screwing this skinny bitch!”

He didn’t like her vulgarity, but as usual, he hid every emotion behind his expressionless face.

“I didn’t have sex with that woman,” he said.

“Oh really?” Alex grimaced in disgust. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“But it’s true. And after all, you stood me up first.”

“I have a tough job,” Alex said, without averting her gaze from his blue eyes. “I work eighty hours every week, and I can’t always be available whenever you feel like it.”

“What do you expect from me?” Sergio asked.

Yes, what did she expect? Did she expect anything at all from him anymore? Alex suddenly lost interest in this childish trial of strength. She didn’t feel like arguing with him.

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s talk about it some other time. I had a long day.”

Sergio took a long and close look at her, and then he nodded.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “It would be nice of you to stop having someone else make excuses for you.”

Alex suddenly thought of Oliver, and she felt even more miserable. She had not even talked to him about Sergio. To her own surprise, she wished she was courageous enough to tell Sergio to leave her alone. Before he could say anything else, she pushed through the crowd toward the coat check.

Alex stood on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum and took a deep breath. She longed for Oliver. Suddenly, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed his number. But she got his voice mail. Disappointed, she put her phone back in her purse. She sat down on the steps with a sigh and lit a cigarette. She didn’t care if anyone saw her. After a while, she started to feel better. She flicked the cigarette butt and went looking for a taxi. She leaned on a telephone pole, taking in the mild night air, but no taxi passed.

She was just planning on returning to the museum to tell Sergio to forget about calling when a piercing scream startled Alex out of her thoughts. In the dim light of the streetlamp, she saw two men attacking a woman who had just left the museum. Without thinking, Alex jumped up, slipped her heels off her feet, and ran over to them. The woman was lying on the ground while one of the men pulled at her purse and the other—a scruffy white guy with rotten teeth—kicked her. Alex rammed her elbow with full force into the kicking man’s back. He fell, hitting his head against a wall. His buddy let go of the purse in surprise. Alex had finally found an outlet for her pent-up frustration. She took a swing and slammed her purse into the other guy’s face and then kicked him in the groin. This sent him to his knees with a gurgling groan. With sheer panic in her eyes, the woman crawled to the side.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked the woman.

The two men had run off.

“I…I think so,” the woman whispered. Her skirt had slipped up, and her knee was bleeding. She was in a state of shock, her purse pressed to her chest. Tears ran down her face. She was probably in her early forties and appeared very refined. Some passersby had stopped on the other side of the street, and two men ran over to them.

“Could you please call the police?” Alex shouted, leaning over the woman, whose entire body was trembling.

“My necklace,” the woman whispered and felt her neck. “They tore it off me.”

“It can’t be too far from here.” Alex stroked the woman’s arm to calm her. One of the passersby from the other side of the street found the necklace on the pavement. Seconds later, a police car came rushing up with the siren howling. Another appeared shortly thereafter. The police officers asked the woman how she was doing and what had happened.

“I was at a charity event in the Metropolitan Museum,” the woman said quietly. “I thought I could walk home from here. It’s only three blocks away.”

The woman, who was still holding firmly onto Alex’s hand, starting crying again.

“You’re lucky this lady came to your rescue.”

“I’m so grateful to you!” The woman wiped her tears, smudging her makeup with the back of her hand. “How can I possibly thank you?”

“Anyone would have done that,” Alex replied. “It’s okay.”

“Unfortunately, that’s anything but the norm,” one of the police officers said. He seemed impressed. “Most people quickly move on when they see someone in trouble. Besides, those guys could have been armed.”

“But they weren’t.” Alex looked at her watch. “Can you take this lady home? I have to pick up my shoes and go home.”

“Please!” The woman grasped Alex’s hand again. “Please come with me! I live on Park Avenue, not far from here. Our driver can take you home from there, so you don’t need a taxi.”

Alex hesitated. She didn’t want to be celebrated as the Great Rescuer. After the police took more information, and sent a squad car to track down the muggers, Alex was surprised to discover that she had rushed to the aid of world-famous opera singer Madeleine Ross-Downey. She decided to get into the police car after all, which took them to 1016 Park Avenue. Alex knew the area because Sergio’s apartment was in the building right next to the Downeys’. Park Avenue between Sixtieth and Eightieth Streets was the finest and most expensive area in the city. The rich and powerful lived in large, historic buildings that would better fit a gorgeous Paris boulevard. This elitist microcosm was shielded from the poverty and desperation of East Harlem, just a mile away. Security personnel and private bodyguards made sure that Park Avenue was just as secure as a small town. The doorman of 1016 was shocked when he saw the battered Mrs. Ross-Downey climb out of the police car. She was past the initial shock, and she assured the worried doorman that she was fine.

“Is it all right if I leave you here, Mrs. Ross-Downey?” Alex asked.

“Oh please, call me Madeleine.” The opera singer gave her an unsure smile. “And please, come upstairs for a moment. My husband wouldn’t forgive me if I failed to introduce him to the woman who rescued me.”

Alex was curious about the apartment and Madeleine’s husband, Trevor Downey. The papers called him “Manhattan’s Department Store King,” the heir of the department-store chain with the same name. The two of them rode up in the marble-clad elevator to the third floor. The doorman had called upstairs, so Trevor was waiting in the open apartment door. He embraced his wife in both shock and relief, and she started to cry once again.

When Madeleine regained her composure, she introduced Alex to her husband. Trevor Downey was in his mid-forties, and he had thin sandy hair and friendly brown eyes. They went into one of the salons, which was dominated by a massive fireplace, and sat down on soft leather armchairs. Trevor poured a glass of cognac each for his wife and Alex, which they both gladly accepted. While Madeleine eloquently described the mugging and Alex’s courageous actions, Alex looked around at the luxurious apartment. With its shiny wood floors, artfully illuminated paintings in splendid golden frames, and valuable antiques, it seemed friendlier than Sergio’s cold marble palace in the adjacent building. Through the opened wing doors, she noticed a snow-white concert grand piano in the neighboring salon. Trevor wrapped a wool blanket around his poor wife’s shoulders and stroked her cheek. It was obvious that the Downeys shared a deep love and respect for each other. Alex felt a sting inside that felt almost like jealousy. For the first time in her life, Alex sensed that money and success weren’t everything.

“I can’t believe that I could be so careless.” Madeleine clutched her cognac glass with both hands. Her face was pale and tear stained, but she seemed to be fairly calm in her familiar environment. “Don and Liz, who went with me, wanted to take me home. But then I thought that a short walk wouldn’t hurt. When you live in such a protected world, I guess you lose your perspective.”

Trevor put his hand on her shoulder.

“The important thing is that nothing worse happened to you, thanks to your rescuer.” He smiled at Alex.

“That was incredibly courageous of you, Alex!” Madeleine’s eyes sparkled with admiration, and then she giggled quietly. “You really went after those two crooks! Weren’t you scared at all?”

“Everything happened so fast that I didn’t have any time to think about it,” Alex admitted. She briefly thought about her raging anger at Sergio and her entire situation, which she’d unleashed against those two men. But she decided not to mention her dark thoughts to these cultivated people. It was better to let them think of her as the noble rescuer.

“My wife and I would like to thank you for your courageous and selfless intervention, in any case.” Trevor sat down next to his wife, and they held hands.

“We’ll tell Nick all about it,” Madeleine said. “He’ll be shocked because he works so hard for safety in this city. And then something like this happens, to me of all people!”

“Mayor Nick Kostidis and his wife Mary are close friends of ours,” Trevor explained. “Pardon my rudeness, Alex, but in all this excitement I forgot your last name.”

“Sontheim. Alex Sontheim.”

“Ah.” He leaned forward and looked at her with renewed interest. “Yes, of course! Alex Sontheim. This evening’s event was organized by your employer, after all. I’ve heard a great deal about you. You have a remarkable reputation on Wall Street.”

“Thank you very much.” Alex smiled humbly. She enjoyed that even Manhattan’s Department Store King knew her name. If he was a friend of the mayor, she realized that he couldn’t possibly be a friend of Sergio.

“Wall Street?” Madeleine asked in astonishment. “Do you work at the stock exchange?”

“No, an investment bank,” Alex responded. “I’m the head of the mergers and acquisitions department at LMI.”

“How fascinating!” Madeleine exclaimed.

“It’s nothing to write home about.” Alex shrugged her shoulders.

“It certainly is.” Madeleine looked at her with curious eyes. “I always thought that just men were involved in that business. Somehow I had a completely different image of investment bankers.”

“And I thought that all opera singers look like Montserrat Caballé,” Alex countered with a smile, which finally broke the ice. They liked each other straightaway. All three of them laughed, and Trevor poured another round of cognac.

It was two thirty in the morning. Alex glanced at her watch and was amazed to realize how late it was. Trevor insisted on having his chauffeur drive Alex home. She gratefully accepted this offer after the Downeys made her promise to get together again. Alex sat in the back of the limousine and stared out the window in contemplation. The past three hours that she had spent with the Downeys showed her with great clarity what was missing in her life. She had never before wasted a single thought on marriage and friendship because her career was always more important, but she had felt lonely many times during the past few months. She had no real friends in her life. She no longer had any idea at all what she really wanted, which was a strange and oppressive feeling. On an impulse, Alex asked the chauffeur to drive her to Barrow Street. She hoped that Oliver was at home and wouldn’t be angry with her for showing up at his place in the middle of the night. It took a while before he came to the intercom half asleep.

“It’s me, Alex,” she said. “Sorry that I’m waking you this late, but can you let me in?”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He answered the door in his boxer shorts and smiled with sleepy eyes. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. His skin was warm and smelled slightly like sweat. Suddenly she was overcome with the desire for him on the spot, to be as intimate as Madeleine and Trevor. They fumbled their way to his bed and made love tenderly.

“And now you can tell me everything,” Oliver said as they rested side by side, holding each other tightly, pleasantly exhausted. Alex barely mentioned the event at the museum, but she described in detail how she’d virtually knocked out the two men, how the police showed up, and her surprise when she discovered the identity of the woman she had rushed to help. She told him about the Downeys and their apartment, while Oliver listened with an impressed look on his face. Alex felt very close to him and decided to reveal a little more about herself.

“I was embarrassed at how often she thanked me and how they treated me like a noble and selfless rescuer,” she said.

“But that’s what you were,” Oliver objected. “I wouldn’t have dared to attack two guys. Honestly. That’s courage.”

“No.” Alex turned to the side so that she could see him better in the half dark of the night. “It was more an impulsive reaction. I was so incredibly mad that it was simply an outlet for my anger. If I’d had a baseball bat instead of my purse, I would have beaten those guys to a pulp.”

Oliver looked at her with sleepy eyes and stroked her arm.

“It makes you furious watching helplessly while someone gets mugged,” he said. He didn’t understand.

“It had nothing to do with the mugging,” Alex said as she shook her head. “I ran into the man I’d been…er…seeing for the past few months at the event.”

“I thought that was me.” Oliver smiled.

“I haven’t talked about him because I didn’t know exactly what to say,” Alex said. “It’s a strange thing with him, nothing serious. He’s married.”

“Not good.”

“I never planned on having a serious relationship with him,” Alex explained. “When I met him, I told myself that it would be fine to go out every once in a while and have some fun. Besides that, he knows many important people, and I thought that I could benefit in some way.”

Oliver was no longer sleepy. He looked at her with his full attention.

“I admit that I was flattered by his interest in me,” Alex continued. “He once reserved an entire restaurant for us. We flew in his private jet to see a boxing match in Las Vegas and to the Academy Awards. It was totally crazy and exciting.”

“He wanted to impress you.” Oliver put on his glasses.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what he wanted to do.”

“And why were you so mad at him tonight?”

“Because he stood me up three weekends in a row while I sat at home waiting for his phone calls.”

“Aha. And when you were really mad and hurt, I came along.”

“You ran me over with your bicycle,” Alex reminded him and smiled. “But that night it became clear to me that I didn’t feel anything for him. It was simply exciting to be with him. An excursion into high society.”

“Great.” Oliver acted unimpressed and sat up in bed. “But how could this man—for whom you supposedly have no feelings—make you so angry that you went after two men just to let off some steam? Wouldn’t you have to feel something for him to get so angry?”

Alex looked at him in bewilderment. Was he mad at her now?

“Would it have been better not to say anything?”

“You show up here at two thirty in the morning, have sex with me, and then you tell me about another guy,” replied Oliver. “What should I make of that?”

“Okay, then I won’t say another word.”

She smiled and stretched out her hand toward him.

“Does this Park Avenue guy also have a name?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that you’ve heard it before. His name is Sergio Vitali.”

“Holy shit!” Oliver suddenly threw back the blanket with a jerk. He fished for his boxers and jumped up. He turned on the light switch and left the bedroom. Confused, Alex squinted into the bright light. She got up and followed him into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. Oliver turned around quickly. There was no trace of a smile on his face, and his gray eyes were ice cold.

“It would be better if you got dressed now and left,” he said, opening the refrigerator door. Alex instantly regretted her honesty, because she felt true affection for Oliver. She didn’t understand what had made him so angry.

“Leave!” he repeated, not looking at her. “I’m better off if I forget you as quickly as possible.”

His voice sounded bitter.

“You can’t just throw me out like this,” Alex began timidly. “Just because I—”

It was very important for her to stay in his good graces. She didn’t want to leave now with such hard feelings between them. Oliver slammed the refrigerator door and turned around. Alex was frightened when she saw the angry glint in his eyes. What had set him off?

“You’ve breached my trust,” he snarled.

Alex stared at him without understanding.

“I promised not to mention any of those monstrosities at LMI that I uncovered over the past months and years. I accepted the fact that you didn’t want to know anything detrimental about your employer, hoping that you’d recognize it yourself one day, and preferably before it’s too late. I really started to like you. Not in a million years would I have thought that you could be involved with Vitali!”

Alex was taken aback and swallowed hard.

“I’ve formed a pretty comprehensive opinion about this guy over the past few years because I kept stumbling across his name over and over again during my research. This man has his fingers in almost every criminal business in this city. Among other things, he’s a shareholder of LMI. His entire empire is built upon blood and crime. He’s an unscrupulous and brutal gangster. I just can’t associate with people like that. It’s a cruel twist of fate that I would end up in bed with a woman who lets him fuck her!”

His brutal frankness hit Alex like a slap in the face.

“What a shame, Alex, it’s really a shame.” Oliver let himself sink onto the kitchen chair. He looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. “I really thought that you were different. But you’re apparently just another one of those women who close their eyes and ears to reality, driven by pathological ambition.”

She was shocked by the coldness of his words.

“None of this is true,” she responded. “Sergio has nothing to do with LMI.”

“Are you kidding me, or are you really that naive?” Oliver shook his head and burst out laughing, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “He sits on the board of directors!”

“Yes, I know, but he sits on a dozen boards. I would know if he had something to do with LMI’s business,” Alex whispered, perplexed. “He would have told me!”

“Unbelievable,” said Oliver, more to himself than to Alex. “I’ve banged a gangster’s whore!”

This left Alex speechless for a moment. Gangster’s whore! How outrageous! Hot anger rose within her.

“How dare you!” she screamed, and tears sprang into her eyes. “Who do you think you are to judge other people so harshly?”

“Incidentally, this is a free country, and I can judge whomever I please.”

He stood up and pushed past her.

“I wish you the best of luck,” he said and opened the front door. “Go to your Mafia lover! If you keep on like this, you’ll be on LMI’s board in no time. I hope that it’s worth your investment. Good-bye.”

“Can I get dressed first?”

Oliver didn’t respond. He seemed to have lost all interest in her. Alex’s blood hissed in her ears. She let her tears run freely only after she had closed the apartment door behind her. Oliver’s cold contempt and hurtful words stung like salt in a wound. The sky reddened to the east as she stumbled along the street, blinded by tears and bewilderment. A gangster’s whore! The insult echoed in her ears, and she cried angry tears of desperation and humiliation. Why did she always end up with the wrong men? First Sergio, who stood her up, and now this! The tears stopped, and a paralyzing chill took hold of her. The clicking of her high heels on the pavement echoed in the empty streets, and she felt more miserable with every step. Oliver’s reaction had struck a sore point she preferred not to think about. She had managed to mentally block any speculations about Sergio’s connections to the underworld she saw in the press. She had refused to listen to Oliver’s accusations against LMI. But Alex suddenly realized that she couldn’t ignore these signals any longer. She realized how lonely she was. She had no one to talk to, no one to trust. Her whole world started to crumble before her eyes. Her certainty that what she was doing was right had just vanished.

Three hours later, Alex was at her desk with swollen eyes and a pitch-black cup of coffee. The week ahead promised to be very exciting. A hostile takeover battle involving merger negotiations between the country’s two leading waste management companies was coming to a head. For weeks, United Waste Disposal had been defending itself to the best of its ability against Waste Management’s advances. Alex observed this attentively and called Fred W. Watkins, CEO of A&R Resources, to suggest he step in as a white knight. Watkins, who’d met Alex a couple of months ago through Sergio, was more than excited by this proposal. A&R Resources was a highly specialized company that primarily handled military waste disposal, but Alex found out Watkins was looking to diversify his business in order to expand. Without hesitation, Watkins hired Alex and LMI to work on the acquisition of United Waste Disposal; as a result, she was now involved in this hard-fought takeover battle.

The atmosphere on Wall Street was tense as bankers anticipated a Federal Reserve interest rate hike. Alan Greenspan had hinted at an increase to combat inflation. Investor nerves were on edge waiting to see whether such an interest rate hike would lead to consolidation or plummet to a crash. The noise on the trading floor was deafening as traders tried to placate their clients. The NASDAQ started sliding in the first few minutes after the opening bell. Alex hadn’t even turned on her Mac yet when Marcia entered with a pile of notes.

“The appointment with the A&R lawyers is confirmed for noon,” she announced. “Mr. Watkins and Mr. Levy will be there, Steve Cavanaugh from Schuyler & Partner asked for a call-back, as well as Franklin Mills and Mr. Weinberg. And Mr. Vitali called. I told him that you’re still in a meeting. Was that right?”

Yes. No. Alex rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. Marcia had been on strict orders to put Sergio off by all possible means for the past three weeks.

“He said that he’ll call again.”

“You can put him through then.” Alex typed in the password on her keyboard and was happy that Marcia hadn’t mentioned her disastrous appearance this morning. By now, last night seemed like a crazy nightmare or a bad movie that she had watched half asleep and could only recall in fragments. She obviously should have talked to Oliver about Sergio a long time ago, but she still felt incredibly humiliated and hurt by his reaction. Alex really liked Oliver, but that made her even angrier. How could he insult her this way without giving her a chance to justify herself?

