I grabbed my backpack and headed for the place Father had told me. I’d not only give up my hard-earned money for him. I’d also be late for work because of it. If Roger threw me out, I’d be doomed. I doubted I’d get a job on the Strip, or anywhere else, soon. I knew we’d need every cent I earned with my mother and father both in Vegas.
When the red and yellow neon sign of the Sugartrap caught my eye, I halted. The word was wedged between two opened, high-heeled legs. The windows were tinted black so you couldn’t look inside. I knew what kind of place this was, and it wasn’t a place I’d ever wanted to set foot in.
There was a ginormous, black man guarding the door. I approached him slowly. He didn’t budge.
“I’m here to see Remo Falcone.” Even as I said it, I realized how foolish I must have sounded. Remo Falcone was the Capo of the Camorra. He owned everything that mattered if Fabiano was to be believed. Why on earth would he waste his time with me?
The bouncer seemed to think the same because he snorted. “Mr. Falcone doesn’t cast the girls who work here. Go away.”
Cast the girls? “I’m not here to work in this place,” I said indignantly. “I’m here because I have money for him.”
The man tilted his head to the side but still didn’t let me pass. I tried to catch a glimpse at his watch to see how late I was for work. I pulled the money from my backpack and held it out to the Bouncer. He reached for it but I snatched it back. I didn’t trust him to hand it over to Falcone. “Go away,” he muttered.
“Let her through,” came a cold drawl from behind me. I whirled around to look up at a tall man. Nino Falcone. He nodded for me to step into the gloomy light of the Sugartrap. I did, because, really, I doubted anyone could refuse those cold eyes.
“Straight ahead,” he said. I kept walking, even though having him behind me gave me the creeps.
The corridor opened up to a bar area of red velvet and black lacquer. There were poles and booths with velvet curtains, and several doors that branched off the main room.
“Go ahead. First door on the right.”
I peered at him over my shoulder. He walked two steps behind me, watching me with those cold, unreadable eyes. I showed him the money. “Perhaps you can give your brother the money. It’s from my father. His name is Greg Hall.”
“I know who he is,” Nino Falcone said, absolutely no hint of emotion in his eyes. “Go ahead.”
I shivered and moved toward the door he’d indicated. I pushed down the handle and stepped through, into another long corridor with black walls and a red carpet. I kept walking to the end where another door waited. The hairs on my neck rose at the proximity of Nino Falcone, and at his quiet scrutiny. “Let me,” he drawled and stepped past me to open that door. He entered a long room without windows. There was a desk on the left side that looked untouched. To the left there was a boxing sack and couches. Remo sat on one of them, laptop on his lap. His eyes moved up when his brother entered. Then they slid over to me and I knew it had been a huge mistake to come here. The man, Soto, that had attacked my father stood off to the side as if he was reporting to his Capo.
Remo Falcone put aside his laptop and rose from the sofa. Where Fabiano was grace and control, this man was unhinged power and barely contained aggression. My fingers crumpled the money.
“She’s here to pay her father’s debts,” Nino said. I wasn’t sure he was talking about money.
“Is she now?” Remo asked curiously. He came around the sofa, closer to me and I wished he didn’t. A smile curled his lips and I took a step back, but Nino’s arm stopped my movement. He wasn’t looking at me, only at his brother. Some silent understanding passed between them I wasn’t in on. “I’ll let you handle it then. I’ll be back later,” Nino said, and just left, closing the door in my face.
I stood there, small and shaking, trying to look determined and strong. My eyes flitted over to where Remo was propped up with his hip against the backrest of the sofa. Soto, behind him, had something eager and gleeful in his expression.
I held up the money uncertainly. “I have the money my father owes you.”
Remo regarded me with unsettling intensity. “I doubt that.”
I frowned. He couldn’t possibly see how much money I held in my hands. It was a bundle of ten and twenty dollar notes. “It’s one thousand dollars.”