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“Then how much money do you need?”
His golden eyes narrow before he says, “If you would just give me half of what’s mine, I wouldn’t have to keep coming to you for a handout.”
“No,” I say for the millionth time. “You would blow it all. And there may not be much of it soon.”
That statement causes him to frown. “Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth. You know I’m being sued by all the bombing victim’s families. My attorney said the odds of convincing a jury not to take every penny I have are low.”
“But…why?”
“People fucking died!” I remind him. “They died in my casino because I didn’t have enough security measures in place to know there was a goddamn bomb in the room!”
“What about insurance?” he asks.
I bark out a sarcastic laugh before dunking my head under the water. When I resurface, I tell him, “Insurance only covers the cost of repairing the structural damage and some medical bills due to the collapse. It doesn’t pay a dime to anyone killed by a terrorist attack.”
“Well, fuck,” Flynn huffs, scuffing the bottom of his shoe over the concrete and raising it as if imagining kicking someone’s ass.
“I have to find out who planted the bomb to shoulder some of the blame,” I explain to him. “And even if I do, I could still end up losing the casino and brothels. Apparently my ‘image’ doesn’t help me…”
“I bet it was one of the guests, a suicide bomber.”
“Doubtful. If it was some sort of statement behind the bomb, they would’ve made sure to flaunt it before killing themselves and everyone else.”
“Whatever,” Flynn says with a huff. “Will you at least give me money for groceries?”
“Groceries? You mean actual food?”
“Yeah, food.”
“I thought you were living off pills lately,” I remark. “If I don’t see a receipt afterward, it’ll be the last cash I give you.”
“Could I borrow one of your cars?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve wrecked three and lost your goddamn driver’s license for a year!”
“I won’t get pulled over.”
“No. You can Uber your ass around or walk.”
“How about a car and a paid driver?”
“How about you fuck off before I kick your ass?” I grumble right before my phone begins ringing from a nearby chair.
“Answer that for me,” I tell Flynn.
“I’m not your bitch,” he says but he still starts walking over to grab it, probably just to be nosy.
I quickly pull myself out of the pool and grab a towel from the warming bin to dry off my face, ears, and hands. “Who is it?” I ask as I walk back toward him.
“Screen says ‘Salvato.’” He holds it out to me and I grin at the sight. “Hell, yes.” Taking the device from him, I answer and put it up to my ear. “Salvato. About fucking time you stopped avoiding me. Guess you finally opened the wedding invitation.”
The wedding invitation I sent to him with Sophie’s name on it nearly five months ago, but he ignored it. I guess he’s heard from our mutual acquaintances that they’ve recently been notified to save the date of June first and witness our nuptials. The ones that Dante has been disregarding, like he thought I wasn’t serious.