Just as she was checking her e-mails, Marcia transferred a phone call to her. It was Sergio. Her heart fluttered.

“I spent the whole night thinking about what you said,” he began, not even bothering to greet her, “and you’re right. What would you say if we scratch everything that happened so far and make a fresh start?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Join me for dinner tonight, cara. Let’s talk about everything in peace and quiet. Please.”

A light was flashing on Alex’s telephone.

“I have one appointment after the other today,” she replied with hesitation. “The board of a new client from Texas is in town.”

Sergio couldn’t let her get away with such a lame excuse. Despite all of the doubts that Oliver had sown in Alex’s heart, Sergio was still the most important person in her life.

“I need to see you, cara,” he said in a pleading tone that Alex had never heard before, “and I have a surprise for you.”

Alex hesitated. Sergio’s surprise could turn out to be a trip to Las Vegas or dinner in Miami.

“Okay,” she said halfheartedly.

“Wonderful. I’ll come over to your place at eight. Ciao, cara.”

The spacious penthouse apartment with a terrace and winter garden was located directly on Central Park West at Sixty-Sixth Street and offered a magnificent park view. Eight tastefully furnished salons on two levels were distributed over more than three thousand square feet. They were pure luxury, the dream of millions of New Yorkers. A single elevator led from the parking garage directly to the penthouse, and the all-around rooftop terrace was accessible from every room. A starry night sky arched across the city, and the air was mild and soft. The luxuriantly blossoming roses twining around a pergola exuded a bewitching fragrance.

Sergio observed Alex as she walked through the rooms in amazement and finally stepped out onto the terrace. He could tell she had spent the night with that guy again. Silvio had seen her arrive in a limousine at two thirty in the morning and walk into the building on Barrow Street. The hidden cameras that Silvio’s men had installed throughout the apartment recorded her doing it with this guy. Sergio watched the tape thirty times, listening in cold anger to what she’d said to him. “On that night it became clear to me that I didn’t feel anything for him. It was simply exciting to be with him. An excursion into high society.”

Sergio also heard what the guy had said, and the sheer desire to kill him had risen up inside of him. After much drama, Alex had left the house shortly after five and walked home.

While he and Alex had a sophisticated dinner at Le Cirque, Oliver Skerritt had a painful encounter with three of Silvio’s men. If someone had already found him, he was certainly in the hospital by now. With a feeling of spiteful satisfaction, Sergio thought about the images of Skerritt’s disfigured face Silvio had sent to his cell phone about an hour ago. The bastard would stay away from Alex in the future. He was pretty sure about that.

“Do you like the apartment?” He leaned against the open terrace door and looked at her.

“Are you kidding?” Alex turned toward him. “Who wouldn’t like such an apartment? Who lives here?”

Until three days ago, some other tenants lived here. But Sergio had them thrown out without notice so he could show Alex an apartment that she would definitely like.

“You mentioned once that you would like an apartment with a view of the park,” he said casually. He grabbed a bottle of champagne from an ice cooler. “And when I heard that this apartment was vacant, I thought of you. You can have it.”

Alex leaned on the railing and smiled. Her smile attracted Sergio like a compass needle is drawn to the North Pole.

“I can’t afford an apartment like this.”

“You don’t even know what it costs yet.” Sergio poured champagne into two glasses and held one of them toward her.

“Are you serious?” She tilted her head in disbelief.

“It’s a coincidence that the entire building belongs to me,” Sergio responded. “I would rent it to you for twenty-five hundred a month.”

“That sounds like a bad deal for you.”

“I never make bad deals.” He was standing very close to her. “So?”

She gave him a look that was hard to decipher. Her thick, glossy hair fell over her shoulders. She was so beautiful and desirable that he could hardly bear not to touch her. Strangely enough, he didn’t even care that she had slept with someone else not even twenty-four hours ago.

“When can I move in?”

This made Sergio smile. She had swallowed the hook.

“Today, if you like.” He took the glass from her hand. Before she could say a word, he lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom.

Long past midnight, as they were lying on the bed exhausted and breathing heavily, their sweaty bodies wrapped around each other, Alex remembered the things that Oliver had said about Sergio. She decided to take advantage of this moment of intimacy.

“Sergio?” She kissed his naked shoulder.

“Hmm…” He was lying on his back and smiling sleepily.

“I’d like to ask you something, but please only answer if you’re telling the truth.”

Sergio’s eyes opened wide.

“Okay.”

“They keep writing in the newspapers that your father was a Mafioso.”

“Yes, he probably was.” He turned his head so that she could see him better. “His bad reputation still haunts me today, as you’ve noticed. Unfortunately, people automatically think that you’re with the Mafia if you have an Italian name and are successful.”

“They claim that your father killed many people.”

Sergio looked at Alex pensively.

“I was nineteen when my father was shot,” he said slowly. “I think that he deserved it because he killed a lot of people.”

Alex shivered. “That sounds intense.”

“Intense?” Sergio grimaced. “My father was a hit man. He came to America from Sicily as a young man knowing nothing but tending sheep and handling weapons. He did that in order to survive, because legal jobs were hard to come by back then. Life in the 1930s was very difficult. Honest work was hard to come by and poorly paid.”

“Did you like your father?”

Sergio contemplated for a moment before he replied.

“To be honest, I don’t remember. I hardly knew him. He sent me off to boarding school when I was six. My brother had been killed, and he didn’t want me to get into any kind of trouble. For ten years, I just came home for Christmas. I didn’t move back to New York until after my father was dead.”

They lay next to each other in silence. Far below them, the city that never sleeps was bustling, and they could hear the muted sounds of street traffic.

“Have you killed anyone?” Alex asked quietly. Sergio looked at her with a spark in his eyes.

“Why do you want to know that, cara?”

“There are so many stories in the newspapers,” she replied, “all these things about the Mafia and crime syndicates. I want to know if any of it is true.”

Sergio kissed her, gently disentangling himself from her, and got up. Somehow his naked body didn’t make him seem defenseless or ridiculous. He held himself with the nonchalant self-confidence of a classical statue.

“Is it important to you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said as she calmly returned his look, “it’s important to me.”

“Would it make a difference to you if you found out that I am all the things that the press claims? Would the past matter so much that you wouldn’t want to see me anymore?”

“No.” Alex shook her head. “It has nothing to do with that.”

She knew he had secrets, and it didn’t bother her. But since Oliver said those harsh words last night, she felt the need to know some general truths.

“What is it then?” Sergio asked, and Alex straightened up. She thought about the Downeys and the trusting affection between them.

“I want to hear from you if what the newspapers write is true. If it’s the truth and you tell me, then I can live with it. I simply want to be able to trust you.”

Sergio sat down at the edge of the bed and looked at her. For a split second he felt tempted to tell Alex what she wanted to hear, but then he remembered Nelson’s warning and the guy with whom she had cheated on him. Reason regained the upper hand. He was still as unable to read Alex’s face as on their first meeting. He knew he desired her like no woman before. He wanted to own and dominate her, but that was exactly what she didn’t allow him to do. No, he must not show any signs of weakness. He could not possibly tell her the truth because he had learned never to trust anyone very early in his life. Generosity and openness were weaknesses that could be deadly. Since the potential for false friends was high, Sergio preferred not to have any friends at all. He had reliable business partners with whom he had no emotional ties. But people who knew too much about him could possibly hurt, weaken, or even destroy him. He couldn’t really trust anyone, even within the ranks of his own family, and Cesare’s ridiculous threat was proof of that. The tough struggle for survival growing up on the streets of Little Italy and the Lower East Side and the brutal murders of his brother and father had changed him forever. This made it impossible for Sergio to be completely open with anyone.

He knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave Alex if the circumstances required it. But he hoped that this would never be the case. All this went through his head while Alex stared at him, waiting for a response. For a brief moment, Sergio felt ashamed as he prepared to lie to her.

“Listen, cara,” he said and looked at her openly, “I had to fight very hard all my life to get to where I am right now. I lead a major corporation and am responsible for thousands of people. When I was young, I made a questionable deal or two. But what person who made it to the top hasn’t done such things?”

Alex nodded.

“When the newspapers write disparaging things about me, it’s just because of envy and frustration. Try as they might, they can’t dig up any dirt on me. That’s why they keep bringing up these old stories about my father. Entire books have been written about Ignazio Vitali, like Murder Inc., and it’s no secret that he and his colleagues killed dozens of people during Prohibition. But that is not my legacy. I conduct my business in the manner of other legitimate businessmen around the world. Maybe I’m more cunning or more ruthless, but I pay my taxes and present my financial statements to whoever cares to read them. I have never been convicted, and I’m no criminal. All this tabloid talk about the Mafia and the underworld will sell newspapers, but it doesn’t correspond with reality.”

Sergio looked calmly at Alex, and everything he said sounded plausible in her ears.

“Are you happy now, cara?”

She nodded.

“You do your job and I do mine,” Sergio continued. “We are both successful. When I see you, cara, I’d rather not think about business, but about you. This is not about concealing anything from you.”

“Hmm,” Alex said as she wrapped her arms around his waist, “so what’s your involvement with LMI?”

Sergio was prepared for this question because he knew that Oliver had told her about it.

“I’m on the board of directors,” he said as he pulled her close and kissed her, “just like I sit on twenty-four other boards. My companies also do business with LMI every now and then. That’s all.”

Alex sighed. To hell with Oliver and his conspiracy theories! If Sergio had denied any business involvement with LMI, then she wouldn’t have believed anything else either, but now she felt sure Sergio was being honest. And that was enough for her.

Alex woke up the next morning and needed a few seconds to realize where she was. Her eyes fell on Sergio, who was still in a state of deep sleep. She’d made a decision during the night. Her brief affair with Oliver was over. It hurt too much when he threw her out of his apartment without giving her a chance to explain herself. Sergio had much more to offer. A penthouse overlooking Central Park, a private underground garage for her Porsche, and a table at Le Cirque without a reservation! Sergio Vitali made everything possible, and there was no point in pretending that she didn’t care about him. The intimacy of their night together made her feel like this could be the loving relationship she longed for. Sergio opened his eyes and squinted into the bright sunlight. He reached for her and Alex snuggled into his arms.

“What are you thinking about, cara?” he whispered.

“All kinds of things.” She stroked his tousled hair and was tempted for a split second to tell him the whole truth about her feelings. But then she thought about Oliver and what her honesty led to with him. No, she couldn’t tell him—it didn’t matter how close she felt to him.

“Does it have anything to do with me?”

“No,” she lied. “I’m thinking about how I could raise thirty-two million dollars for A&R. Maybe I could—”

Sergio bolted into an upright position.

“You are really unbelievable,” he said. “You lie in bed with me and all you can think about is business!”

He shot her such a hurt look that she paused in fright. Sergio untangled himself from her, jumped up, and walked across the room. Alex bit her lip as he disappeared into the bathroom. She really wanted to run after him and tell him the truth—that she had been hurt by his behavior and had cheated on him with another man only because she’d hoped that would banish him from her mind! Impossible. No, she had to keep pretending that he was just an acquaintance with whom she enjoyed spending a few hours now and then.

Somewhere in her clothes, which she had carelessly tossed on the floor, her cell phone started ringing. She jumped up, rummaged through her clothing, and found it in her coat pocket, under the armchair. To her surprise, it was Madeleine Ross-Downey. Alex walked out on the terrace. Madeleine apologized for calling so early, but she had to travel to the West Coast for three days and wanted to say hello before she forgot. She thanked Alex again for her courageous intervention and invited her to dinner at their home that Friday evening. Some other friends were also coming, and it would be a casual evening, but she and Trevor would be delighted if she could join them.

Alex’s first impulse was to excuse herself, since she almost always turned down invitations, but she had instantly liked Madeleine and her husband. Furthermore, the thought of getting to know some friends of Sergio’s enemy Kostidis intrigued her. When she turned around, she saw Sergio standing in the open terrace door.

“It was Madeleine Ross-Downey,” Alex said. “She invited me to come to her apartment on Friday evening.”

“Really?” Sergio raised his eyebrows. “How did you achieve this honor?”

Alex told him about the incident at the museum two days before.

“Unbelievable.” Sergio looked at her with a mixture of amazement and amusement. “You charged two street thugs with your bare hands? I should hire you as my bodyguard.” He grinned.

“Don’t mock me,” Alex said, annoyed. “I could hardly pretend I didn’t see anything.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Sergio answered. “I really mean it! There aren’t many people who would do the same. I’m sure Trevor was happy nothing happened to his Maddy.”

“Yes, he certainly was. I also visited their home that night. Do you know the Downeys?”

“Of course. I know everyone in the city.”

Anyone else would have sounded arrogant making this kind of statement, but Sergio was simply stating a fact.

“Do you like them?”

“Madeleine is really a magnificent singer—I admire her art very much,” he replied, but then his voice filled with contempt. “On the other hand, Trevor Downey is weak and spoiled. He lucked into a department-store chain because his older brother who inherited the business was a hemophiliac and passed away at twenty. Moreover, he is a close friend of our highly esteemed Mayor Kostidis.”

“I hate it when you’re so sarcastic.” Alex noted the mocking glint in his eyes.

“And I hate it when you think about business while you lie in bed with me,” Sergio responded.

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t thinking about business,” she said quietly.

“Then why did you say that?”

“Because…” She fought with herself for a moment and avoided looking at him. “Because I didn’t want to admit that I was thinking last night was one of the most beautiful nights of my life.”

Sergio didn’t respond. He walked back to the bedroom to get dressed. She followed him, annoyed by his silence.

“Do you want to know why I didn’t tell you the truth?” she asked, trying to restrain the angry tremble in her voice.

“Yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed while tying his shoelaces.

“Because I was afraid that you would react exactly like this. With no reaction at all. You expect honesty from me and don’t say a single word yourself.”

A shadow drifted across Sergio’s face, and when he looked up again he had dropped his mask. He was attentive and tense, and he looked surprisingly vulnerable. He grabbed her wrists.

“Alex,” he said softly, “are you really being honest with me?”

She hesitated. She had an opening to confess that she’d had an affair with Oliver because she was jealous and angry. She could choose this moment to tell him the details about Oliver’s accusations that had caused her doubts. And she could admit how much she longed for his love and his trust. But she was afraid to let her guard down, and so she let this opportunity pass by.

“I think,” she answered instead, “that I’m as honest with you as you are with me.”

Sergio sighed. He let go of her wrists and stood up. “Well then, let’s leave it at that,” he said. “But I can tell you one thing in all honesty: it was a wonderful night. I enjoyed it very much.”

August 15, 1999

Sergio Vitali entered his office at the VITAL Building. His oldest son Massimo and his lawyer Nelson van Mieren were already waiting for him. He smiled briefly when they wished him a happy birthday, and then he sat down behind his desk.

“So?” he asked, looking at his son. Massimo was courageous and intelligent, but his uncontrollable violent temper led him to make mistakes time and again. Fortunately, his screwups had not yet triggered any major consequences. “We have a problem at the port,” Massimo said without introduction. “Johnnie Craven—president of the dockworkers’ union—isn’t keeping his end of the bargain.”

“What did he do?”

“A shipment from Germany arrived yesterday—Russian Kalashnikovs and control mechanisms for ICBMs. They were declared as ‘cooling units’ as usual. Craven normally makes sure that the stuff clears customs, but yesterday he didn’t.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yes.” Massimo leaned forward. “He claims that his people somehow forgot to keep the customs officers from boarding. But he lied to me. It’s no one’s fault but his. That’s what we pay him for, and not too shabbily at that!”

“Go on…”

“Ficchiavelli was listed as the delivery address. The cops searched all the warehouses. We were lucky that the last shipment was already out for delivery, so they didn’t find anything. I claimed that they must have mixed up the cargo in Germany.”

“Nelson?” Sergio looked at his lawyer.

“They can’t prove that the weapons were meant for us. The shipping documents for the cooling units were okay. But we do have a problem in that the Port Authority Police has involved the FBI and confiscated the entire shipment.”

“Where was the delivery headed?”

“Houston.” Massimo clenched his fist. “Tommasino was mad as hell when I told him that we can’t deliver for at least three more weeks. Not only has a two-and-a-half-million-dollar deal gone down the drain, it looks as if we might also get into trouble with the dockworkers’ union.”

“Can we reason with Craven?”

“No. He said that he wouldn’t let himself be bossed around by fucking wops.”

“Is that so?” Sergio raised his eyebrows. “Then let’s not waste our time with him. Who is second in command after Craven?”

“His name is Michael Burns. He’s the up-and-coming man. The dockworkers have a lot of respect for him. And it also appears that we owe this disturbance to him.”

“Can this man be persuaded?”

Massimo understood what his father meant and shook his head.

“He’s Irish, Papa.”

“Hmm.” Sergio thought for a moment. The port was strategically important, and they couldn’t face the risk of losing more valuable shipments. Above all, they needed the port for drug imports from Colombia and the Far East. They could hardly afford any trouble.

“Do we have a reliable man on the docks?”

“Yes.” Massimo nodded. “Angelo Lanza, Giuseppe Lanza’s nephew. He’s a good man.”

“Good. Burns must disappear, and it should happen today. I don’t want any trouble at the port,” Sergio said. “Nelson, Luca should have Manzo handle this.”

Nelson van Mieren nodded.

“But we have one more problem, Sergio,” the lawyer said, clearing his throat, “and it’s pretty serious.”

“What is it?”

“David Zuckerman.”

“I thought that was taken care of a long time ago.” Sergio threw an indignant look at Nelson.

“I thought so too,” van Mieren said, raising his shoulders. “They must have grilled him pretty bad, because last night he agreed to testify in front of the investigation committee. They offered him immunity in return. Our contact at city hall just called me thirty minutes ago.”

Sergio jumped up. His face reddened in murderous rage.

“Damn it! We have Kostidis to thank for this,” he exclaimed angrily. “That rotten bastard doesn’t know when to quit! The state attorney wanted to close the case a long time ago, but Kostidis insisted on digging deeper. I could kill him myself!”

“They must have pressed him really hard.” Massimo made himself heard. “David would never talk.”

Sergio pretended not to hear this comment. He had a completely different opinion about Zuckerman than Massimo. The boy still had a lot to learn about human nature.

“How dangerous is Zuckerman, Nelson?” he asked.

“Extremely dangerous,” the lawyer responded. “He was there when we bribed some of the media. He knows that McIntyre is our man. He knows about all the arrangements and the amounts of money that we paid. He’s known it for years. He could blow everything up.”

