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At least, not yet.
And as of an hour earlier, she was on a plane with her mom to Australia. Evan let me know he’d be by the clubhouse later with some cash before following them down there.
So, not only had Vince lost his favorite toy, he also wouldn’t be able to steal her back like he’d done last time, meaning the kid was going to absolutely lose his fucking shit.
And guess who he was probably going to blame?
“Bishop, my friend!” Frank called when we finally made it to the bottom of the hill, a wide smile on his face as he waved me over. “Come. Come.”
“Here we go,” I mumbled under my breath, walking to the edge of the green and watching as he lined up his shot.
He swung back, then drove through—the distinct club versus ball crack filling the air before it went careening down the course. Frank tossed the club to one of his men standing nearby, the poor bastard juggling it between his hands in a back-and-forth motion before he finally managed to grasp it.
The relief on his face was like he’d just had a near-death experience, which may not have been far from the truth.
I’d known Frank Martelli for years since before he took over from his father Nicky, and there were three things of his you absolutely did not want to fuck with.
His wife.
His children.
And his golf game.
You drop those clubs and damage them, you’re risking his entire game—a surefire way to find yourself buried in the fucking sand on the ninth hole, and Frank would have another guy to take your place by the time he got to hole number ten.
“Come and sit for a moment,” Frank encouraged, patting me on the back and leading me over to a couple of golf carts parked back-to-back so the seats on the rear faced each other. Hawk and Match stayed close by so they could hear what was happening, but not too close. I needed Frank’s focus on me.
He knew me.
The trust and understanding between us would hopefully solve this problem so we could all move the hell on.
Frank sat on one of the carts, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at the sweat on his forehead. The man was well into his seventies and definitely not the fit spring chicken he once was. His hairline was receding, his stomach protruding, and how he was breathing after taking fewer than twenty steps from the green to the cart concerned me.
I climbed up onto the golf cart facing his and sat back, thankful for a break from the sun.
“Thanks for meeting me like this,” I told him with a polite nod. “I appreciate you taking time out from your game.”
He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “The longer I’m able to get out of the house, the better. Otherwise, Clara wants me to be doing things with her… going to cooking classes, visiting the grandkids. She thinks I’m retired or something!”
I scoffed. “And I’m guessing that’s not something you have plans to do any time soon.”
“You know as well as I do that building a legacy is the easy part,” he ranted, jabbing his finger at the soft white cushioned seat beside him. “It’s finding the person who you know is going to carry it on and make sure it lives up to what you envisioned… that’s the hard part.”
“Don’t I fucking know it.”
Frank Martelli was a very smart man.
He would never come out and say anything negative about his family. The risk that it could be used against him in some way was too high.
But his little spiel indicated there was trouble in paradise.
Which could mean a bigger problem than I’d originally thought.
“Now, enough of my rambling. When Hawk called, he did make it seem pretty urgent, so let’s not mess around,” Frank said, finally relaxing back against the seat. “Please, let me know what I can do for you today.”
This was where I needed to be strategic.
Coming at Frank Martelli and telling him to get a leash on his psycho fucking son was the best way for me to end up with a war on my hands. Especially now that I knew things were already very tense in that area, and I was probably working with a pretty short fuse.
