7 Kills + An Apple

Eighty-Six: Lovely Day

Kalypso Queen

My father is a complicated subject, and I tend to avoid him whenever necessary. However, it is necessary to keep track of him. I rather not find out that he has been released by the good graces of some idiot judge he bribed.

The investigative case against him lasted about three years, and the FBI managed to dig out whatever skeletons are in his closet and backyard with the help of the SEC, Interpol, IRS, and many other organizations. It is a huge scandal, and I can't wait to watch him rot in jail for the rest of his days. Without a doubt, he is in prison for life.

A bitter aftertaste is left in my mouth. I focus on the corporation, restructuring what I can and rebuilding the broken foundations. Sterling is at the top of the industry, but we welcome the competition. It gives a lot of motive to push productivity. The corporation, especially after it is discovered that my father took a lot of money out of its accounts, needs to raise more funds. It did by selling more of its shares, and to my displeasure, Rick Sterling bought a small percentage.

He called me the other day, telling that if his company ever fails, he'll still make money off of me. I can't do anything about it, but I welcome the amount of money he gave.

I have to admit it is a good investment he made. I still don't like the chances for a hostile takeover, like the one I did years ago.

I'm twenty-seven now. When the case against my father is officially closed, Brandon took me to the lake I always see from my corner office's window. I learn kayaking, and my cell phones—both of them—have been confiscated by him to make sure I fully enjoy the day without any distraction.

"What do you think?" he asks, his eyes hidden behind those thick sunglasses. It is bright out here, and I have been promoted to COO by the Board. Unanimously, because I have been one of the biggest reasons why there is still a Capello International. Of course, a Capello-Queen International. I had to change it a little bit.

Maybe over time, all evidence of Piero Capello will be erased.

"What do I think of what?"

"Today."

"It is beautiful," I answer, gazing at the lake's surface. I don't dare reach over and brush by hand through the water. I have seen what the ducks were doing in them, but it is still beautiful in my eyes.

"I have something to say," he admits.

"What?"

"Will you go out with me?"

I pull down the white sunglasses I loan from Minerva Capello-Queen. She changed her name last year, and she—like the rest of the family—hates Piero. He practically contaminated and dragged the name through mud and dirt.

"Didn't I ask you that years ago?" I inquire, amused for the most part. I put down the oars, wishing my muscles aren't so tense. "And didn't you say yes? Why so official?"

"Case closed. The background check on you is clean for the most part, and"—he shrugs, his eyes still on me—"I like you."

I roll my eyes. "I thought you were going to ask me to marry you from the way you talked. You sounded all official and serious. All business."

"Ha!" He snorts. "I'll ask you that in six months."

"Not if I ask you first." Then I smile again.

He slowly moves and presses a gentle kiss on my lips.

Then together, we row to shore.