“Can we get to him?”

“He’s in a hotel in Midtown.” Van Mieren shook his head. “He has more protection from the FBI than Fort Knox. It’s near impossible.”

“There’s no such thing as impossible,” Sergio said harshly. “When is the next committee meeting?”

“Next Monday. Kostidis did everything in his power to bring the members back from their vacations early.”

“I want him to disappear today. Nelson, give the contract to the Neapolitan. I don’t care how he does it. I want his report by tonight.”

“But Papa,” Massimo objected, “David is—”

“He’s become a major threat to us,” Sergio interrupted, giving him a cold stare. “He’ll talk. We can’t afford any leniency. You know that as well as I do.”

Massimo sighed and nodded. He knew that any decision his father made was irrevocable. With a tinge of genuine regret, Massimo thought about David Zuckerman, whom he liked very much. David’s wife and his own wife were good friends, and their children often played together. This would not be easy for him. But the die was cast.

“I’ll see you later tonight at your party,” Nelson wheezed as he got up.

Sergio waited for the two men to leave his office, and then he turned and gazed out the window. The foundation of his power was a fine network of connections, but thin as a spiderweb. To build and maintain it had cost him many years and much money. Very few men knew enough about him to pose a threat. And most of these men would rather go to prison than open their mouths. Nevertheless, there was a weak link every now and then, and Zuckerman had become one. It was a shame, because he was a good man, an ace when it came to generating business in the construction industry. Sergio owed many lucrative contracts to him. But Zuckerman had recently caught the attention of the authorities, which made his services useless. Sergio knew that this man was a coward who paid too much attention to his social standing. Zuckerman would rather betray Vitali than go to prison for a year or two. He had apparently forgotten to whom he owed his mansion on Long Island, his weekend house on Cape Cod, and his life of luxury. But it was too late now to remind him. He was a liability.

Alex steered her black Porsche convertible on to the Henry Hudson Parkway, which later turned into the Saw Mill River Parkway. She drove through placid, wooded hill country and passed the exclusive suburbs of Bedford Hills and Mount Kisco. She had been thinking for days about whether she should actually accept the invitation to Sergio’s birthday party at his house in Westchester County. She didn’t quite feel comfortable facing the wife of the man with whom she was having an affair, but her curiosity about Sergio’s house and his family was ultimately stronger than her fear. Sergio told her that there would be many interesting guests, and that it wouldn’t hurt her to meet some new contacts.

She turned onto a narrow asphalt road near the Mount Kisco exit. Properties here in Westchester County were so large that you couldn’t see the houses from the road. After Alex had been driving for some time along a ten-foot-high yew hedge, she figured that she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. But then a big gate appeared with several men in dark suits with walkie-talkies. She stepped on the brakes, rolled down her window, and showed her invitation to the security guard. With her heart pounding, she drove through the wide-open cast-iron gate. The estate was enormous. The gravel driveway wound through a meticulously designed landscape—the artfully trimmed bushes and lush green lawns reminded her of a golf course, interspersed with patches of trees.

Alex was amazed when she turned the corner and saw the brightly lit house on the hill. In the twilight, it looked like a French castle. Cars were parked in the large space in front of the mansion, and a man wearing sunglasses assigned her a parking spot. Alex had suspected that the cream of the crop of New York’s society would be gathered at this little garden party. Just at that moment, a bright red Ferrari Maranello pulled in next to her, and Alex recognized Zack. She was actually relieved to see him here.

“Hello, Zack,” she said, looking him up and down. With his deep tan, he looked more like a playboy than an investment banker in his light linen suit. “How was your vacation in the Caymans?”

“Vacation,” he said as he kissed her on both cheeks and laughed, amused, “you’re too funny! It’s hard work profitably reinvesting all the money that you industrious bankers bring in!”

“You look like you’ve been working very hard,” Alex noted sarcastically. They walked toward a broad flight of stairs with two stone lions enthroned at its base.

“I admit,” Zack laughed happily, offering her his arm, “that I enjoyed some time on the beach in between. What do you think about this shack? It’s even better inside!”

“It’s unbelievable that some people live like this,” Alex replied.

“Well,” Zack said, pursing his lips and throwing her a quick side glance, “Vitali isn’t a normal person.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“My God, Alex, you know him better than I do,” Zack said. “You can’t possibly measure him against normal standards.”

A butler opened the thirteen-foot-high white wing doors. They entered the spacious, black-and-white tiled entrance hall. Muted music could be heard in the distance. Alex saw Sergio surrounded by a group of people. She was impressed to recognize Robert Landford Rhodes, governor of the State of New York, who resided in Albany, and Clarence Whitewater, the chief judge. Charlie Rosenbaum, one of the city’s biggest real estate speculators, stood next to him, as well as Carey Newberg, the publisher of Time. When she entered with Zack, Sergio excused himself and approached her, smiling. Alex had butterflies in her stomach.

“Alex! Zack! I’m glad you could make it!”

He extended his hand to Alex first, then to Zack. The sight of his steel-blue eyes made her shiver. They congratulated him on his birthday and chatted a little. Zack wandered off.

“I’m very happy to see you here,” Sergio murmured to Alex.

“Nice little party,” she said with a grin. “Is there anyone who isn’t here?”

“Very few,” he responded with amusement. “I’ll see you outside in a minute.”

He squeezed her hand one more time before turning to greet the newly arrived guests. Alex looked around curiously. The tasteful yet impersonal furnishings of the house might have been a masterpiece of interior design, but the entire place somehow reminded her of a mausoleum.

“It’s incredible, don’t you think?” Zack grinned. “I want a house like this someday.”

“I’ll say,” Alex said, raising her eyebrows. “This is no house, it’s a temple!”

“Well, it’s impressive. If you live like this, you’ve really made it.”

He was right about that. They walked down a few steps to the large terrace. It offered a breathtaking view across a parklike garden, decorated with antique white statues, a large white marble swimming pool, and a pool house. People were crowded around tables and benches on the grass between the terrace balustrade and the pool. A band played Italian folk music on stage risers, and an opulent buffet was served under big white pagoda tents. Everything was beautifully decorated with colorful paper lanterns, burning torches, and splendid flower arrangements. A bar surrounded by cocktail tables was right next to the pool. It was the perfect setting for a high-society summer party.

They met almost the entire board of LMI on the terrace. Vincent Levy, Isaac Rubinstein, and Hugh Weinberg were here with their wives. A bit later, Michael Friedman and Max Rudensky—owners of a famous brokerage and arbitrage firm—also arrived. The mood was relaxed, and when Levy suggested that they take a look at the buffet, everyone but Alex turned toward the steps. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Sergio had stepped out of the house and stopped at the terrace’s balustrade. The warm air smelled like lavender, and swallows shot through the gorgeous misty twilight.

“How do you like my house, cara?” Sergio asked as he stood behind her.

“It’s imposing.” She turned, and a mocking smile flitted across her face. “It seems to me that you’ve built a mausoleum for yourself during your lifetime. Like the pharaohs in ancient Egypt.”

“That’s what I appreciate about you.” Sergio said, smiling at her. “Anyone else would have said how fabulous it is.”

“We’re probably beyond the stage of courteous phrases.”

“Yes, we probably are.” Sergio leaned next to her on the balustrade. Alex gave him a probing look. He seemed relaxed and in a good mood, but she saw an attentive tension in his eyes. She suddenly remembered what Oliver had said to her that night: Are you kidding me, or are you really that naive? She was just about to pepper Sergio with some hard questions when she sensed him noticing someone approaching behind her.

“Ah, here’s my wife,” he said. Alex froze for a second, and then she forced a friendly smile. Constanzia Vitali was a cultivated woman, and her elegant dress concealed her round shape perfectly. She might have been very pretty once, but her beauty had long since faded. At fifty-five, Sergio was so incredibly attractive and full of energy that his wife looked like a withered rose next to him. He casually pushed himself away from the wall.

“Constanzia,” he said as he put his arm around his wife’s shoulders, “may I introduce Alex Sontheim? She is one of Vince Levy’s best employees. Alex, this is my wife, Constanzia.”

The two women shook hands. Alex felt a twinge of guilt at Constanzia’s inquiring look.

“You work at an investment bank?” Constanzia Vitali’s face was friendly and without any expression. “That must be quite exciting.”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

Constanzia Vitali turned toward her husband and said something in Italian. Alex, who spoke Italian quite well, understood that Constanzia was asking her husband to give his speech. Sergio answered her in a low voice, whereupon Constanzia turned around without neglecting to throw another probing look at Alex.

“Unfortunately, I have to look after my other guests now.” Sergio placed his hand briefly on Alex’s arm. “Can you take me to the city with you later?”

“Maybe. I don’ know whether I’ll stay that long.”

“It would make me so happy.”

For the rest of the evening, Alex only saw Sergio from a distance. He was in a splendid mood, joking with his business partners’ wives and his friends, dancing with his wife. He was the perfect host. Even without him on her arm, Alex enjoyed the evening to the fullest. Just a week ago, she had moved into the penthouse on the Upper West Side. Now she was a guest at a private party of one of the country’s richest men, and she was treated as someone who quite naturally belonged in this crowd. She felt flattered that so many of the people at the party knew her name.

While the wives listened in boredom, Alex conversed with their husbands about the expected rate hike by the Fed, the higher leverage in option trading versus stocks, the rapidly rising prices of technology stocks and the resulting opportunities for the market, and the consequences of political decisions on the stock market. She was sitting at a table with Zack, Levy, Weinberg, Friedman, David Norman, a board member of the NYSE, and a young man named Jack Lang from a brokerage firm called Manhattan Portfolio Management. The food was provided by New York’s best catering company, and the heavy French red wine was pure poetry; the cocktails, perfectly mixed, contributed to Alex’s failure to notice how quickly time passed.

It was already dark when she looked around for Sergio. He was nowhere to be seen. With one ear she overheard Zack, Rudensky, and Jack Lang whispering about the sensational profit margins possible when investing in venture capital companies. They talked about international business companies, or IBCs, that were incorporated in offshore financial centers such as the Cayman Islands, Samoa, Labuan, or other exotic locations. Alex didn’t jump into the conversation because she was more interested to know where Sergio was. His wife sat a few tables away and was engaged in a conversation with an older gray-haired woman.

Alex eventually excused herself and walked toward the house to find the restroom. As she walked through the vast salons and long hallways, she realized that she’d had too much to drink. She winced as she noticed a man standing across from her. He was smaller than she was; he was skinny, and his ferret-like face was disfigured by acne scars. An ice-cold shiver ran down Alex’s spine. It wasn’t his ugliness, but his strangely lifeless eyes that instilled fear in her.

“Buona sera,” he said with a coarse voice, walking past her. Alex stared after him. What kind of horrible person was this? Suddenly sober, she had the feeling that she needed to get back to the other guests as quickly as possible.

Cesare Vitali was in a bad mood. The laughing hordes annoyed him just as much as the schmaltzy Italian music, but he was especially mad at Silvio, Luca, and his brother Massimo. They treated him like a child. They had walked past him on their way into the house about a half hour ago. When he asked where they were going, Massimo replied that they had something to talk about. The men simply left him behind and disappeared into the house, where his father was likely expecting them like a king waiting for his subjects—confident, fearless, and powerful. Cesare wanted to earn his father’s attention and respect, but he somehow always screwed up. His buddies respected him, and the prostitutes on the Lower East Side feared him—which felt good—but in his father’s eyes, he was a failure who had to be kept away from the family business.

Despite the warm temperature outside, Cesare was suddenly freezing. He needed a line of coke desperately. The white powder could make his bad mood disappear instantly and turn him into the big man he wanted to be. He dumped his whiskey over the terrace railing in disgust and stood up. He had a burning interest in what they were talking about in there. Nelson was there too. Something big was brewing. In a surge of anger, he briefly considered just barging into the library. Wasn’t he, just like Massimo, also one of Sergio’s sons? Didn’t he also have the right to be part of those meetings? But he wasn’t invited. He wouldn’t put it past his father to kick him out in front of his brother and the others.

In the guest bathroom, Cesare quickly fished out a tinfoil packet of white powder, tapped some onto a small pocket mirror that he always carried with him for that purpose, and formed two lines with a golden razor blade that hung in a case around his neck. Then he skillfully rolled up a dollar bill and snorted the powder forcefully. It burned in his nose and brought tears to his eyes. Cesare relished the bitter flavor of the cocaine at the back of his throat and took in a deep breath. The chill disappeared from his body, replaced by an intoxicating heat. A wonderful feeling of security enveloped his body. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror and opened the door.

Alex wandered through all the colossal salons until she realized that she was at the far end of the house and nowhere close to the terrace. She was just about to turn around and retrace her steps when she heard muted voices from an adjacent room. She didn’t usually eavesdrop at doors, but this repulsive man with his yellow predator eyes had sparked her curiosity. She held her breath and stopped in front of the room’s double doors. Through the narrow crack between them, she could see a library. Sergio was standing behind a massive desk made of marble and glass with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves behind him. Alex recognized three of the men. One of them was Nelson van Mieren, Sergio’s lawyer, the other Massimo, Sergio’s oldest son, and the third was Luca di Varese, one of Sergio’s confidants. The skinny man with the acne scars and yellow eyes was standing in front of the desk.

“Do you have any news for me, Natale?” Sergio asked in Italian.

“It is done,” the man responded in a coarse voice. “Zuckerman won’t utter another word.”

Alex caught her breath. At first she thought she’d misheard him.

“Bene,” Sergio triumphantly. “What about the Irishman at the docks, Luca?”

“As they say in the movies, he’s sleeping with the fishes,” Luca replied, “and no one will find him.”

“Good work.” Sergio nodded and sat down at his desk. Alex felt a wave of horror pulsing through her. Her heart was beating so loudly that everyone must have heard it. Confused thought fragments whirled around her head. The men in this room were talking about people who had been murdered! Today, on this beautiful August day, two men had died. Someone had given an order to kill them. Alex closed her eyes. This someone was no other than Sergio Vitali. He had assured her that he had nothing to do with these rumors circulating about him in the press. She had believed him because he was so convincing. She had wanted to believe him. Now she realized that he had shamelessly betrayed her trust. She remembered Oliver’s words again: His entire empire is built upon blood and crime. He is an unscrupulous and brutal gangster.

Alex’s mouth was dry from fear. She was miserable, but she couldn’t run away. Some part of her pleaded to learn the opposite of what she’d just heard was true. She didn’t want to think badly of Sergio. Maybe she’d simply misunderstood his words…

“I’m very satisfied, Natale,” Sergio said. Alex could see his face through the crack in the door. She couldn’t understand the ugly man’s response, but she certainly understood his salutation.

“I wish you a happy birthday and a joyful evening, Don Sergio.”

Don Sergio. Sergio acknowledged this man’s reverence with a casual nod. Alex felt the ground shaking beneath her, and it seemed like an ice-cold hand had grabbed her heart. None of the stories in the papers were invented. They seemed to be grossly understated. Gangster’s whore, she thought. Oliver was completely right, but she’d refused to believe him! She, Alex Sontheim, was the mistress of a Mafia boss, a man who hired killers to solve his problems. She turned around to flee from this house, but then she froze in shock. A man stood in front of her and gazed at her with frightening blue eyes.

“Are you lost?” He looked her up and down in an obscene way.

“I… err… I’m looking for the restroom,” Alex stuttered. The voices of the men in the library could be heard through the doors. She snapped out of it and tried to sneak past the man, but he grabbed her by the wrist.

“Not so fast,” he said suspiciously. “What were you doing in front of this door?”

“I told you that I was looking for the restroom.” Alex thought she might pass out any moment. “Would you please let go of me now?” she asked, with all of the assertiveness she could muster.

“Oh no, I won’t. Because I don’t believe that you got lost. And I don’t think that my father will be amused when he finds out that you’re eavesdropping at the door.”

My father…

Alex stared at the young man, and she recognized the astonishing resemblance. This is exactly how Sergio must have looked at twenty-five. The young man was Sergio’s son. She felt sick with fear. She had overheard the men in the adjacent room talking about two murders. She thought about the Mafia movies that she had seen in which accidental witnesses were thrown into the East River with a concrete block strapped to their feet. Sleeping with the fishes. And Sergio, the man she thought she knew, was Don Sergio—the godfather of New York. It would be very easy for him to make her disappear.

“Listen,” she whispered, “this is nothing but a misunderstanding.”

“We’ll see about that in a minute.” Without knocking, the young man pushed the door open and dragged Alex with him. Sergio stopped midsentence and stared at his youngest son and Alex in surprise.

“Cesare, what is this?” Sergio snarled at his son.

“Papa!” Cesare exclaimed in triumph and tightened his grip on Alex’s wrist. “This woman was standing outside the door eavesdropping!”

Sergio looked at Alex in astonishment.

“Let her go!” he ordered. Cesare obeyed reluctantly and gave her another push that almost made her lose her balance.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping at all,” Alex sputtered. “I was looking for the restroom and got lost, and suddenly this guy grabs me and drags me in here.”

“Cesare, you are a goddamn miserable idiot!” Sergio said in Italian, trying hard to contain his anger. “Why do you bother my guests? Were you snorting cocaine again?”

“She was standing outside the door, Papa!” The young man suddenly seemed insecure. “You should thank me for—”

“Thank you?” Sergio hollered so unexpectedly that Alex winced. Never before had she seen him this angry. He was truly terrifying in his rage. He spoke Italian so fast and used so many colloquialisms, she could barely understand him.

“You brought her here, you stupid, brainless idiot! She doesn’t understand a single word anyway, but what will she think now? Why the hell can’t you use your head for once? I honestly believe that you’ve boozed your brain away!”

Cesare looked hurt. He said nothing. No one in the room moved. Alex was not a fearful person, but at this moment she was overcome by a terrifying dread. Sergio was a stranger; these men were strangers. Cesare laughed hoarsely. His glassy eyes sparkled with hatred.

“You’re telling me that!” he said to his father in Italian. “You’re the one who screws this whore and then invites her into Mama’s house.”

His face was twisted in anger and disappointment.

“Shut up!” Sergio shouted.

“Why should I shut up?” Cesare asked with a nasty laugh. “You think that I don’t know what you’re talking about? You think that I’m a little boy, but—”

Sergio raised his hand and slapped Cesare’s face, which sent him reeling.

“Get out of my sight, Cesare,” Sergio said, his voice muted to an angry whisper, “before I lose it and do something that I’ll regret. Get out of my house!”

