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“Liam, can you do this? You are very vain. What if she is not up to your mighty standards?” Neal’s tone was serious, and I wanted to bust a pipe over his face.
“Piss off.” I wasn’t going to fuck this up. They should know this by now. Orlando Giovanni’s daughter was the key to every door. “If she isn’t up to par, I will drink until I can’t see straight. Or until I can convince her to see Olivia’s plastic surgeon.” I was only half joking. Ugly people didn’t have to stay ugly forever.
“Fuck you,” he snapped.
“Great, thanks Liam, now he’s going to be bitching the rest of the ride.” Declan sighed.
“Look how much I care.” I nodded at the driver who ended our call for me.
I needed a moment, but all I could think about was the little Giovanni that was about to be part of my life. Taking the ring out of my jacket pocket, I stared at the massive diamond that would seal our fates. She was Italian, which meant Catholic, just like us, and that meant:
Rule Four: No bloody divorce.
“Let the games begin,” I whispered to myself. I was going to make this work or die trying. But, if she was anything like the females I had in the past, she would be dancing in the palm of my hand, and I couldn’t wait.
TWO
“Even in killing men,
observe the rules of propriety.”
~ Confucius
MELODY
“Ms. Giovanni, we will be landing in h-half an h-hour,” the flight attendant stammered.
Nodding, I simply raised my glass, but the moron was so scared, he couldn’t even pour the wine right. I narrowed my eyes at the red stains on my new white Armani jacket before glaring at him. I snatched the bottle from his damn hands.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t say sorry,” I said in a low hiss. “You aren’t even on the threshold of sorry yet.”
His eyes widened before taking a step back and backing straight into Fedel, who already had a gun pointed at the back of his skull.
“All we really need is the pilot, ma’am,” Fedel said simply.
Stripping off my jacket, I stared at the moron at the end of the nine-millimeter. He was young, only a few years older than I was. What would make him take the job as a steward on my jet? A better question would be, who cleared him to be a steward on my fucking jet? Things spoken in here were more sensitive than the damn Watergate tapes.
“Fedel, how did this fool get on my plane?” I asked, only mildly interested as Monte handed me another file.
“His sister racked up quite a large debt. I do believe he is trying to pay it off,” he said, waiting for me to give the go-ahead. He was so trigger-happy sometimes.
“Is that why you’re here? Your sister is a crack whore?”
He frowned, swallowing the lump in his throat before speaking again. “Crystal meth.”
It’s too early in the morning for blood. I shook my head at Fedel. He sulked for a moment but did what he was told and lowered his GLOCK.
“If you want to pay off your sister’s debt, it would be wise for you to stay alive and not spill my Romanée-Conti, or ruin nine-hundred-dollar jackets,” I told him before turning back to the file in front of me.
“Yes, M-M-Miss G-Giovanni. It will n-never happen a-again.” His voice sounded like a dying dog’s. I almost pitied his sister. Was he all she had coming to her aid?
“Count yourself blessed Nelson Reed, 997-00-4279, 1705 Blue Ridge Road,” Fedel said, making sure the moron was aware that we not only knew his name, but his social security number and address. Just because we didn’t kill him today didn’t mean we could not destroy his life tomorrow.
Fedel sighed before taking a seat in front of me. “It was a nice jacket. You should have let me kill him.”
“My father wasn’t pleased with the bloodstains I left in the last jet.” I smirked, lifting the picture of my future husband.
Husband. I cringed at the word.
I wouldn’t deny he was attractive—highly attractive, in fact. But I would need more than green eyes, dark brown sex hair, and a charming smile. He wasn’t very muscular either, but he looked fast and strong.
“His full name is Liam Alec Callahan, age twenty-seven. He graduated high school at fifteen, Dartmouth at twenty,” Fedel said, sorting through the photos.
“Let me guess, top of his class?” I added, waiting for him to pour more wine in my glass.
Fedel did so before nodding. “But of course, nothing less than perfection for the Irish mutt. That doesn’t only apply to the schools, but also their fancy half-a-million-dollar suits, luxury cars, vacations houses, parties, and whores.”
That got my attention.
“He uses high-end hookers?” It shouldn’t surprise me much, all men had their toys. I would have to put an end to it when we were married, but I understood. The marriage contract our fathers signed fifteen years ago stated neither side would tolerate infidelity. It had less to do with romance and more to do with strategic reasoning. Hookers and lovers almost always led to the fall of an empire. The moment you became comfortable with one another, secrets were spilled, and information was stolen in the dead of night. It was just easier to do without it.
“None that we could find. Instead, he just buys them pretty, shiny things like diamond bracelets, expensive purses, or thousand dollar shoes. They all like their shoes,” he said mockingly, sliding over photos of all the women Liam had been with. It was quite a list. At least he would be an experienced lover, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was good in bed.
“Is he clean?” If he wasn’t, we could buy whatever drug was needed. Ninety percent of everything out there had a cure . . . with the right credit card.
“As a damn whistle,” Fedel said, almost disappointed. “From his current health records, he is healthier than a racehorse, which is surprising with amount of brandy he drinks. His beverage of choice—Camus Cuvee. He has a damn glass, or even the bottle, to his lips in every photo. He isn’t depressed or an alcoholic, he’s—”
“Just Irish.” I added. They could drink every day, from dusk until dawn, and still walk a straight line.
“Exactly. From what I’ve gathered, he’s the brains and is also highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, boxing being a pastime of his. It looks like daddy dearest has spent most of his time forging him to take his place.”
“Doesn’t he have an elder brother?”
“Yes, he does. Meet Neal Aiden Callahan, age thirty-one. Married to Malibu Barbie, aka Olivia Ann Colemen, age twenty-nine, three years ago.” He lifted up a photo of the happy couple. Neal was all muscle with brown hair and hazel eyes, while his wife looked like a life-sized Barbie doll. On her wrist was a small tattoo of a Celtic Knot in the shape of an oak tree.
“A Dara knot.” I told him looking over the lines.
Fedel’s eyebrow rose. “A what?’
I did not repeat myself but explained, “It means internal fortitude; to remain strong regardless of the circumstances around you. It seems Barbie is not very fond of the world she lives in.”
“Well she sure likes the money it brings her. She can’t bite the hands that give her those nice Jimmy Choo’s.”
Dropping the photo, I waited for him to go on.
