“Still legal. A wholesome, well-mannered beauty on my arm is exactly what the doctor ordered to clean up my rather dirty reputation.”
“She’s no arm candy, and unless you want your first term as senator to be your last…” He balled his fists so tight, I knew they’d draw blood from his palms. I cut him off midsentence.
“You will do nothing to harm my career, seeing as we both know what I have on you. On your knees, Arthur. If you’re convincing enough, I might let you keep her.”
“Name your price.”
“Your daughter. Next question.”
“Three million dollars.” The tic of his jaw matched the rhythm of his pulsing heart.
“Oh, Arthur.” I cocked my head, chuckling.
“Five.” His lips thinned, and I could practically hear his teeth grinding against one another. He was a powerful man—too powerful to yield—and for the first time in his life, he had to. Because what I had on him could jeopardize not only the entire Outfit, but also his precious wife and daughter, who’d be left penniless once I threw him in the slammer for the rest of his days.
I rolled my eyes. “I thought love was priceless. How about you give me what I really want, Rossi? Your pride.”
Slowly, the man in front of me—the smug mob lord whom I hated with ferocious passion—lowered himself to his knees, his face a cool mask of hatred. His wife and our respective attorneys looked down at their feet, their deafening silence ringing in the air.
He was beneath me now, humble and lost and undignified.
Through gritted teeth, he said. “I am begging you to spare my daughter. Go after me in any way you want. Drag me through court. Strip me of my properties. You want war? I will fight you clean and honorably. But do not touch Francesca.”
I rolled my mint gum inside my mouth, resisting the urge to lock my jaw. I could unleash the secret I’d been holding over his head and get it over with, but the anguish Rossi had put me through stretched just like the thing in my mouth. A gum that dragged achingly slow across the years. An eye for an eye and all that bullshit. No?
“Request denied. Sign the papers, Rossi,” I pushed the NDA in his direction. “I’m taking the brat with me.”
Back in the present, Bishop and White had somehow managed to raise their voices to heights that would deafen whales, bickering like two schoolgirls who showed up at prom wearing the same Forever 21 dress.
“…should have been alerted months ago!”
“If I had more staff to work with…”
“Shut up, both of you.” I cut their stream of words with a snap of my fingers. “We need more police presence in the areas prone to trouble, end of story.”
“And with what budget, pray tell, should I fund your suggestion?” Felix rubbed his wobbly chin, sleek with sweat. His face was scarred, the result of bad acne, and the top of his head was shiny, his graying hair peppered around the temples.
I pinned him with a look that wiped the smug off his face. He had some extra cash lying around, and we both knew where it came from.
“You have extras,” I shot dryly.
“Brilliant.” Preston Bishop flung himself back on the headrest. “Captain Ethic’s here to save the day.”
“I’d settle for ruining yours. Which reminds me—you have extras, too,” I deadpanned, just as the door to the study flew open.
Kristen, my masquerade date, world-class BJ giver, and a royal pain in the ass, stormed in, her eyes as wild as her hair. Since I carefully chose my female companions with zero flair for dramatics, I knew she was privy to what the gentlemen in the room hadn’t found out yet. Nothing else would get her so worked up, and she did, after all, work in finding out important information.
“Really, Wolfe?” She wiped blond strands of hair from her forehead, her eyes dancing in their sockets. Her shabby appearance explained why Sterling came rushing through the door behind her, muttering redundant apologies. I shooed my housekeeper away, focusing on Kristen.
“Let’s take this outside before you burst an artery on my marble floors,” I suggested cordially.
“Don’t be so sure I’ll be the one shedding blood in this exchange,” she said, wiggling her finger at me. Poor form. That was the thing about girls who came to the big city from a small Kansas town and became successful career women. That girl from Kansas? She’d always live inside her.
My office was on the west wing of my mansion, next to my bedroom and a handful of guestrooms. I led Kristen into my bedroom, leaving the door open on the off-chance she was in the mood for more than talking. She paced, hands parked on her hips. My king-size bed stood out as a reminder of the place I never had her in. I quite liked fucking women in compromising positions. Sharing a bed with someone else was not an idea I’d ever entertained seriously. I’d learned people come and go out of your life frequently and without notice. Solitude was more than a life choice. It was a virtue. A vow of sorts.