Cesare held his cheek and stepped back. His eyes darted around furiously.

“You’ll regret this! All of you will regret this! Fuck you all!” he screamed.

Luca and Silvio jumped up, looking at their boss.

“Let him go,” Sergio said in Italian. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s nothing but a coked-up idiot.”

He walked over to Alex and put his arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry he scared you,” he said, and then he turned toward the men and sent them out. He let go of her and walked over to the small bar in of one of the bookshelves.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please.” Alex tried to get her panic under control and stop her trembling. She had to get out of this house right away! She wished she could fly home to her parents in Germany this very second. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Sergio handed her a glass of whiskey and observed her with a penetrating look. He seemed to be wondering if she’d really eavesdropped at the door.

“Did you understand anything I just said to Cesare?” he asked her in Italian. Alex’s brain was still functioning and instinctively reacted the right way.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she said with a slight smile. “Maybe you could speak English with me.”

“No, it’s all right.” Sergio smiled and took the empty glass from her hand. Then he put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. She almost pushed him away, but managed to control the impulse.

“Cesare is somewhat overzealous at times,” Sergio said softly. “He scared you.”

“He tried.” Alex managed to smile. “But people don’t scare me that easily.”

After everything she had learned about Sergio, nothing in the world could frighten her anymore. Senators, bank executives, the governor of the State of New York, judges, and lawyers were sitting out there. There was no way that they knew the whole truth about Sergio Vitali! Don Sergio, indeed, commanded an army of killers, paving his own path with money and murder.

“Come, cara,” Sergio said, “let’s go outside to my guests. We’ll drink another glass of champagne and enjoy ourselves.”

“Yes,” Alex mumbled, a little dazed. “Yes, that sounds good.”

A dark shadow had fallen over her entire life that evening. In desperation and dread, she asked herself what she should do.

Frank Cohen yawned and rubbed his eyes. His watch read quarter past ten. Besides him, only security guards and cleaning crews were still at city hall. There was such a flurry of activity at the mayor’s office during the day that Frank saved matters requiring more concentration for the evening. The last two evenings, he had been researching Donald Coleman—an African American preacher from Harlem who was stabbed outside his church by unknown assailants fifteen years ago. His death had nearly triggered a riot at the time and made a martyr out of Coleman. Tomorrow Mayor Kostidis would inaugurate a youth center named after Donald Coleman. The East Harlem center would employ social workers to look after street kids in one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods. The building had a library, a computer lab, and a counseling center for teenagers who were down on their luck or addicted to drugs. The printer spewed out four pages containing all the information about Donald Coleman that Frank was able to gather. The mayor would skim through them for two minutes tomorrow—two minutes attention for at least eight hours of work—and then give a brilliant, affectionate speech about Coleman for the opening ceremony’s guests, as if they’d been close friends for many years.

Gathering his papers and turning off the computer, Frank smiled to himself. Without a doubt, Nicholas Kostidis was the most impressive person he’d ever met. He’d gotten to know him about twelve years ago, when Kostidis was an assistant US attorney at the Department of Justice in Washington DC. Frank had just graduated with honors from law school and had managed to snag one of few highly coveted internships at the Department of Justice. Frank was assigned to work on Kostidis’s staff, and he was immediately fascinated by his boss. He had inexhaustible energy, cunning intelligence, and inspiring charisma. Nick Kostidis was straightforward and incorruptible, ambitious without seeming arrogant. Fighting crime was dear to his heart—in contrast to many other people who had only their political careers in mind. It was typical for him to work sixteen-hour days, and he demanded complete loyalty and hard work from all of his staff members. In return, he was an unconventional and generous boss. He hated pedantry and bureaucracy almost as much as organized crime and drug trafficking, which he had combated directly as the US Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Nick Kostidis’s enthusiasm was often called fanaticism by his adversaries, and Frank had to admit that it sometimes really seemed that way.

Frank vividly remembered the winter of 1984. After months of intense preparation for the RICO indictment against the city’s leading Mafia bosses, Kostidis had been just a shadow of himself—pale with dark lines under his eyes, driven only by his almost inhuman energy. He lived for his work. Sometimes it was downright frightening to see him in his office ready to accomplish his mission after five hours of sleep, setting a pace that even much younger staff members couldn’t sustain. Nick Kostidis set very high standards, yet he was tough and courageous, and willing to give it all he had. Moreover, he had an infallible instinct for dealing with the media. He was never afraid to state his opinion bluntly in front of running cameras. The majority of New York City’s population loved him for it, but there were also many people who hated him because he posed a threat to their lucrative—and in most cases illegal—businesses. Over the years, Frank had come to the conclusion that you either had to love or hate Nick Kostidis. At the very least, you couldn’t be indifferent to him.

Frank never regretted that he hadn’t become a lawyer like his father or his brothers. Fate had introduced him to Nick Kostidis, and Frank was grateful for that. Although his job was stressful and didn’t pay particularly well, the position as the closest assistant to the mayor of New York City held new challenges and assignments every day. Frank was confronted in his work with a sense of life’s incredible highs and lows that could only exist in a metropolis like New York. Wealth and misery, crime and charity bloomed and faded rapidly like colors in a kaleidoscope. The biggest bright spot was Nick Kostidis, this incredible man who never neglected humanity because of politics. Frank would never let Nick down in his tireless effort to fight for improving people’s lives in New York.

The telephone rang.

“Good evening,” he answered.

“You’re still there,” said an unpleasantly droning voice.

“Hello, Mr. McDeere.” Frank closed his tired eyes. “What can I do for you at this late hour?”

Truman McDeere was the FBI agent who’d been assigned to guard key witness David Zuckerman. Frank didn’t like this bald man with his grim expression and jaundiced face. He’d met him during the indictment of the city’s Mafia bosses and was happy when their collaboration ended.

“Where can I reach the mayor?”

“He’s out on private business tonight. Would you like to leave him a message?”

“I have to speak to him urgently. Something happened that he should know about.”

It was very unusual for the otherwise arrogant McDeere to stammer so sheepishly.

“Did something happen to Zuckerman?” he asked and opened his eyes.

“Yes, God damn it! He’s dead. We had fifteen men in the freaking hotel!”

“My God!” Frank jumped up so violently that he hit his knee on the desk drawer. “You’re kidding, right? Was it suicide?”

“No,” McDeere said meekly. “He was shot—with a suppressed forty-five.”

“Shit.” Frank sank down on his chair and rubbed his hurt knee. His thoughts raced. Nick had put all his hopes on Zuckerman’s testimony. He was sure that he could finally get Sergio Vitali with the help of this man. Zuckerman’s initial arrogance wore down during his months in jail. He’d virtually fallen apart over the past weeks. Last night, he had made the surprising decision to testify in front of a grand jury. He announced that he would reveal everything about the corruption scandal case surrounding the construction of the World Financial Center, which had fizzled out due to a lack of evidence. Zuckerman had rambled about bribery and extortion, falsified building applications and plans, excessive cost calculations, and price fixing. His testimony would have been more than unpleasant for Sergio Vitali. At the first grand jury hearing in November of last year, Zuckerman had taken his lawyer’s advice and pleaded the Fifth Amendment. Although this was considered a clear admission of guilt, the US Attorney’s Office closed the investigation. Kostidis’s anger went through the roof. He did everything he could to keep Zuckerman locked up and to reopen the case. He’d succeeded in appointing a new investigation committee to make absolutely certain that Vitali wouldn’t be able to get away this time. There was no doubt that Nick would be devastated to hear of Zuckerman’s death.

Just two days before, Zuckerman had been transferred from the Metropolitan Correction Center to a hotel in a cloak-and-dagger operation while guarded by fifteen FBI agents. Their job was to keep him completely shielded before his testimony. And now he was dead. Shot dead. It was quite clear that Vitali had found out about Zuckerman’s decision to cooperate with the authorities, contracted an assassin, and duped the FBI. Frank sighed. He would have liked for his boss to spend a quiet evening with his wife, but he had to deliver the bad news right away before the mayor read about it in the morning newspapers.

“I’ll inform him right away,” Frank said to the FBI officer. “Thanks for calling, Truman.” He hung up and rushed out of his office.

“Fucking bullshit,” he muttered on his way out the door.

A half hour later Frank was standing with his boss. He had been expecting a fit of rage over the FBI’s stupidity, but instead Nick Kostidis merely acknowledged the news with a resigned nod of his head. He let himself sink onto one of the benches outside Central Park’s Delacorte Theater and rubbed his eyes wearily.

“Vitali is behind this, there’s no doubt,” he said in a somber tone.

Muted voices and applause could be heard from the theater’s fully occupied semicircular pavilion.

“I’m really sorry,” Frank said quietly. In the bright light of the park lanterns, he noticed the wrinkles and dark shadows on Kostidis’s face, and saw that the fire in his eyes had gone out. Kostidis looked as if he had aged years in the past few minutes. His energy and enthusiasm had vanished. Kostidis stared at his closest staff member for a moment and then sighed.

“Sometimes I wonder whether I’m doing the right thing or making big mistakes because I’m too zealous.”

“Mistakes?” Frank was taken aback. He didn’t think of his boss as someone who doubted himself.

“Yes.” Kostidis leaned back and closed his eyes. “Zuckerman would still be alive if I hadn’t insisted on keeping him locked up for so long until he came clean. Now his wife is a widow and his children are fatherless. He’s dead, and we still haven’t made any progress.”

Frank was shocked.

“Vitali is stronger than me,” Nick Kostidis continued. “He’s stronger because he’s ruthless. Because he has no conscience and doesn’t give a damn about human lives. What have I done?”

“But Nick,” Frank objected, “we did the right thing. How could we possibly know that Zuckerman would be murdered? With his testimony, we could have killed ten birds with one stone.”

“Do we really have the right to risk someone’s life in the name of justice?” Kostidis opened his eyes. “I’m not so sure about that anymore. I used to think that I was doing the right thing.”

His boss’s doubts and dejection affected Frank more than any fit of rage could have, but he couldn’t think of what to say to console him.

“Go home, Frank.” Kostidis placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You’ve more than earned your time off after work.”

Frank nodded. “I didn’t mean to spoil your evening, but I thought that it would be better for you to hear the bad news from me than the radio.”

“Yes, you’re right. Thank you.” Nick Kostidis sat up straight, now that the first spectators poured out of the open-air theater. “Call Jerome Harding and Michael Page. I’d like to meet them tomorrow morning at ten o’clock in my office.”

“On it,” Frank nodded. He said goodnight to his boss and headed home with much on his mind.

Mary Kostidis slowly flowed with the crowd and searched for her husband. Once again, something so important had happened that it couldn’t wait until morning. She hadn’t been able to follow the rest of the theater performance because she wondered what was going on. When she finally caught sight of him, his facial expression said everything.

Mary had known her husband for thirty-two years. She had always supported him and admired his dedication, but she observed with concern how hard he fought. The wrinkles in his face had grown deeper, and the first gray strands had begun to appear in his thick dark hair. As the mayor, he was more vulnerable than ever before. He was always in the public eye, and any small mistake he made was greedily seized upon and mercilessly exploited by his enemies. He had been so tense the past few weeks that he didn’t often really listen to her. Something occupied his mind, but she knew that pushing him for information was pointless. He would tell her if he deemed it necessary. On the outside, Nick appeared as strong and fearless as ever. His circumstances and the grueling years of fighting had made him hard as granite, but on the inside, he remained a sensitive and compassionate human being who suffered when his efforts failed.

Mary was often worried about her husband because he antagonized many powerful men. He had never been afraid. She still loved him as much as when they first met in the reading room of the New York Public Library. Mary admired his ambition and straightforwardness and loved his ability to admit defeat gracefully. Time and again, he foiled other people’s business with his plans. He had been at the receiving end of many death threats, hostile newspaper articles, and anonymous phone calls. But none of this ever deterred Nick from doing what he thought was right. Mary was worried, but she never bothered him with her concerns. If there was anyone who knew what he was doing, it was Nick. She’d support any actions he took to fulfill his lifetime dream of improving the quality of life for the residents of New York.

“What happened?” she asked when she reached her husband.

“David Zuckerman, the man who agreed to testify in front of the investigation committee, was shot,” Nick said after they had been walking for a while. “Frank was here and told me.”

“My God!” Mary knew how much it meant to her husband to find a witness to provide testimony against Sergio Vitali and to nail his powerful enemy—who had triumphed over him time and again. “That’s terrible.”

“No,” Nick said, walking with his head down. “It’s sickening.”

They left the park through the Metropolitan Museum exit. Passersby greeted Nick, but he didn’t respond. Nick was normally in his element in public, known for having an open ear for anyone, but tonight he looked exhausted. They crossed the street, and Nick signaled the passing taxis.

“I wonder whether Frank has a private life at all,” he said pensively.

Mary smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

The third taxi stopped.

“Christopher is coming home this weekend,” Mary said as the yellow taxi turned from Fifth Avenue onto Eighty-Sixth Street toward Carl Schurz Park, the location of Gracie Mansion.

“Oh,” Nick mumbled, lost in his thoughts, “how nice.”

“He’s bringing his girlfriend.” Mary noticed that her husband wasn’t really listening. “He wants to introduce her to you. You can spend some time with them on the weekend, right?”

“Pardon me?” Nick gave his wife an apologetic look. “I was just thinking about something.”

Mary sighed and patiently repeated what she’d said.

“Chris has a girlfriend?” Nick asked in surprise. “This is the first time I’ve heard about it!”

“That’s why he’s coming to the city,” Mary replied. “Her name is Britney Edwards, and she’s studying art history and philosophy at Harvard. Her family lives somewhere in the Hudson Valley, and her father is a high-ranking officer at West Point.”

“Aha. And how serious is Chris about her?”

“I think he’s very serious. He told me he wants to marry her.”

“Get married?” Nick stared at his wife in irritation.

“Why not?” She laughed. “After all, he’s already twenty-nine. We were already married and had a child at that age.”

“Yes, sure, but…” Nick shook his head. Unbelievable that their boy was already twenty-nine. It felt like his first day of school was just yesterday. How quickly time flies! Christopher was a good kid who had never caused him any trouble. High school, Air Force, and medical school. Now he had a good job at Washington Memorial Hospital—his résumé was exemplary. And he had never reproached Nick for spending so little time with him. He’d never blamed his father for rarely going to the ballpark or the movies like his friends’ fathers did.

“You realize how old you are when you look at your kids,” Nick said and wiped his hand across his face. “I have so many plans for the future, but more and more, I feel that time is running out.”

“You’re not old, my love,” Mary said, grabbing his hand. “You’re a man in his best years.”

“That’s tactful.” Nick’s smile was bitter. “I feel ancient. Everything’s getting harder. I used to be so enthusiastic, so sure that I would be successful. And now…”

He fell silent.

“Don’t take Zuckerman’s death personally.”

“I don’t. It’s just the situation. I’ve failed. It’s not like in the movies where the good guys always win.”

“Are you sure that Vitali is behind this assassination?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure.” Nick sighed. “Somehow he found out that Zuckerman agreed to testify. And he acted immediately. I blame myself that I pressured this man into cooperating with us. I’m responsible for his death.”

“No, you’re not. He was the one who got involved with criminals.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’d still be alive if I hadn’t pushed him to testify.”

The grim expression on her husband’s face made Mary feel queasy. She anticipated that there was more than this man’s death behind his dejection.

“But it was the US Attorney’s Office that decided to keep him in custody,” she said carefully. At least he was talking to her instead of falling into his gloomy silence of recent weeks.

“De Lancie wanted to let him go six months ago.” Nick made a dismissive gesture. “He had no interest in pursuing this. In fact, he seemed uneasy about upholding the charges against Zuckerman.”

“Uneasy? He could have revealed a bribery scandal!”

“That’s exactly what bothers me.” Nick shrugged his shoulders and stared out the window. “It almost seems that this is exactly what de Lancie wanted to prevent.”

Mary cringed.

“Do you think that de Lancie…”

“Yes. I have the suspicion that he’s on Vitali’s payroll.”

“My God, the US attorney?”

“You can buy anyone with enough money.”

“Not you.” Mary touched Nick’s hand, but he didn’t react to her affection. He didn’t feel like being comforted, so she pulled her hand back again.

“Yeah”—Nick laughed unhappily—“Not me. I’m the idiot tilting at windmills. Not only do I have all of the powerful people in the city against me, but worse—I also have a traitor among my ranks.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Vitali found out about Zuckerman’s change of heart within twelve hours. Only the FBI and my people—no one else—knew about it.”

“And de Lancie?”

“I suspected him at first, but he was in Europe and wouldn’t have been informed.”

Mary was taken aback. She remained silent. A traitor among his own ranks—a mole! Now she understood why her husband was so discouraged. He was capable of fighting the enemies he knew without fear, but it was a terrible realization that someone on his staff—a confidant—had been secretly informing the enemy.

“I won’t win this,” Nick said quietly. Mary saw the gloomy expression in his eyes illuminated by the headlights of oncoming traffic. “I’ve won so many times when it seemed impossible, had so many unexpected victories. But this time I’m going to lose. I know it.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered.

“Yes, it is.” He shook his head without looking at her. “They’re stronger. They’ll do everything to destroy me because I’m in their way. I can’t defend myself if they corrupt my closest staff members.”

He sighed wearily. Sometimes he had the feeling that he was bailing water from a sinking ship with a teaspoon. The second he filled a hole, a bigger one opened up somewhere else. He couldn’t have imagined that trying to keep his campaign promises could be so frustrating and hopeless. He certainly could have done the same thing as so many of his predecessors. He could have made deals with people like Vitali, instead of fighting them and wearing himself out in the process. But Nick knew that he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror if he did that. Many of New York’s prominent individuals from business, finance, or politics had approached him more or less openly, but he categorically rejected anything that could have been misconstrued as a payoff.

Just two weeks ago, he’d had a dispute with Charlie Rosenbaum—one of the city’s biggest real-estate tycoons—at one of those pompous receptions. The party was nothing but a business development meeting disguised as a charity event. Rosenbaum had promised to build a kindergarten in Harlem. When Nick asked him the price of such generosity, Rosenbaum answered that it would be nice if the Department of Buildings could retroactively issue a permit for six additional stories that had been built on top of his new downtown skyscraper “by accident.” This was how things worked in New York, but that’s exactly what had always bothered Nick. The rich got away with everything; laws and prohibitions didn’t apply to them. They put money on the table, and then they could do whatever they pleased. They drove drunk, ignored building codes, cheated, lied, stole, and even killed people.

