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“Last week, Mario was crunching the numbers. And some things weren’t adding up. Long story short, a client of ours owes us three mil. He’s been paying us back, but when Mario went to balance the books, he found that he’s behind on where he should be, his payments only add up to ten percent of what he owes. After some digging, we discovered our broker has been stealing his payments.”
“Did you, now?” My voice is low and deadly. Stealing from the mob is a transgression worthy of brutal punishment and ultimately, death. Everyone knows this.
“We did. Son of a bitch owes us, big time. I sent Orlando and Santo to collect.”
Collect. Such a simple term that means such terrible things.
He had to, though. There’s too much at stake.
“And?”
“And Orlando reported back that it turns out our broker has a lovely, very single daughter.”
“Ahhh.”
Romeo taps open his phone. “Some fathers say their daughters are priceless. Not this guy. Turns out, he has a price for her and it’s three mil.”
I snort. “And you have no one else in your family eligible for marriage.”
“No, but it behooves my family if we start marrying you guys off. We’ve got Ricco sorted.”
We’re silent for a moment, neither one of us wanting to say what we’re both thinking. Ricco isn’t sorted. His wife has ovarian cancer. Despite seeing the most eminent specialists and receiving top-tier treatment at some of the best hospitals in the country, the chances of Ricco being a single dad eventually are high.
“Right.”
“So I made an arrangement. We forgive him his debt and his daughter marriesyou.”
I stare at the picture on his phone.
She looks like she’s lounging on a pool deck during spring break. Is she even old enough to drink?
“How the helloldis she?”
“Twenty-two, two months away from graduating college. So that’s the only catch. She’s promised to you, but you can’t have her yet.”
I shrug. Two months is nothing.
“How old are you again?”
I blow out a breath. “Thirty.”
He shrugs. “That’s fine, then.” He’d say that if there were thirty years between us.
“And what do I owe you?”
A man does not simply arrange another’s marriage without a fee, even those who are dedicated to each other.
“How much is membership here at the club?” Romeo asks, his eyes twinkling.
“Fifty grand a month per person.”
Romeo grins. “Fuck illegal guns and drugs, all you need is a high-end sex club to make bank, eh?”
I grin back.
“The Rossis get full, members-only access to your club for a year and we’re even.”
It’s fair. I nod. Neither one of us needs money.
