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Her brow furrows. “I tried to call your cell, but?—”
“It was on silent. I was in a meeting with Roberto Chinellato’s people.”
I yank my phone out of my pants pocket. I groan internally when I see the nine million missed calls and texts from Kat. The first one alone is enough to get my blood boiling.
Katerina:
RED ALERT. CAROLINE IS HERE.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
“She’s in my office?” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Black,” she blurts quietly, looking flustered. “She…I mean, I obviously told her she wasn’t allowed?—”
“It’s fine, Katerina.” I exhale slowly. It’s not her fault. My step-grandmother is the kind of obnoxious bitch that makes you feel like you’re insulting other obnoxious bitches when you lump them in together.
They say people deal with grief differently. But I doubt they ever meant to include Charles Black in that statement. He dealt with the loss of our grandmother by immediately going out and dating a string of women a third his age who look like they belong on a reboot of Jersey Shore.
I mean, he took one to our grandmother’s fucking funeral as a date, for Christ’s sake.
The one that stuck around is Caroline. Charles was fifty-seven when the then twenty-year-old managed to get him to put a ring on it. And the single smartest thing she did afterward was throw her birth control away and get knocked up immediately.
Remember Maeve, my eighteen-year-old aunt? Yeah.
“I can call building security…”
“I think animal control might be more appropriate.”
Katerina gives a wry smile.
“Seriously, no need to call anyone,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders. “I can handle Caroline.”
Maybe.
The gold-digging queen herself, clad in black leggings, sky-high Pretty Woman stilettos, a fur-trimmed short jacket, and talon-like gel nails, is sitting at my fucking desk when I walk in. I glare at her as I close the door behind me, leaning against it with my arms folded.
“Hello, Alistair.”
“I assume you still have the same address, Caroline?”
Her manicured brows furrow deeply. “Excuse me?”
“For when I bill you for a replacement office chair,” I grunt. “God knows what I’d catch from it now.”
Caroline scowls. “Still an asshole, I see.”
“Still gargling my grandfather’s wrinkly balls, I see.” I wince. “Fuck, I hope he can afford to replace that chair, now that I think about it.”
I relish the look of fury tinged with genuine worry on Caroline’s face.
Yeah, that one hit a bit close.
I imagine Caroline’s always been a bitter, mean-spirited cunt. But she’s extra bitter these days. Charles, once a kingmaker of the underworld, is slowly losing his empire. He’s no longer the man to whom mafia dons and top city officials crawl in order to kiss the ring. It’s why he’s focusing so hard on Crown and Black at the moment. And Caroline hates that her extravagant lifestyle might have an expiration date.
She married a kingpin. Now she’s just forced to fuck an old man who’s rapidly losing his power.
I sigh. “Why the fuck are you here, and what the fuck do you want, Caroline?”