“I promised my constituents I’d make New York a more honest place,” he had replied to Rosenbaum. “I intend to keep this promise.”

“What’s dishonest about the deal that I’m proposing?” Rosenbaum’s eyes were wide in fake surprise. “I treat the city to a beautiful new kindergarten that’s modern, bright, and equipped with all the bells and whistles. This is great publicity for both you and me. In return, I get a retroactive permit. Tax-paying businesses will move into those six stories. There are only benefits for the city. Who really cares whether a skyscraper has a hundred and sixteen or a hundred and twenty-two stories?”

“It’s the principle.”

“The principle! Nick! The city needs private investors because it’s broke. I invest, but I expect consideration in return. That’s how business works. No one can live on charity alone.”

“That’s bribery.”

Rosenbaum’s face took on a sinister expression.

“An evil word for such a good deed. It would provide a safe place for many children who’d just be hanging out in the street and smoking crack in a few years, and then becoming criminals.”

It was all too tempting! The city’s coffers were indeed chronically empty, and a new kindergarten in the South Bronx or Harlem was simply not feasible due to a lack of municipal funds.

“Charlie,” Nick said, “how can I get you this permit without my constituents accusing me of being an opportunist? Of course, I would love to have a new and beautiful kindergarten that doesn’t cost the city anything, but I can’t just walk into the Department of Buildings and say, Hey, Mr. Rosenbaum has built six more stories than originally planned on his building. He’s very sorry, but now he needs a permit even if you rejected it during the planning stage.”

“You’re the mayor, Nick. You can do this.”

“I can’t do it without losing face in the process. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll get the permit. It’s only a question of time, and it will cost me a lot of money. Money that I’d rather spend on a kindergarten than on lawyers and appraisers.”

“I can’t do it.”

Rosenbaum shrugged his shoulders with a thin smile on his face.

“I’ve always taken you for an intelligent man. But apparently I was mistaken. You’re harming this city with your stubbornness and unwillingness to compromise. The financiers and investors will go somewhere else. To a place where they are welcomed with open arms and a good deed isn’t considered bribery.”

Rosenbaum had expressed his opinion more clearly than anyone before him, and Nick painfully realized for the first time that because of his strict morality, perhaps he wasn’t the right person for this job. For the benefit of the city and its citizens, he would have been forced to agree with him and forget his black-and-white thinking. Hundreds of children would benefit from this new kindergarten, and it probably wouldn’t bother anyone that a new skyscraper turned out to be a bit taller than initially planned and permitted. Nevertheless, if he accepted this bargain just once, then he wouldn’t be able to say no the next time. He’d once called his predecessors “the establishment’s corrupt puppets.” The people of New York had voted for him because he promised to be different.

“It’s a shame,” Rosenbaum said. “I thought that you’d been around long enough to understand that you won’t get anywhere with these small-minded policies. You’ll go down in history as the mayor who ruined this city with his exaggerated moral standards.”

Nick had mulled over Rosenbaum’s words ever since. Serious doubts about his approach had tormented him. He lay awake at nights thinking, but Nick ultimately decided that he couldn’t compromise if he wanted to stay true to himself.

The taxi stopped at Gracie Mansion, and Nick paid the driver. The security guards saluted the mayor and his wife politely. They were used to seeing Nick taking taxis or the subway, rather than traveling by private car. Mary and Nick silently strolled toward the house, which looked like a Southern mansion, with its surrounding veranda and white railings. The fragrance of lilac mixed in the air with that of the roses. The foliage was so thick and dark that the driveway seemed narrow. It was a beautiful night.

But Mary’s search for comfort in the beauty of the garden was in vain. Her husband walked next to her like he was a stranger, with his hands buried deep in his pockets and his eyes downcast. She was desperately searching for the right words to liberate him from this mood that she knew all too well. Recently, he suffered from these bouts of melancholy more often. He closed himself off, and he got this empty, bitter look on his face, which hurt Mary very much.

“Nick,” she said. She couldn’t take his silence anymore. Moths were flitting around the streetlight, and the unceasing sounds of the city could be heard as a muted mumbling from the distance.

“Yes?” He avoided looking into her eyes.

“It hurts me to see you so desperate and discouraged. You’ve always kept fighting no matter how hopeless the situation seemed. You can’t give up now!”

Nick didn’t answer.

“I love you,” Mary said softly. “I don’t give a damn what other people say.”

Nick was silent and shook his head.

“I have to accept that I’m not the right man for this job.”

“But that’s nonsense! You’re the best mayor this city ever had!”

Nick’s gaze, helpless and scornful at the same time, hit Mary like a slap in the face. He laughed mockingly. “Well, at least one person thinks so.”

Then he turned and quickly walked to the house. Mary followed him slowly. He had never rebuffed her this harshly before. Tears burned in her eyes, and a lump rose in her throat. He was distancing himself from her, and she couldn’t understand why.

The next morning, Nick Kostidis passed the gate and assured the two security guards—as he had done so many times before—that he was quite capable of getting downtown himself. He walked along Eighty-Sixth Street to the subway station at the corner of Lexington Avenue. He rushed down the stairs with quick steps, just barely catching the downtown express train, and sat down on an empty seat in the very last car. At this early hour on a Sunday morning, the subway was deserted save for a few early-rising tourists. The train rattled and raced through the dark tunnels, flying past the brightly lit local stations.

Nick leaned back and closed his eyes. He’d hardly slept last night. He woke up drenched in sweat from a nightmare at four in the morning. He couldn’t remember the details, but he could still feel the dream’s sensation of powerlessness. Until the crack of dawn, he’d lain awake in his bed wondering which one of his employees was double-crossing him. Who knew that Zuckerman was brought to that hotel and that he had agreed to testify against Vitali?

The train came to a screeching halt and the doors opened, just to close again seconds later with a pneumatic sigh. Coming out under the blue sky at City Hall Park, he squinted into the bright August sun. He stopped for a short moment and looked at his office building with a mixture of pride and resignation.

Thinking about how many mayors before him had tried to govern this incomparable city more or less successfully since 1821 filled him with awe and respect, as it always did. At the same time, he felt that the arrogant proximity of the modern glass-and-steel skyscrapers towering so mightily above city hall was symbolic. The people sitting in these skyscrapers—the banks and corporations with ruthless men at their helms—held the true power over this city.

Nick Kostidis sighed and walked up the steps to city hall. A horde of press people lurked in the entrance hall, immediately storming toward him when they saw him coming. They had somehow heard he would be there.

“Mayor Kostidis!” an eager young woman yelled. “What do you have to say about the accusations that you had something to do with David Zuckerman’s death?”

Within seconds, he found himself trapped by reporters, photographers, and camera crews pushing their microphones into his face. How the hell did the press already know about Zuckerman?

“Nick!” It was John Steele from Network America. “There are rumors that Zuckerman was killed by the Mafia. What do you think?”

Nick raised his hands and waited for the yelling to subside.

“First of all, good morning.” He tried to put on a friendly face. “I can’t comment at this point in time because all I know right now is that Mr. Zuckerman was shot dead last night. I’m on my way to have a meeting with the police commissioner right now. We will release a statement later today.”

“Mr. Kostidis,” the eager woman persisted, “there’s a rumor that you were involved in Zuckerman’s death. Is there any truth to these allegations?”

Nick saw an unprofessional lust for sensationalism in her eyes.

“These allegations are nothing but hot air,” he responded. “Zuckerman was charged with aiding and abetting fraud and bribery. This matter is solely the concern of the US Attorney’s Office. I’m the mayor of New York. This case doesn’t fall under my jurisdiction.”

“But,” the eager woman persisted, “according to some people, Zuckerman worked for Sergio Vitali. It’s well known that you and Mr. Vitali—”

“Listen,” Nick interrupted her impatiently, “you apparently know more than I do. Why don’t you wait until I find out what this is all about? Okay?”

With these words, he pushed himself through the crowd of journalists. He swiftly disappeared into the hallway leading to his ground-floor office. Frank approached him at the door.

“How did the press find out about this?” Nick yelled at his assistant in a rage. “What the fuck is going on?”

“The press?” Frank gave him an astonished look.

“Yes, damn it.” Nick quickly paced along the hallway. “They ambushed me in the entrance hall, bombarding me with questions. I wasn’t prepared. They asked me whether I was involved in Zuckerman’s death!”

“You?” Frank asked, surprised. “Who gave them that idea? How did the press find this out anyway?”

Nick stopped so abruptly that the young man almost ran into him.

“That’s exactly what I’d like to know. It looks like no secret whatsoever is safe here! Not even ten hours have passed, and everyone in the city appears to be better informed than I am!”

His eyes flashed angrily, but he wasn’t really mad. He had a sense of futility, as if someone had taken the helm out of his hands.

“By the way, Truman McDeere has been waiting in your office,” Frank said, “for the past half hour.”

They reached the west wing of city hall. The hustle and bustle usually reigning here was absent on the weekend. The offices were empty. Only Nick’s secretary, Allie Mitchell, sat at her desk, as well as Raymond Howard.

“The press is bombarding us with phone calls,” Allie said to Nick. “And Mr. de Lancie called, and Governor Rhodes wants you to call him back.”

“Great.” Nick frowned. “They’ll have to wait. I first want to hear what McDeere has to say.”

He disappeared into his office, while Frank, Ray, and Allie exchanged telling looks.

Truman McDeere rose from the chair he was sitting in when Nick Kostidis entered his office. He looked even more pinched than usual.

“How could this happen, McDeere?” Nick snapped at the FBI officer.

“I’m not accountable to you, Mayor Kostidis,” the bald federal agent responded sharply. “We’re not guilty of anything.”

“Except that a man who was supposed to be protected by fifteen FBI agents was shot to death.”

McDeere’s expression turned even grimmer.

“The men weren’t informed properly about this operation. They were just briefed about the identity of this man on-site,” he snapped. “They didn’t know each other. Just your people and I knew about this.”

“What interest would any of us have in seeing Zuckerman killed?”

McDeere shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarillo. Nick watched him closely. He had known Truman McDeere for some time and he suspected that there was more to this story than the FBI agent was willing to admit.

“So, Truman,” he said in a conciliatory tone, “what really happened?”

After a brief internal debate, McDeere took a deep breath and started to speak in a quiet voice.

“Our people were positioned throughout the entire hotel. At all of the back entrances, the kitchen, the underground garage, and the elevators. One man stayed in the room with Zuckerman the whole time. It was about eight thirty when someone knocked at the door of the room. That person knew the agreed-upon knocking signals, and he also reached the sixth floor unchallenged. So the officer opened up. The agent thought he recognized the man from the meeting the night before and assumed that he was part of the squad. When the agent was told that he should go to the lobby to report the changing of the guard, he left the room.”

Nick closed his eyes. An old, brazen Mafia trick, and the Feds fell for it! McDeere apparently had trouble admitting the mistake.

“When the agent got downstairs to see the others, it was immediately clear that something was fishy. They rushed back upstairs, but it was already too late by then. Zuckerman was dead as a doornail. Two shots at close range to the heart and one to the head. The murder weapon was a .45-caliber Smith & Wesson with a silencer. We found it.”

“Oh?” Nick opened his eyes again.

“It was in a cart with dirty laundry.”

“Did you trace it?”

“We couldn’t. It has no serial number, no fingerprints, nothing. Ballistics are examining the gun, but there’s no way to trace anything by way of the weapon. This guy was a pro.”

“Looks like Mafia.”

“Definitely.” McDeere nodded, his face sullen. “We made a mistake precisely because we wanted to be absolutely sure that nothing went wrong. This is why we only used officers who didn’t know each other. And that was exactly the opportunity for the killer to do his thing.”

“He must have known all the details,” Nick said. His darkest fears seemed to prove true. Only Vitali could be behind this cold-blooded execution.

“Yes,” McDeere replied, “Zuckerman’s killer was well informed. Nothing can bring this man back to life, but I want to know who provided the killer with this information. There were very few people who knew the exact details, which narrows the circle of possible suspects considerably.”

“Lloyd Connors from the US Attorney’s Office knew about it, the police commissioner, and your people.”

“And you.”

“No.” Nick shook his head. “I knew which hotel Zuckerman was brought to, but I wasn’t informed about the operation’s details.”

McDeere extinguished his cigarillo in the ashtray.

“I admit,” he said, “that we won’t be getting any accolades for how we handled this, but I firmly reject the suspicion that any of my men divulged any information.”

Both men looked at each other in silence.

“The mole,” McDeere said, “is at the US Attorney’s Office, the police, or here in city hall.”

Nick wiped his hand across his face. He wished that he could reject the accusation of having a traitor within his own ranks as resolutely as McDeere did. But he couldn’t. About fifteen of his closest staff knew about this matter—fifteen people whom he could no longer trust.

“Nick, unfortunately, there has always been corruption in the city administration,” McDeere said. “If you want, we can check your people.”

“No, no,” Nick quickly silenced him. “I have to find out another way. Maybe it’s someone from the US Attorney’s Office.”

He thought about his staff members, all of whom he had known now for many years. In the future, he’d have to suspect that anyone he spoke to could be an informer for one of his enemies. This was a terrible thought, and Nick wished that he had more influence on his people’s paychecks. Given their immense workload, their salaries were downright laughable. No wonder one of them might be open to receiving additional sources of income.

McDeere said good-bye a few minutes later. Nick sat there in a very pensive mood. In the 1960s, John Lindsay—the mayor at the time—had called New York City ungovernable. Corruption, a disastrous infrastructure, the extreme contrast between rich and poor, high unemployment in the poverty-stricken districts, and a chronic shortfall in the city’s budget all made reasonable government policies virtually impossible. Nick had never let himself be discouraged by this up to now. With much enthusiasm and a healthy dose of optimism, he vigorously tackled the problems that his predecessors had failed to resolve. He had already accomplished so much. Continued support from the majority of his constituents confirmed his actions.

Nevertheless, there were plenty of people who were displeased by his fight against crime and his strengthening of the police force. The police’s tough stance was publicly criticized time and again, and only the obvious accomplishments of his no-tolerance policy could take the wind out of his enemies’ sails. In just one and a half years, he’d managed to drastically lower the crime rate in the city, and the Mafia bogeyman had faded away thanks to his persistent crackdowns. But now three damned shots threatened the success of his work! Nick had a feeling that Zuckerman’s murder would trigger active lively debate about safety in the city. He could already see the sensational headlines: “Mafia Murder in Manhattan,” “How Safe Is the City?” People would question the effectiveness of his security policy, and all the positive things that Nick had achieved with regard to quality of life and infrastructure improvements would be forgotten. He buried his face in his hands. He was a fighter. For his entire life he’d had to fight, but he didn’t mind it. Now, the terrible suspicion of having a traitor in his own ranks deeply discouraged him.

“Mr. Harding is here, sir,” Allie announced over the speakerphone.

“Send him in,” Nick replied, “and bring us some coffee, please.”

He stood up and walked toward the police commissioner. Jerome Harding, the head of the New York Police Department, was in his late fifties. He began his career as a patrol officer in the Bronx and built himself a reputation as a tough cop. His powerful stature and striking face with a protruding chin gave him an aggressive appearance. With his tailored suit and expensive silk tie, Harding looked civilized, but underneath this facade he was still a brutal bruiser from the Bronx who didn’t forgive or forget. At the age of twenty-five, he’d joined the police academy. After that, he worked his way up to become a chief homicide detective. Ambitious as he was, he studied law by taking evening classes and applied to the US Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York, where he quickly rose through the ranks to become the head of the securities fraud department. Nick met him there and soon came to appreciate his effective work, although he didn’t particularly like him as a person. The feeling was mutual, but both men were professional enough to put their career goals above their personal aversion. Harding was known for his hot temper, but also for his perseverance. He was an energetic and merciless investigator who was never overcome by remorse. He was behind the successful criminal prosecution of an insider-trading scandal on Wall Street in the 1980s, And as the police commissioner, he’d become one of Nick’s most important partners in the fight against crime.

“Jerome,” Nick said as he extended his hand toward the red-faced man with a smile. “I’m sorry you had to come here on a Sunday morning. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harding laughed and winked at him. “As you know, the police never sleep.”

The two men sat down at the large conference table while Allie served coffee.

“So, what’s the matter? How can I help you, Nick?”

Nick interlaced his fingers. He caught himself questioning the degree of Harding’s loyalty, but he immediately brushed his doubts aside. The man sitting in front of him was known for his uncompromising disdain for all criminals. Harding might have a few unpleasant attributes, but he wasn’t corrupt!

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the FBI’s blunder in the Zuckerman matter.”

“Yes, indeed”—Harding waved his hand in contempt—“The Feds screwed up. But you insisted that the FBI should handle Zuckerman’s protection.”

Nick ignored this pointed remark.

“How is it possible that a killer can get this close to a man being guarded by fifteen agents?”

“These idiots fell right into a classic Mafia trap!” Harding laughed maniacally. “The killer was probably among them from the very beginning, and they didn’t notice!”

“That’s exactly what gives me a headache! We’ve been in this business long enough to know that something like this should never happen!”

Harding darted a piercing glance at Nick. “What are you trying to get at?”

“The killer’s contractor knew about Zuckerman’s imminent testimony, the secret location, and the details of the entire operation. Let me make myself clear, Jerome. I’m not so much interested in catching this killer, which we probably won’t manage to do anyway. I want to know how it was possible for confidential information to be leaked so quickly, and I want to know who leaked it!”

Harding seemed to hesitate for a split second before offering his unexpected response.

“You’re taking this thing way too personally.” He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back. “The FBI has disgraced itself, but you and I have nothing to do with it.”

Nick was silent. Was Harding right? Did he take all of this too personally because Vitali had once again managed to slip through his net?

“No,” he replied, “that’s not true. This episode will bring us a lot of negative publicity. My main promise to my constituents was that I would make this city a safer place. We’ve already achieved quite a bit, but my political adversaries will use this to tear us to pieces. You know yourself that many people disapprove of the police’s hard line, and now they’ll reignite public discussion about the purpose of certain police operations.”

The smirk vanished from Harding’s face.

“You’re being too dramatic. We succeeded in convincingly shutting up those damn liberal sissies, and we’ll continue to do so.”

“So you think we shouldn’t do anything?”

Harding nodded. “Correct. Give the press some meaningless report, and point out the responsibility of the FBI and the US Attorney’s Office. Let’s wait and see. Just don’t make any statements that could heat up this whole story in the public’s eye.”

Nick looked doubtfully at the police commissioner. Harding seemed unusually reserved. His recommendation to keep calm was completely out of character.

