He listened to the chairperson, cringing as he recited the litany of his father’s crimes: attempted rape of a child under the age of consent, aggravated assault of a child, transporting a minor over state lines, possession of child pornography…
The horrendous words beat like a hammer to his brain, and he didn’t bother to wipe away the tears dripping down his face.
In a soft voice, his father’s lawyer spoke next about Victor Lupo’s lengthy prison term—a minimum of twenty-five years to a maximum of fifty—and that he’d been mostly isolated because his crimes were against minors, and they feared for his safety among the other prisoners. He’d been a model prisoner and had worked tirelessly helping other prisoners with their legal problems. He’d gone through extensive therapy, continuing to this day.
The camera finally focused on his father, and for the first time in over twenty years, Wolf saw his face. His stomach heaved at the sight of his father sitting so relaxed next to his attorney. Now in his midsixties, his father had gone gray, his thin face lined and unrecognizable from the tanned, smiling man he’d once known. And loved. Wolf had his dark hair and the same eye color, but his facial structure was more like his mother’s.
Thank God.
At the sound of his father’s voice, Wolf’s stomach cramped.
“I’ve spent every one of the days of the past twenty-three years that I’ve been incarcerated regretting my choices. I now recognize how deeply wrong I was. If I could take it all back, I would. I’m horribly embarrassed and know that I have a sickness, but I’ve been getting treatment and feel that I’m not the same person I was all those years ago. If I am paroled, I promise to keep up my doctor’s appointments, as many as needed. I was a very troubled man, but with the help of my therapist and medication, I know I can be a functioning member of society again.”
Not one mention of his wife. Not one mention of Wolf.
The chairman of the parole board spoke, and Wolf regained his focus. This wasn’t about him. It was about making sure this monster stayed behind bars.
“Mr. Lupo, we’ve listened to you speak and met with your warden and your therapist. Though there was only enough evidence to convict you on one of the charges, it’s the decision of the board that you remain a significant and serious risk to society if you’re released. Your work with the other prisoners, while admirable, does nothing to mitigate the seriousness of the crimes you were convicted of. We have victim testimonies from some of the young women you were in contact with, stating they are still traumatized and have been in therapy since the trial. You possessed pictures of children, Mr. Lupo. Based on this, we’re denying your parole.”
A wave of relief hit him so strongly, Wolf thought he might pass out. The smile on his father’s face faded, and though he couldn’t see his eyes now, Wolf knew from his body language that he was angry.
“Rot in hell, you sick bastard.” Wolf clicked out of the hearing, and the screen went dark. He didn’t need anything else. He’d heard everything he wanted.
It took several minutes to release all the pent-up tension. Breathing hard, he paced the small space, hands clenching and unclenching, wishing he had the power to scream and beat down the walls. Then he carefully slipped the newspaper articles into his briefcase, opened the door, and left the room.
Try as he might, he couldn’t focus on his work, so he left the office to take a long walk. He passed by Bryant Park and saw the setup for the fashion show, recalling the text he’d received from Spencer and the clothing delivered a day earlier that he’d looked at, rolled his eyes, and set aside.
Spencer…
What the hell was he going to do about that disaster waiting at every turn? These incidents between them were occurring far too frequently, and Wolf, who used to have control over the situation, found himself increasingly powerless. He had no idea why or how, but it seemed like every time Spencer was near him, he lost the ability to think straight.
He stopped to watch a photographer taking test shots of male models. One was muscular, with tawny-brown smooth skin and long dreads. He wore a pair of low-slung black pants and a white vest. He was paired with a blond man, pale as milk, with tattoos covering his arms. His outfit contrasted with the other man’s—white pants and black vest.
Wolf studied them, jumping slightly when a voice spoke in his ear.
“Like what you see?”
Laughing brown eyes met his. A man with a heavily stubbled face and tousled black hair stood before him. He was in shirtsleeves and black skinny jeans.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Wolf crossed his arms. A defensive pose, but for some reason, he felt scrutinized.
“That’s Javier and Teddy, two of the top models in the fashion show tomorrow night. They’re pretty hot together, don’t you think?”
Wolf lifted a shoulder. “I guess.” He could appreciate how good-looking they were, but as for being turned-on? No. They didn’t do it for him.
“You guess? Man, you have to be dead not to feel it. Look at their chemistry.”
The two men clasped each other’s faces and stared into each other’s eyes. Their lips touched, their bodies pressed together, and when the blond tipped his head back to let the other kiss down his throat, Wolf could hear the sighs from the spectators. He knew it was sensual, even erotic.
Just not for him.
“Yes, it’s amazing.” He walked away.
“Hey, hold up.” The man rushed after him. “I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink or something. My name’s Anthony.”
“I have to get back to my office. I don’t have time.” Wolf stopped short when the man put a hand on his arm.
“I didn’t mean now, silly. Later. I’m working too.” He held up his badge, which showed his name—Anthony Biaggi—and title—Lighting Director. “You’d be amazing on the runway. Those cheekbones and that jaw are killer.”