“I’d really like to know who provided the killer with the details,” Nick insisted.

“Jesus, Nick”—Harding impatiently clicked his tongue—“Do you really want to set off an avalanche and provoke a public discussion about corruption? That would harm you a lot more. Let the Zuckerman matter rest.”

Nick was anything but happy with the result of his meeting, and his phone calls with US Attorney John de Lancie and Governor Rhodes didn’t lift his spirits any. It seemed he was the only one bothered by the death of this key witness. Zuckerman’s testimony would have certainly stirred things up. There was a knock at the door, and Michael Page—Nick’s chief of staff—entered.

“I’ve prepared a statement for the press,” he said, handing three pages to the mayor. “We won’t leave any room for speculation.”

“Hmm.” Nick looked at the pages pensively. “Harding, de Lancie, and Governor Rhodes think that we should let this matter rest.”

“Really?” Page was surprised. “And what do you think?”

“I don’t know. I do know that there is more to this than meets the eye.”

“I can change the press release.”

“No, wait. Let me read it first.” Nick delved into the text. Soon a smile spread across his face.

“It’s brilliant, Michael,” he said after he finished. “I stand against everyone else with this statement. We have only lost a battle instead of the entire war.”

“Exactly.” His chief of staff nodded, satisfied. “Public outrage will be shifted toward the likes of Vitali and Rosenbaum. We won’t let them point the finger at us.”

Sergio Vitali sat at his desk on the eighty-sixth floor of the VITAL Building and read the paper. The cover story headline read, “Mafia Murder in Manhattan?”

“Merda,” Sergio growled, then finished the article.

“I didn’t think that the Feds would make so much noise about this,” Nelson van Mieren said, concerned. “Their failure was rather embarrassing.”

“This is not the FBI.” Sergio slapped the newspaper with a flat hand. “This article is Kostidis’s creation.”

He let out a sinister laugh.

“He thought he finally had me, and now he sees that I slipped through his fingers once again.”

“I don’t like this at all, Sergio,” the lawyer objected. “This talk about the Mafia and corruption damages your reputation. This is a godsend for the media.”

“So what? I don’t give a damn.” Sergio stood up and crumpled the newspaper. “No one will remember this in a couple of weeks. Kostidis can suspect as much as he wants, but he can’t prove anything. And he very well knows it.”

“I don’t think they will let it rest so easily this time,” Nelson replied, “because it’s an opportunity to discredit you publicly. You know yourself how sensitive this topic still is. It’ll become difficult to maintain the support of our friends if the press picks up on this. Politicians hate negative publicity.”

“But they love my money.” Sergio laughed. “I don’t give a damn whether or not they like me. I own them. I know way too much about them and their secret tax-free earnings for them to stab me in the back.”

Nelson van Mieren let out a sigh. It had taken him years of hard work to build a legal and serious facade for Sergio’s empire. Just a few negative words in the headlines and television coverage could cause a great deal of damage. And these headlines were sure to come, because the press was virtually starving for sensational stories in the summer.

“The building commissioner just called,” Nelson said.

“He’s starting to freak out,” Sergio said, sitting in his armchair again and leaning back with a sinister smile. “We gave him twenty-five thousand dollars last month! What’s he going to do? He won’t bite the hand that feeds him.”

He turned his chair to the side to behold the Empire State Building and the skyline of Midtown Manhattan.

“Look at this, Nelson,” he said, “my city at our feet! I’m the king of Manhattan. Anyone who wants to do business here must get past me first!”

He laughed, but there was an icy glint in his eyes.

“Nelson, I’m not a megalomaniac, you know that. I’ve made it here from the streets of Little Italy, and nobody helped me. I’m used to a headwind, and I’m not scared of it. Quite the contrary—I like to fight! And I like to win. I’ll win this time.”

“Kostidis will try to crucify you.”

“He’s been trying for years.” Sergio waved his hand, dismissing him. “I don’t care. I’ll stay backstage pulling the strings just like I’ve always done. Do you know what would really be bad, Nelson?”

“No, I don’t.”

“If I were in a position where I needed to hand this all over—that would be bad. But I don’t.” Sergio smiled, musing. “I could have retired a long time ago. I’ve seriously considered the idea, but…”

“But?” Nelson looked at him attentively.

“Massimo isn’t ready to lead all of this yet.” Sergio made a sweeping gesture. “And besides that, I still enjoy this game way too much.”

Nelson looked at his friend with an uneasy feeling. He had witnessed Sergio’s unstoppable rise and knew how ruthless he could be. But Sergio was wrong about one thing: he could not afford to ignore his reputation, because many of his business partners wouldn’t allow themselves to be linked with a man who was called a Mafioso in the press. Sergio’s empire—based on brutality and bloodshed—had become so mighty and powerful because he understood how to convince influential men to side with him. Assuming that nothing could shake it was a mistake. He’d made many enemies on his way to the top, and Nelson was convinced that many of these bought friends were just waiting for the moment when Sergio’s empire started to rock to quickly jump ship. There were no bigger opportunists in the world than politicians.

“What’s the matter, Nelson?” Sergio asked. “Don’t tell me this newspaper scribbling scares you.”

“I think you’re taking this much too lightly,” his lawyer replied. “We can’t afford to make any mistakes that could threaten our key connections.”

“What are you trying to say?” Sergio’s ice-blue eyes seemed to pierce van Mieren. Nelson shuddered. It was inconceivable to imagine what would happen if someone who really knew something decided to get out. Vincent Levy, for example. Would he risk the reputation of his bank by publicly supporting Sergio? Never! Levy was a businessman, and he wasn’t Italian. He was a Jew. If push came to shove, he would switch sides to ensure his own survival. But it was pointless to argue with Sergio because he refused to accept any reality but his own. Nelson realized that Sergio had stopped heeding his advice a long time ago.

“Nothing,” he said, “you’re right. Chances are that no one will still be talking about this in a few days.”

Sergio smiled.

“Nelson, my old friend, you’re not going to lose your nerve on me, are you? Speculation over whether I have something to do with the Mafia is less damaging than the testimony of a man who knows facts and figures. The dust around Zuckerman will settle, and then the bootlickers from politics, justice, and the administration will return. Ancient human greed has always bound them to me.”

He stood up and stared out the window. Even if they avoided him for a while, they would never revoke their loyalty. One person who had planned on doing so was now lying stiff and cold in the morgue at the Department of Forensic Medicine. Sergio Vitali was no one to mess with.

“What about the woman?”

Sergio looked at Nelson in surprise.

“Alex?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing. What about her?”

“Is she on your side?”

“I don’t know.” Sergio shrugged his shoulders. “She does her job, and she does it well. I don’t talk about my business with her.”

Nelson breathed a sigh of relief. He had secretly feared that Sergio had given in to weakness and let her in on his secret business deals.

“Are you worried that I would risk everything because of a woman?” Sergio laughed out loud.

“Well,” Nelson replied, “after all, you toyed with the idea of confiding in her.”

“But I decided against it. It was a sentimental moment. It passed.”

He sat down at his desk again, but the smile had vanished from his face and made way for a grim expression.

“Get me McIntyre on the phone,” he said to Nelson. “I’d better talk to him before he flips out.”

“Sergio!” Paul McIntyre exclaimed in a low voice that had the sound of sheer panic. “Have you read the paper?”

He didn’t hear the typical arrogance in McIntyre’s voice.

“Yes,” Sergio replied, “I have. Is there something in it that should interest me?”

“Jesus.” McIntyre lowered his voice to a nervous whisper. “Zuckerman is dead! No more investigation committee! Kostidis is mad as hell, and now they’ll certainly come after me.”

“Nonsense. Who would come after you?”

“The US attorney, Kostidis—who knows!”

“Nobody will come, Paul, I can promise you that. Now calm down. I’d like to discuss something with you.”

“Calm down!” McIntyre laughed desperately. “The entire city is standing on its head, and you tell me to calm down!”

“How was your vacation?” Sergio leaned back into a comfortable position in his chair; he put his feet up on the reflective top of his mahogany desk. “Was everything arranged to your liking?”

McIntyre instantly got the hint. He hesitated for a moment; then his voice sounded calmer.

“Of course. It was perfect, as usual. My wife even went diving.”

“I’m glad. I hope that she spent a lot of money.”

“Hmm…yes…”

“I heard that another little tidy sum has been transferred to your account in Georgetown.”

“Great.” McIntyre was still tense, but he had himself under control again.

“Paul,” Sergio said, “I need a favor. A friend of mine has a small problem.”

The buildings commissioner was silent. These words coming from Vitali were familiar and were meant as anything but a request. However, Vitali rewarded those who did him favors royally. McIntyre was aware of that. He’d complied for the first time with one of Vitali’s requests about fifteen years ago, when he was a clerk at the Department of Buildings, and he had never regretted it. He was able to send his kids to private schools instead of the run-down public schools, and his family vacationed at hotels Vitali owned throughout the world. In addition, they were always treated as if they were Vitali’s close relatives. McIntyre had by now added a respectable chunk to his retirement savings. Although he still needed to be careful not to live beyond his means, he would retire in luxury.

“So what can I do for you?”

“Charlie Rosenbaum is having problems with his new skyscraper on Fifty-Second Street,” Sergio began.

“For heaven’s sake! God knows that I can’t do anything about that! The mayor himself just asked last week whether Rosenbaum had applied for a retroactive permit.”

Sergio felt the hot anger rise up in him whenever he heard of this man. Kostidis! Didn’t he have enough work on his hands without assuming the jobs of the attorney general and the buildings commissioner?

“And?” He forced himself to remain calm. “Did he?”

“No.”

“See? Go ahead and issue a permit for him now. Kostidis has other things on his mind at the moment and won’t ask again for a while.”

“Impossible!”

“I’m not familiar with that word, Paul.”

“This could cost me my job.”

“I’ve promised my friend I’d put a good word in for him.”

Rosenbaum had offered Sergio two magnificently run-down apartment buildings in Morrisania and Hunts Point at a truly special price in return for his help as an intermediary with the Department of Buildings. Of course, Rosenbaum couldn’t possibly know that these areas of the South Bronx were earmarked as priority redevelopment projects in city hall. In a few years, perhaps even sooner, these properties would be worth hundreds or even thousands of times more after the decrepit apartment buildings were demolished. Sergio owed this information to his absolute favorite informer sitting right in Kostidis’s office. This informer made up for all the trouble Sergio had with the mayor. A strange twist of fate had made Zachary St. John’s old college friend a member of Nick Kostidis’s inner circle. It was easy enough for Sergio to recruit the unhappy man with St. John’s help. In addition to regular payments, Sergio promised he would support his ambitious political aspirations. Thinking about this made Sergio smile in satisfaction. He had an eye and an ear directly in the mayor’s office. He’d never before had a mole that far up the ladder in city hall. Whatever Kostidis did, Sergio was immediately informed about everything and able to take countermeasures, if necessary. Without a doubt, the 107th mayor of New York City would go down in history as the least successful of them all.

“So, Paul, how about it?” Sergio asked. McIntyre sighed, and Sergio knew that he had won. The buildings commissioner argued a little for appearance’s sake.

“By the way,” Sergio said, playing his trump card, “I found that house your wife has been dreaming about for years. Right on the coast of Long Beach with an ocean view. It’s a real beauty, with its own dock and private beach.”

This eliminated any remaining doubts.

“Okay,” Paul McIntyre said, giving up his resistance, “tell Rosenbaum to call me.”

“You’re my friend, Paul.” Sergio tapped the miniature bronze Statue of Liberty on his desk with the toe of his shoe. “And you know that I never forget my friends.”

Alex also read the article in the paper. The hint at a connection between Sergio and the Mafia was anything but speculation; it was the absolute truth. The ugly man whom she’d encountered at Sergio’s house was David Zuckerman’s killer. Sergio had no doubt lied to her. She had believed his reassurances because she had wanted to believe him.

On Saturday night, she had managed to escape from his house unnoticed. Driving back to the city, she briefly contemplated calling Oliver, but she didn’t. The memory of his contempt was still too vivid, and she wouldn’t have been able to bear it if he slammed the door in her face. She had been wide awake all night as she sat in her dark apartment, trembling with fear and trying to gather her thoughts. Sergio didn’t suspect that she’d found out the truth about him, and he must never find out. Once again, the fear crept up inside of her. Were all the guests at Sergio’s party really as clueless as she assumed? Or was she the only one in the dark? It seemed impossible to her that the governor, the publisher of Time magazine, even LMI’s board members, could turn a blind eye.

Alex got to the office early the next morning. She was biting her lower lip, contemplating how she could cool off her relationship with Sergio without raising suspicion, when she heard a knock on her glass office door. Her nerves were so tense, she jumped up as if someone had just shot her.

“Hi, Alex.” It was Mark. He was surprised by her frightened expression. “Here are the documents about Xiao-Ling Industries and Midway Porter.”

“Okay, thanks.” Alex nodded absentmindedly. Fortunately, she was going to be able to get away from Sergio for eight days. She had to take a business trip to Asia and Europe with John Kwai, and this would give her time to develop a strategy.

“How are you?” Mark asked in a concerned voice. “You look sick.”

“I’m feeling great,” she replied and forced a smile. It occurred to her that Mark was friends with Oliver. Had Oliver told him about the embarrassing episode in his apartment?

“Is there anything else?” she asked Mark, who was still holding the files in his hands and looked like he had something else on his mind.

“There’s something that I’d like to talk to you about,” he said.

“Is it urgent? I have another meeting, then I need to leave for the airport.”

“Maybe it’s important,” Mark answered in a serious tone. “I’ve compiled some information that you should read. There are inconsistencies that I stumbled upon during the last few weeks. I know that you don’t want to hear about it, but I’m sure that this will interest you.”

He placed a large envelope on her desk.

“What kind of information is this?” Alex eyed her employee suspiciously. She saw Zack strolling around the trading floor. Mark also spotted him. It was still relatively quiet because the stock exchange had not yet opened, and Zack was talking with some of the traders.

“It would be better if St. John doesn’t get a hold of this envelope,” Mark said. An uneasy feeling suddenly overcame her.

“Why are you giving me this now, of all times?” she asked. Mark threw a quick glance at the trading floor.

“I want you to know that you can trust me,” he said, lowering his voice, “but probably not many others in here. Please, Alex, take a look, but don’t speak about it to anyone.”

At that moment, Zack stepped into Alex’s office, whereupon Mark excused himself and left. Alex put the envelope into her briefcase together with other documents she needed for the trip.

“You left so quickly Saturday.” Zack sat down on one of the visitor’s chairs unasked, and his eyes curiously glanced over her desk. “You missed the fireworks. It was phenomenal.”

“I’m sure,” Alex said, trying to act relaxed, “but I was dead tired all of a sudden. And I need to fly to Hong Kong today.”

While Zack made small talk about the fireworks and the party, Alex had the feeling that there was a ticking bomb in her briefcase, and Zack’s warning suddenly entered her mind: Be careful with Vitali. She wished she could ask him what he’d meant by that. Did he know about Sergio? She didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Alex had no idea how she would act toward Sergio when she returned to New York. As expected, the press jumped on the scandal that the Zuckerman murder ignited during the summer slump. Regardless of the respectability of the newspaper or television station, the topic of the Mafia in New York was gleefully exploited. Alex bought every American newspaper she could get her hands on and vigilantly followed the reports while she was abroad. Sergio was publicly accused of involvement in the murder at the Milford Plaza, and his father’s criminal past was once again covered extensively. Although every accusation raised against Sergio was dug up out of the archives, none of the journalists dared to call him a gangster. But the intense speculation was enough to portray him in an unfavorable light.

Alex had opened the envelope the moment she reached her Hong Kong hotel room. It contained a neatly bound stack of copied newspaper clippings about Gilbert Shanahan. Alex broke out in goose bumps as she read them. She also found a list of all the deals she had completed in recent months: Camexco, Hanson, American Road Map, National Concrete, Sherman Industries, Seattle Pacific Woods, Inc., Diamond Crown, Redwood Lumber, Storer, Hale-Newport, A&R, and Micromax. Mark had researched meticulously and discovered that either the Panamanian holding company of SeViCo or a company called Sunset Properties was behind every client. Sunset Properties had been incorporated in the British Virgin Islands since 1985. He had created a diagram of arrows that all converged into one point.

Alex was perplexed and shook her head. What was this supposed to mean? Additionally, there was a list of investment funds launched by LMI in recent months. Many of these funds were issued as a way to finance their deals. One of the funds—Private Equity Technology Partners—was highlighted in yellow marker; with five hundred million dollars in capital, it was larger than the average fund. It was highly speculative and invested in new technology-oriented start-ups. This included another fund called Venture Capital SeaStarFriends Limited Partnership.

Alex lit a cigarette and stared at the area highlighted in yellow. She didn’t understand the connections and turned the page. Then she suddenly froze. Are you kidding me, or are you really that naive? SeViCo. Sergio Vitali Corporation. The hand holding her cigarette started to tremble. Some of my companies also do business with LMI…This is what Sergio told her when she asked him whether he was involved with LMI. Here it was in black-and-white. SeViCo was behind every single deal that she’d worked on and closed over the last few months. Alex flipped back a few pages. Venture Capital SeaStarFriends Limited Partnership. Sea Star—Stella Maris. Was all of this a coincidence? She turned to the last page of Mark’s summary, holding her breath. On the top of the page it said in handwriting:

Alex skimmed over the next page. Mark had listed the stock prices and the corresponding dates of her deals. She felt a chill come over her. The stock prices rose slightly every single time before the acquisition or merger was made public. At the bottom, Mark had written: Who knew about these deals before their announcement? Alex broke out into a cold sweat. She knew who it was, and this someone knew it solely and exclusively from her. It was Zack, and it looked like he was taking advantage of this knowledge. There was only one question left unanswered: For whom was he doing these insider trades—for himself, or Vincent Levy?

She stared at the wall of her hotel room, and slowly the confusion in her mind cleared. The pieces of the puzzle started coming together, and she suddenly saw things clearly. Sergio had been at Zack’s party. That’s where she’d met him. She’d never asked herself what he was doing there. Besides, he had also invited Zack to his birthday party. Why? Because they were close business partners? Did Zack also supply Sergio with information, which she gave him on Levy’s order? If Sergio, through SeViCo, was behind these deals, then he already profited handsomely through Zack—and illegally and tax-free at that! This was incredible! Her bewilderment turned into rage as she realized how naive and blind she had been. Was Sergio even responsible for her being hired at LMI? Possibly. Levy had tested to what degree she would be willing to participate in these dirty business deals, and she had let herself be bribed with his dubious bonus. If Mark was right and she had interpreted the findings of his research correctly, then she was nothing but a willing puppet. This was fraud of epic proportions. Alex sat motionless on her hotel bed for a long time. It would be quite simple to find out. She would set a trap for Zack. If he fell into it, then she’d know.

Alex threw her keys on the table, slipped her sandals from her feet, and took off her blazer. Without turning on the light, she walked straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. She took out a bottle of milk and allowed herself a big gulp. The evening with Madeleine and Trevor had been very entertaining, but she had downed more red wine than she could handle. The Downeys had invited her to their house on Long Island for the weekend, and Alex had been happy to escape the humid city. She had a great time in Amangansett, horseback riding on the beach with Madeleine and sharing meals with her and Trevor.

Alex walked barefoot into the living room and pressed the light switch as she passed it. She froze and nearly dropped the bottle of milk in shock. Sergio was sitting on the couch.

“Jesus!” she exclaimed. “Why did you scare me like that? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

“Hello, cara.” He smiled, his white teeth flashing in his dark face. “I’ve been waiting for you for three hours. Your cell phone was turned off.”

“Did we have a date?” Alex put the milk bottle on the floor and noticed that she was trembling. This was the first time she had seen him since that terrible evening at his house. Although she was horrified by him now that she knew the truth, she had to keep her composure.

“You haven’t called me since you got back from Asia, and I was simply longing for you. How are you?”

“Good.” She remained standing next to the light switch, watching him. “And how are you?”

“Excellent.”

“It’s unbelievable what they write in the newspapers,” she said coolly.

“Newspaper scribbling,” Sergio said and laughed. “I’ve never cared about that.”

“They say that you’re somehow connected with the murder of this real-estate guy.” Alex was trembling inside. She could hardly resist the urge to throw everything she had found out about him into his face.

“I’m sure that they’d love to put the blame on me.”

Sergio crossed his legs and grinned. Although he’d never admit it, this vicious press campaign was really getting to him. Being defenseless made him angry. And on top of that, he could hardly endure how self-righteous Mayor Kostidis appeared on television. On Monday, the IRS criminal tax investigation unit showed up once again at Ficchiavelli and turned the entire place upside down. Massimo had attacked one of the agents in one of his temper tantrums. That had cost Sergio endless phone calls with all kinds of influential people on his bribery payroll to keep this situation from leaking to the press. He also realized that some of his “friends” were avoiding him, which was a clear indication that Kostidis’s smear campaign was having an impact. There were problems in every direction, and he also couldn’t reach Alex. Sergio was tense beyond all measure and irritated. He wanted to have sex with Alex and release the pressure.

“This bastard Kostidis has been leading a personal crusade against me for the past fifteen years,” he continued. “He’s obsessed with the idea of locking me up behind bars. During his time as the US attorney, he tried everything in his power to denounce me. It wasn’t enough for him to drag New York’s entire underworld and half of Wall Street into court—he wants me too.”

He stood up without taking his eyes off of Alex. At first glance, he seemed as confident and relaxed as usual, but his eyebrows were tensely furrowed.

“He’s tried everything already: He accused me of all kinds of Mafia activities, bribery, extortion. He tried to frame me with fraud and union manipulation. All to no avail. I don’t know how many years the US Attorney’s Office spent fabricating accusations. It was all in vain.”

His expression became sinister.

“I pay my taxes, provide work for thousands of people, and carry a great deal of responsibility,” he said, his tone angry, “and then this miserable Greek idiot brings his righteous anger upon anyone with an Italian name, calling me a gangster and Mafioso. He’s already caused me enormous damage with his slander, but I don’t get upset about him anymore. Let him make a fool of himself with his missionary zeal.”

Sergio laughed grimly.

Alex knew that this was anything but ridiculous, yet she secretly admired Sergio’s performance. He withstood her stare without blinking an eye, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have believed him. Don Sergio, she thought, and a shiver ran down her spine.

She had to play along with his game. “Why don’t you defend yourself against these accusations? Why do you let them drag your name through the mud?”

“I don’t need to justify myself over things that I’m not involved with.” He smiled, but his blue eyes were flinty.

“But a tarnished reputation hurts business.”

“That’s nonsense,” Sergio said contemptuously, shaking his head. “The people I do business with aren’t small-minded philistines easily intimidated by sensationalist newspaper articles.”

Alex didn’t say a word.

“What is it, cara?” He put his hands on her shoulders and gazed intensely into her eyes. “Do you actually believe what they say about me?”

“I wish I could say no,” Alex replied.

He grabbed her wrists.

“Does it really matter to you what’s written in the newspapers?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m as unconcerned with that as you are. I wouldn’t care if you would just be honest with me. But I have a feeling that you’re not.”

Sergio let go of her.

“Why do you want to know things that are none of your business?”

He put his hands in his pockets, and his smile had vanished.

“Do you think that I’m accountable to you just because I have sex with you every once in a while?”

Alex stared at him in disbelief.

“I’ve never asked you to explain anything about yourself to me. But you ask me to believe you. The press has been writing and reporting otherwise about you for weeks. Why should I believe you when you don’t trust me?”

“It’s exactly like I’m telling you.”

“Just like in the Bible, right?” Alex laughed and suddenly felt a chill. “True to the words, ‘Blessed are those who haven’t seen and yet have come to believe’!”

Sergio gave her a serious look. His handsomely sculpted face looked like it was chiseled from stone.

“I love you,” he said unexpectedly.

“No, you don’t.” Alex shook her head. “Maybe you desire me, but that’s all.”

She thought about the natural and loving comfort with which Trevor and Madeleine treated each other. Sergio was completely incapable of such affection. She suddenly didn’t want to see him anymore. She was tired and wanted to sleep.

“The past few days have been rough,” she said and turned away. “I’m tired. You should leave now.”

Sergio’s anger, which he had struggled to hold back, flared up. He approached her with three large steps and grabbed her arm harshly.

“Let me go,” Alex said. “I want to go to bed.”

“I do too.” Sergio pulled her toward him and pressed his lower body against hers. “With you.”

“But I don’t want to do this with you.” She pushed her arms against his chest, but he wouldn’t let go of her. He raged with lust. She kicked and punched him in a fit of panic, but any pain that she caused intensified his wild desire. It was a crazy, angry, downright fierce fight, and Alex lost. She endured his brutal passion, her faced turned away. As he climaxed with a muffled panting, she knew that she hated him. Furious, she watched him get up, calmly zip his pants and then straighten up his tie.

“You asshole,” she whispered. “You just raped me!”

Sergio leaned over her and turned her face so that she was forced to look up at him.

“You should remember one thing very precisely, cara mia.” He smiled, but the chill in his eyes was arctic. “I always get what I want.”

Then he walked to the door and disappeared. Alex began to sob. Why hadn’t she listened to all of the warnings, even when she’d sensed deep inside that the terrible rumors were true? She was no longer in control of the situation, and realized she actually never had been. She learned the hard way: Sergio Vitali was not a person to be gotten rid of that easily.

December 21, 1999

Shortly before Christmas, Alex closed one of the most spectacular deals of the year. Maxxam was a blue-chip company with a good international reputation, a conglomerate that was massively expanding in the computer technology sector. Alex had learned that Maxxam was interested in IT-Systems, a hardware giant from Texas, and she had managed to outdo all the competition with her clever and skillful negotiations.

The fact that she hadn’t mentioned a single word to Zack filled her with a special sense of satisfaction. She was more than curious how he would react to her announcement at the next board meeting—the main topic of which was the presentation of the company’s financial results at its annual press conference in January. LMI would represent Maxxam in this deal. Although it hadn’t been possible for Mark and her to find out how the complex constructs of offshore companies were related to LMI, they were both firmly convinced that Zack brazenly abused the information that Alex passed on to him. This is why they had prepared and worked on the Maxxam deal in secret. By the time Zack heard about it today, it would be too late to build a position in Maxxam or IT-Systems shares. Alex had carefully prepared for this presentation. Even though she was on the brink of collapse after the intensity of a 120-hour week, she looked forward to the triumph that was certainly awaiting her. Before Vincent Levy officially opened the meeting, she rose from her seat between John Kwai (the director of emerging markets and international business) and Ron Schellenbaum (the chairman of the board) and asked for everyone’s attention.

“Gentlemen,” she said, after the chatter died down, “I would like to make an announcement that should delight all of you. It’s an early Christmas present, so to speak.”

Everyone looked at her expectantly.

“I’m happy to announce that Maxxam Enterprises has given us the mandate to arrange a leveraged buyout for its acquisition of IT-Systems.”

The large conference room was as silent as a tomb. Everyone was stunned as they stared at Alex. They had all heard about Maxxam’s interest in IT-Systems, but only through rumors up to now. Suddenly, everyone started talking at once, and Alex barely managed to hold back a satisfied smile.

“I worked out an LBO price of forty dollars per share,” she continued and immediately regained the undivided attention of everyone in the room. “We’ll issue high-yield bonds to raise five hundred million dollars. LMI serves as the underwriter for this debt.”

Levy asked CFO Michael Friedman if LMI was actually capable of financing such a gigantic deal. Alex thought that this question was hypocritical considering that the Private Equity Technology Partners trust alone managed assets worth five hundred million dollars.

“How is this supposed to work?” Zack asked, visibly irritated. “How could you work on such a deal without informing anyone about it in advance?”

“This is my job,” she said, “and the Chinese wall prohibits me from sharing information about such an LBO in-house. Maxxam’s management is enthusiastic, and I built a detailed financial plan with our colleagues from the corporate finance department.”

Zack fell silent, but anger flashed in his eyes.

“Maxxam doesn’t have sufficient funds of its own at the moment to acquire IT-Systems, which is why they need to finance the deal,” Alex said in a loud voice. “IT-Systems is an excellent and profitable company and the market leader in the area of computer hardware. Unfortunately, it has been run into the ground by poor management. However, in addition to Maxxam, other industry giants such as HP and Microsoft were also interested in IT-Systems. I had no choice but to go with the higher-risk option. The interest rate that I demanded was one percentage point below that of the competition, which ultimately tipped the scales at Maxxam in our favor and resulted in the LBO winning the mandate. Gentlemen, the total volume of this deal is 1.2 billion dollars. In addition to the fees for our advisory work, we will generate about one hundred million dollars in financing fees from the bonds that we issue.”

“Are you saying that we could earn as much money with this deal as with all of last year’s deals combined?” Friedman’s jaw dropped.

“That’s correct.” Alex smiled triumphantly. “If I have understood Mr. Levy correctly, he wants LMI to be a major player in M&A. With this deal, that will definitely be the case.”

She opened her briefcase and pulled out a stack of photocopies, which she then distributed to everyone.

“This is irresponsible!” Zack jumped up. His cheeks flushed in anger.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Levy said, looking up from his document, “simply magnificent. How far along are the negotiations at this point, Alex?”

“The IT-Systems board of directors will meet tomorrow and approve the proposed LBO, in all likelihood. I just spoke at length with Bernie Ritt, the president of IT-Systems. Maxxam agreed on very favorable terms for the IT-Systems shareholders. They’ll exchange the shares at a ratio of one to one and pay out a bonus stock dividend of one share per ten shares. All employees will be taken over, except for the management, who will receive generous severance packages. If everything goes well, then we should have the okay before Christmas. It’s the biggest deal in years. LMI has the fish on the hook.”

“And what if the management of IT-Systems doesn’t approve?” Zack asked anxiously.

“In that case,” Alex replied in a relaxed tone, “Maxxam’s board has left no doubt that it will pursue a much less lucrative hostile takeover. Ultimately, the shareholders determine the future, but they won’t get a better offer than this one from Maxxam. All of the other potential buyers would break up IT-Systems.”

“Stop it, Zack,” Levy said to his managing director. “Alex has done excellent work here, and we should acknowledge that, even if it comes as a surprise to all of us. I’m absolutely sure this is the largest deal that LMI has ever financed.”

For the remainder of the meeting, the Maxxam deal was the main topic of discussion and pushed the annual report press conference into the background. Alex had done her job. Now it was up to corporate finance and the securities and fixed-income departments to put the leveraged buyout into practice and issue the bonds to their clients. After the meeting was over, Alex rushed to get out of the conference room. Her entire team was already waiting at Luna Luna to celebrate the completion of this gigantic deal. She said good-bye with a smile on her face, and everyone congratulated her—except for Zack. She wasn’t surprised about that; this confirmed her grave suspicions.

“Alex!”

She stopped as she heard Zack’s voice behind her.

“Come to my office!” he ordered. She obeyed, shrugging her shoulders. He sat down behind his desk, but didn’t ask her to sit. He managed to disguise his anger behind a phony smile.

“Why am I hearing about such a deal this way?” he asked. “Didn’t we agree that you’d inform me in advance?”

“It was incredibly hectic,” Alex answered with a smile that was just as fake. “And you weren’t in the city. I simply forgot to tell you.”

“Forgot?” Zack opened his eyes wide in pretend astonishment. “I think you’re overestimating your authority a little bit here, sweetie.”

Alex stopped smiling. She put her briefcase down and leaned over with her hands on the desk. Zack crossed his hands behind his head with a slight grin.

“I suspect that you’ve misunderstood the meaning of a Chinese wall in the past,” she said quietly, “because a birdie chirped in my ear that every single one of my deals was preceded by peculiar price fluctuations. This is a surefire sign of illegal insider trading.”

Zack was an accomplished actor, but leagues below Sergio. Alex noticed a slight flicker of fright in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched in brief panic.

“You take yourself very seriously,” he said.

“No, I take my responsibility seriously.” She straightened up again. “Because I have a responsibility to the financial markets. And your reaction confirmed my suspicion.”

“You’re an arrogant bitch!” Zack suddenly resorting to unprofessional insults made Alex grin.

“And you’re a sore loser,” she countered, grabbing her briefcase. “I’m going to celebrate with my team a little bit. They deserve it. Have a nice evening, Mr. St. John!”

Her entire department was already at Luna Luna, a cozy bar on Broad Street mostly frequented by brokers and bankers. They greeted Alex with applause and enthusiastic whistling when she entered. She asked for everyone’s attention and then reported about the events at the meeting and the board’s reactions.

“All right, people.” Alex raised her hand, and it became quiet again. “Enough of this, let’s move on to the fun part of the evening. You’ve all done a great job, and I’m incredibly proud of you. As a token of appreciation for all the nights and weekends that you worked around the clock, all drinks on me tonight! Celebrate your achievement! You earned it!”

After another surge of applause, the first round arrived. The mood was cheerful and boisterous, the alcohol flowed freely, and the inhuman hundred-hour work weeks were behind them. Christmas and New Year’s were just around the corner, which meant even the financial district would be quieter for a few weeks. After a few drinks, Alex found a moment to speak with Mark.

“How did it go?” Mark inquired.

“Zack went berserk. He could hardly control himself.”

“Bingo.” Mark nodded seriously. “So you were right.”

“Well,” Alex said and let out a sigh, “but I still don’t know how far up his little side dealings go. Does Levy know of them?”

“He knew about Shanahan,” said Mark quietly, “and I’m sure that he knows about this.”

Alex frowned. She was in this thing up to her ears. No one would believe that she was stupid enough not to know what Zack did with her information. If the regulating authorities caught wind of this, she would face a harsh fine in addition to possibly losing her work permit.

“Damn it,” she said, her good mood swept away. “I was a pretentious idiot. I had it coming.”

“Why is that?” Mark looked at her, surprised.

“Oliver tried to tell me about it months ago.” Alex shrugged her shoulders. “But I refused to listen to him. He was right about everything.”

“I didn’t believe him either at first,” Mark replied.

“Do you still see Oliver every now and then?” Alex asked. The alcohol had lowered her inhibitions, and she suddenly wanted to know whether Mark was aware of what had happened between her and Oliver, and what he thought about it.

“Not for a while.” Mark threw a brief glance at her. “He left the city in May for a few months because…”

He stopped.

“Because of—what? Keep going, Mark!”

“I don’t know. It… it’s none of my business.”

“What did he tell you?”

Mark struggled with himself for a moment, and then he looked at Alex. “He was attacked in May and beaten pretty badly. His apartment was ransacked while he was in the hospital.”

“What?” Alex’s blood froze in her veins. “When was this exactly?”

“I don’t know if I should talk about it,” Mark replied evasively, biting his lip. “It’s really none of—”

“Mark!” Alex insisted. “Tell me what happened! Please!”

“Oliver told me that you showed up at his apartment one night and revealed to him that you’d had an affair with Sergio Vitali,” he said, visibly embarrassed, “and that the two of you had a disagreement. The next evening, three masked men were waiting for him in the hallway and roughed him up pretty badly. One of the men told him to stop sticking his nose into matters that are none of his business and to keep his hands off of you.”

“My God,” Alex whispered in deep horror. Sergio knew about Oliver and her, but he had never spoken a word about it! The thought that Sergio had her monitored was so outrageous and frightening that she didn’t dare to believe it. She tried to remember the day after the fight with Oliver. Yes! Sergio had taken her out for dinner at Le Cirque and showed her the penthouse apartment afterward. While she dined and laughed with him, Oliver had been brutally beaten. Her shock mixed with a feeling of cold fear. She knew all too well what Sergio was capable of. Did he still have someone trailing her? Was he tracking her every move? Involuntarily, she glanced around the packed pub, looking for a stranger among the happy faces of her team members.

“How… how’s Oliver doing now?” she whispered.

“I think he’s okay again,” Mark answered, “but he was in the hospital for almost three weeks.”

Alex’s entire body shook. Her triumph over the sealed deal was forgotten. On top of her fear, she had deep feelings of guilt toward Oliver.

“Here,” Mark said as he pushed another drink toward her, “drink something.”

She raised her head and looked at Mark desperately.

“I’ll never be able to make up for this,” she said quietly. “I had no idea! Oliver will hate me for it because he thinks that—”

“No, he doesn’t hate you,” Mark said to her quickly. “Quite the contrary. But he’s very worried about you.”

Alex didn’t believe that. She had put Oliver in jeopardy! Probably every man she spoke to was in danger if Sergio thought he was a threat to him. It was simply terrible, and she couldn’t do anything about it. Right at that moment, Zack entered the pub with another man. He looked around and grinned when he caught sight of Alex. Then he pushed his way through the crowd in her direction.

“He’s the last thing that I need right now,” she muttered. “Don’t even think about leaving me alone, Mark.”

“I’ll stay right at your side.”

“Hello, gorgeous.” Zack squeezed himself next to Alex at the bar. She could smell that he’d already had plenty to drink. His usual pristine appearance was disturbed, his tie hung lopsided, and the top buttons of his shirt were open.

“Zack, what are you doing here?” Alex pretended to be surprised.

“Ray,” Zack said, turning to his companion, “what are we drinking? Vodka on the rocks?”

The man with the thin blond hair grinned and nodded. His face seemed vaguely familiar, but Alex couldn’t place him.

“Bartender,” Zack said, snapping his fingers, “two double vodkas on the rocks, not too much ice!”

Alex’s only wish at that moment was to hole up somewhere. Zack observed her with a blurred gaze through bloodshot eyes. He took his glass and raised it in the air.

“Here’s to our great, brilliant M&A chief,” Zack said, his pronunciation garbled but loud enough for people to hear every single word, “who descended from a bed on Park Avenue to party with the common people. Very generous of her!”

“Are you crazy, Zack? What is this?”

“I admire you, Alex Sontheim, I admire you!” Zack put his arm around her shoulders as if he had permission to do so and whispered, “So, where’s your rich lover now, hmm? Or do you have permission to be out alone tonight?”

“You’re drunk.” She tried to break free from him, but Zack had a firm grip on her.

“That was pretty clever of you, Alex; I give you that,” he continued. “You got in bed with the right guy, hats off! Did you also make a play for Vince? He’s eating from the palm of your hand, the bastard. Just like the entire rest of this stupid outfit, they’d all love to f—”

“That’s enough!” Alex interrupted him brusquely. He laughed maniacally and downed his vodka in one gulp.

“Another!” he yelled over to the bartender.

“What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.” He grinned, but his eyes shone with pure hatred. His lips touched her cheek, and he hissed, “I love to stand in your shadow. I love to be the idiot who does all of your dirty work. It turns me on when all I hear is Alex, Alex, Alex!”

She wiped his spit from her cheek in disgust. The grin had vanished from his face—Alex was shocked to realize the extent of his envy. He was jealous of her success and her standing with the board, and he was angry because he didn’t have a chance with her. His friendliness had been a facade all along. Zack wasn’t her friend. Quite the contrary. She slid off her bar stool.

“I’m leaving now,” she said coolly. “You’re completely drunk.”

“Yes, I’m drunk.” He was standing so close to her that she could see every pore in his face. “But don’t think that I’m as stupid as all those other idiots. You conned me, you little bitch. I won’t let you get away with it a second time!”

Mark stepped in. He pushed Zack aside, which nearly triggered a brawl. But all of the men from Alex’s department kept Zack in check, allowing her to leave the bar unscathed. She stood on the street in the sleet.

“Is everything all right?” Mark looked at her with so much concern and empathy that she almost lost the last bit of her self-control. The events of recent days had simply been overwhelming. Discovering that Sergio knew about her and Oliver was the last straw, and Zack’s mean vulgarities nearly sent her over the edge.

“Yes, everything’s okay,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I’ll take you home,” Mark offered. Alex thought about Oliver again. Maybe Sergio’s spies were lurking around every corner. In any event, she wanted to prevent something happening to Mark.

“No, it’s all right. I’ll take a cab. Go back inside and celebrate a little more.”

“I can’t possibly leave you alone.” Mark remained firm, waving at a passing taxi that looked empty.

“Yes, you can. It’s all right.” Alex managed to smile. “I’m okay.”

“Can I at least call you later?” Mark was sincerely concerned. Alex nodded. Then she hugged him spontaneously.

“Thank you for everything, Mark. Thank you for letting me trust you.”

Mark swallowed and nodded. Alex quickly climbed into the waiting taxi and waved good-bye.

It was early morning, and a pale-blue horizon arched across the sea. The December sun tried to provide a little warmth as Alex and Madeleine rode through the dunes down to the beach. Alex was happy that she had accepted Trevor and Madeleine’s invitation to Lands End House on Long Island. During her visit in July, she’d fallen in love with the massive red-brick mansion—which wasn’t pretentious despite its imposing size. Trevor’s great-great-grandfather had built it in 1845 at the northern end of Long Island, between the towns of Montauk and Amangansett, and it had been owned by the family ever since.

Trevor and Madeleine had become good friends, and Alex felt protected and secure at their house. She enjoyed the cheerful family atmosphere in the house, with its magnificent Christmas decorations, the long conversations at the fireplace, and the unconditional sympathy that the Downeys were showing her, which Alex returned from her heart. Once, she had talked to them about Sergio because she thought that her friends had the right to know. She had anxiously waited for their reaction and prepared herself for outright rejection; instead, the Downeys accepted the situation without judgment.

“I’m terribly nervous,” Madeleine said to Alex as they reached the beach. “I’ve been organizing this Christmas party for eighteen years now, but every time I’m worried that something will go wrong.”

“Come on, Maddy,” Alex said with a grin, “what could possibly go wrong? You’re part of an experienced team, plus I’m here to assist you.”

“I’m very grateful to you for that.” Madeleine sighed, but then she laughed. “You’re so pragmatic and always keep a clear head. I panic immediately.”

“It’s my job to stay calm even if things go haywire.”

“Imagine, Cliff Gordon and his wife are coming over from Martha’s Vineyard by helicopter.”

Alex knew that Trevor was a college friend of Robert Gordon, the president’s younger brother, and that the two aristocratic families had been friends for generations.

“You’re so incredibly genteel.”

“Ah, stop mocking me!” Madeleine grinned. “You know just as many important people as I do.”

“Let’s trot for a bit.” Alex preferred not to speak about the important people she knew. The stiff breeze stirred up the gray sea and caused large waves to roll onto the beach. The surf’s salty spray blew into both women’s faces. Alex took a deep breath and smiled. Sitting in the saddle with the cold wind in her face and the endless sea before her eyes, she forgot about her problems for a while and once again felt just as free, as carefree, as when she was a child. The seagulls were struggling against the wind with their melancholy cries. The beach extended for miles all the way out to Montauk. A magnificent mansion appeared up on the dunes every now and then, but their inhabitants were still asleep at this time of the day. Alex’s horse started bucking boisterously. It wanted to gallop.

“Just let him run,” Madeleine said. “I’ll catch up with you.”

The two riders had reached the wide inlet of Stony Bay.

“Okay!” Alex winked at her friend. “Let’s go!”

The chestnut gelding suddenly rose up, which would have thrown an inexperienced rider out of the saddle. But Alex leaned forward and held on with her knees and thighs. The horse thundered along the beach with long, galloping strides and pricked ears, racing against the stormy wind and the seagulls. Faster, faster! She laughed happily. The wind drove tears into her eyes as she ducked behind the horse’s neck and enjoyed its magnificent, graceful strength.

Strolling on the dunes with a golden retriever, two early walkers watched her with faces aghast as she raced past them like an incarnate Valkyrie. She let the horse circle the entire width of Stony Bay before slowly reducing her speed and looking around. The two walkers had reached the beach, and Alex saw that Madeleine had stopped to talk to them. She let her horse gallop once again. Her ponytail had come loose during the wild gallop and her blonde hair was flowing in the icy December wind, just like the horse’s flaxen tail.

Madeleine waved at Alex. She slowed down the gelding a few yards ahead of them, and both of the walkers stepped back out of respect. Breathless, with reddened cheeks, she stopped her horse.

“Isn’t she an excellent rider?” Madeleine said to the couple. All three of them watched Alex with undisguised admiration as she calmed down the nervous horse.

“Yes, indeed,” the man said, “quite impressive.”

“Alex!” Madeleine called out. “Do you know Nick and Mary Kostidis?”

Alex turned her head, surprised. Sure enough, the man standing next to Madeleine’s horse was the mayor of New York. He looked completely different in his blue down jacket and jeans, but she immediately recognized those dark, burning eyes.

“Hello,” she said, smiling. “Yes, we’ve met once before.”

“Alex Sontheim,” Kostidis nodded, inspecting her closely, “at the Plaza. I remember.”

Alex remembered how disdainfully Sergio had spoken about this man and how much he hated him. He called him a fanatic, an idiot, the plague. While Madeleine and Mary Kostidis talked about the horses, she wondered what the mayor was doing at seven thirty on Christmas morning on a deserted beach at the tip of Long Island.

“Is Christopher with you at your sister’s place?” Madeleine asked the mayor’s wife.

“No,” she said and laughed. “He’s spending Christmas with his future in-laws in the Hudson Valley.”

Alex noticed that Kostidis watched her with steadfast eyes the entire time. She wasn’t sure why, but his searching, serious gaze disturbed and irritated her. If he knew who she was, then he would also know about her relationship with Sergio Vitali. Did she detect contempt in his stare? She tried to appear relaxed and indifferent. Madeleine and Mary were chatting, but Alex didn’t catch a single word of their conversation. Her eyes met those of Nick Kostidis. Their gazes interlocked for a few seconds. She felt a hot blush rising to her cheeks and turned away.

“We need to keep going, Maddy,” she said. “The horses are sweating. They’ll catch a cold.”

“Of course!” Madeleine made a guilty face. “I really lack horse sense sometimes!”

“Enjoy your ride!” Nick Kostidis called to them. “See you later!”

Madeleine smiled and waved. Alex cantered next to her without saying a word. Why did Kostidis look at her in such a strange way? The expression in his eyes was hard to read. He was probably saying to his wife at this second, “Did you see her? She’s Vitali’s lover. A gangster’s whore!” She hated to feel so insecure, and the prospect of Kostidis attending the Downeys’ party ruined her excitement. She felt like packing her suitcase and disappearing to avoid running into him again.

Alex was still sitting in her room when the first guests arrived at Lands End House, and she contemplated whether she should go downstairs at all. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk. The horseback ride had shaken off her tense mood for a moment, but the unexpected encounter with Nick Kostidis abruptly destroyed her feeling of happiness. Alex didn’t feel comfortable in Kostidis’s presence, but then she also had the urge to see him. She couldn’t explain these conflicting emotions—this mixture of attraction and aversion. There was something in his eyes, an expression that she couldn’t interpret. Was it ridicule or contempt? Or was she just imagining all of this?

She heard Christmas music and laughter from downstairs. She knew that Trevor and Madeleine would be disappointed if she didn’t join the party, so she finally slipped into her Ferragamo cocktail dress, checked herself out in the mirror, and with a sigh opened the door to go downstairs.

The party was already in full swing. The Christmas gathering was as “small” as Sergio’s birthday party had been. Everyone who was anyone on the East Coast was invited. But in contrast to Sergio’s party, old money mingled here—the real upper class, America’s aristocrats. Northern Long Island was once called the “Gold Coast.” This name did not refer to the color of its sandy beaches, but to the wealth of its inhabitants. But it had been some time since bold-faced names or conspicuous wealth impressed Alex. She’d had to deal with gigantic amounts of money, and she knew the richest people in America. Somewhere in this crowd, she found Madeleine, who looked enchanting and girlish in her burgundy dress, her cheeks red with excitement.

“How do you like it?” she called out with glowing eyes. “Isn’t it magnificent? I’m always nervous before, but once everyone is here, then it’s simply wonderful! The president and the first lady just arrived.”

Madeleine hugged her and rushed on. Alex took a glass of champagne and strolled through the large house filled with unfamiliar people. In the blue salon she caught sight of the president talking to Trevor, Senator Hoffman, Governor Rhodes, Congressman James Vaillant III, and Nick Kostidis—who had changed from his jeans into a dark-gray suit and a red tie. She was just about to leave the room when Trevor saw her and waved her toward him. He pulled her into his circle with a smile.

“Cliff,” he said to the president, “may I introduce Alex Sontheim? She’s a good friend of Maddy’s and mine.”

Cliff Gordon offered her a friendly smile and reached out his hand.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. Sontheim.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. President.” Alex’s heart was racing in excitement. Trevor also introduced her to the other gentlemen, and it occurred to Alex that she had seen the senator and Governor Rhodes at Sergio’s birthday party. She was curious what they would say if she mentioned that now. Trevor was describing the unusual circumstances in which Madeleine and Alex met about six months ago to the president, and he was impressed. The president asked about her work and—to her amazement—gave Alex his undivided attention.

“You have an exceptional reputation on Wall Street,” he said. “Our country needs more people like you, Ms. Sontheim. Intelligent young people with civic courage.”

She smiled in embarrassment. Cliff Gordon invited her to the White House, and she trembled with excitement and pride. But then she met eyes with Nick Kostidis, and she thought that she sensed a hint of mockery. The pride that she’d felt a second ago vanished instantly. She was relieved that others crowded around the president, and she excused herself. She escaped the crowd and went into an adjacent room and sat down in an armchair at the window.

She could just kill Kostidis! He’d not only ruined her encounter with Cliff Gordon, but also her entire day! Alex Sontheim—the star of Wall Street, the selfless rescuer of the opera singer Madeleine Ross-Downey—was actually nothing but a girl from Germany who had gotten involved with a dubious social climber, Sergio Vitali, the godfather of New York City! What would President Gordon say if he found out she was the lover of a man who ordered murders?

With tears welling up she searched for a cigarette in her purse. Someone cleared his throat behind her and she turned quickly around. She could hardly believe her eyes when Nick Kostidis of all people, whom she’d just escaped from, appeared in the doorway.

“Hello,” she said in a discouraging tone, “if you’re looking for the restrooms, they’re two doors further down.”

Kostidis smiled.

“Thanks, I know,” he said and entered the room. “But I was actually looking for you.”

“Really?” Alex took a drag from her cigarette. “Why?”

She was mad about her teary eyes.

“May I sit down with you for a moment?”

She was about to tell him to go to hell, but she managed to keep her composure.

He sat down in the armchair across from her. There was a tense moment of silence between them.

“What can I do for you, Mayor Kostidis?”

“Call me Nick,” he responded. “‘Mayor’ sounds so formal.”

“Okay,” Alex said with a shrug. “Nick. So, what can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure whether you can help me.” Nick crossed his legs and gave her another piercing look. She longed to get up and run away.

“I hardly know you,” Kostidis continued. “Well, as a matter of fact, I don’t know you at all. But I’ve been following your professional career with great interest for quite some time now. And my friends Trevor and Madeleine speak very highly of you.”

“Aha.” Alex was at the edge of her seat.

“You’re a successful woman. Intelligent, ambitious, and courageous.”

“And now you ask yourself why I’m involved with Vitali,” she interrupted him coolly. “That’s what you’re trying to get at, isn’t it?”

If he was surprised, Kostidis didn’t let it show, but then he nodded slowly.

“I know what you think of him,” Alex said, “and probably you think the same of me.”

She jumped up and stepped toward the window.

“No!” Kostidis shook his head. “That’s not true. Like I said, I don’t know you, Alex. I only know what the newspapers write about you and what my friends, the Downeys, say about you, and that’s why…”

Alex turned around again and looked at the man who both impressed and intimidated her.

“Yes?” She tried to regain her usual self-confidence, but to her chagrin, her voice sounded thin.

“Alex,” Kostidis said, leaning forward, “it’s not my intention to interfere with your private life.”

“It’s none of your business anyway,” she countered brusquely. Kostidis stopped smiling.

“Sergio Vitali,” he said with a calm voice, “is a very dangerous man. Many people think that I’m obsessed because I’ve been trying for years to bring him to justice for his criminal dealings. I know a great deal about him and his business, but unfortunately, I’ve never been able to prove anything against him. Vitali doesn’t hesitate to defend his position of power by using violence. We’ve had evidence against him many times, but key witnesses suddenly lost their memory overnight or simply disappeared. Some of them were found again as corpses.”

Alex felt weak in the knees. It is done. Zuckerman won’t utter another word…She felt the horror and nausea all over again. She knew all too well that Kostidis was aware of the truth.

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I want you to understand my situation,” he replied in a quiet voice. “It’s not a personal thing between me and Vitali, like the media keeps insisting. The stakes are much higher. One of my predecessors called New York ‘ungovernable.’ I work very hard to get a grip on the public debt, the poor infrastructure, and the disastrous social disparities. But the worst of all evils is the corruption. The reason that Vitali is so untouchable is because he bribes many influential politicians and judges. I can live with corruption to a certain extent, but now I’m afraid that Vitali has an informer within my inner circle.”

He paused for a moment and rubbed his chin. He looked tired.

“A man was shot dead on August fifteenth,” Nick Kostidis said. “He was still young; he had a wife who is now a widow, and two little children lost their father because of this killer.”

Alex swallowed. She knew who Zuckerman’s killer was. Strictly speaking, she was obligated to tell the police what she knew, but she was frightened Sergio would find out, and then she would lose everything. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t help Kostidis.

“This man,” the mayor continued, “could have hurt Vitali significantly by testifying in front of the investigation committee. We were aware of that, so we brought him to a hotel under utmost secrecy to keep him completely protected until he gave his testimony. Very few people were informed about this. And still someone found out and silenced the man.”

His words triggered a black, empty feeling inside of Alex, and she simultaneously felt a raging, helpless anger. What did Kostidis expect from her? He didn’t care one bit about what would happen to her. He wanted to get to Sergio by any means, and he had taken a clever approach by appealing to her conscience. Her nausea intensified.

“I don’t know anything about Vitali’s business,” she said. Did Kostidis know that she was lying?

“I want to be very frank,” Nick Kostidis said, locking his eyes on her. “Based on Madeleine’s and Trevor’s descriptions of you, I had the impression that you would have the courage to do the right thing.”

Alex stared at him in silence. Courage! What did this man know about how cruel Sergio could be? Everything had been so easy for her in the past—people were clearly good or bad—but now her entire world was in turmoil. Nothing was clear anymore. Her future, her career, even her life was at stake! David Zuckerman was dead, and even if she told the mayor who the killer was, it wouldn’t bring this man back to life.

“This has nothing to do with courage.” She had the feeling that Kostidis was able to read her mind.

“Then what?”

Alex couldn’t bear Kostidis’s gaze any longer. He’d succeeded in rattling her. She felt like pouncing on him, yelling at him to leave her alone. What in the world had she done to get into this situation?

“Listen, Nick”—Alex hoped she appeared relaxed and composed—“I’m not indifferent to your worries by any means, and if I could, I would certainly help you. But I can’t. Do you understand that?”

Nick Kostidis nodded slowly and sighed.

“Of course,” he said and smiled again, but there was an alert expression in his eyes. “I understand you very well. Forget what I just said.”

Their eyes locked.

“You know where to reach me.”

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary,” she replied coolly. Kostidis threw her one last inquiring glance.

“But maybe it will,” he said with a mysterious smile; then he turned around and left the room.