“Yes, yes, I’m aware of why you’re here and what your nagging will entail.” My father’s snapped tone reveals he’s less than impressed with her whine. “But this can’t wait. Megan can.”
After dismissing Theresa with a wave of his hand, he commences walking toward the exit. I shadow his stalk, albeit a little slower. I’ve heard the name Megan before. It’s a common name, so that isn’t surprising, but it isn’t every day it’s mentioned in front of a cop who put a man away for life for the murder of a woman with the same name.
My father agreed to spare Justine’s life on the agreement Maddox would take the wrap for the murder of a local woman. Her name was Megan Shroud.
“Smith—”
“Cross-referencing all Megans who’ve had contact with your father and Theresa Veneto now. I’ll come back to you as soon as I have anything significant,” he says down the bead-size listening device in my ear.
Even though he can’t see me, I jerk up my chin before increasing the length of my strides. I reach my father just as he breaks through a group of people milling on the sidewalk. Worry that he overheard my brief conversation with Smith smacks into me when he grumbles under his breath, “I should have known he’d be around. He’s always meddling in business that has nothing to do with him.”
I’m about to defend Smith but lose the chance when my father tears away from my side. I curse into the cold night air when I spot who he’s making a beeline for. Isaac Holt is making his way out of a nightclub a few spots down from the venue my father’s function was held at. He’s clutching the hand of a pretty brunette with flushed cheeks and a wobbly stride.
I don’t know what my father says to Isaac when he reaches him, but it changes the expression on Isaac’s face in an instant. He’s wearing the same haunted look he had the night Ophelia and I organized for him to fight at our father’s underground fight circuit.
We rigged the fight schedule, knowing our father would never value Ophelia’s life enough not to use it as a bargaining chip. We were right. He offered her up as if she was worthless. We just had no clue CJ was fighting that night until it was too late.
Isaac won their match as anticipated, but his victory came at a cost I never anticipated. Ophelia didn’t handle his win well. She was so distraught seeing CJ lying bloody and lifeless on the boxing ring floor, she took her anger out on Isaac instead of our stupid ruse.
Her anguish was nothing on what I felt when Tobias arrived at our family compound only hours later. Ophelia and CJ were in a car accident. CJ was wearing a seat belt. Ophelia wasn’t. She didn’t survive her sail through the windshield, and our family has been in tatters ever since.
After signaling for my father’s goon to follow me, I join my father on the curb in front of Club 57, a famous nightclub in the heart of New York, where he’s undertaking a pissing contest with a man undeserving of his wrath.
I should have accepted Isaac’s answer when I attempted to recruit him to my family’s fighting circuit when he was still in college. If I had, perhaps my life would be starkly contradictory to what it is. Karma has a way of biting back, and she’s been gnawing my ass nonstop the past seven years.
“What has it been?” my father asks, acting oblivious to the fury radiating out of Isaac’s gray eyes. “Six years and I don’t even get a greeting from you.” He snarls like Isaac should be bowing at his feet, unaware the millions of dollars he lost after Ophelia’s death wasn’t solely Isaac’s doing. I had a hand in his demise as well.
How do you think I funded CJ’s retirement to a wood cabin in the middle of whoop whoop?
When my father’s attention shifts to the brunette plastered to Isaac’s side, Isaac pulls her behind him in a protective stance. It doubles the arrogance slicking my father’s skin with sweat, whereas it triples my inquisitiveness. Isaac cared for Ophelia, he may have even loved her, but I never saw him act as possessive with her as he is with this unnamed brunette.
Before I can work through half my curiosity, several voices bark down my earpiece in one go. They’re so loud, I almost want to rip the device out of my ear. The only reason I don’t is because one voice is instantly recognizable. It too angelic to be wrangling two angry mobsters.
“She’s not FBI, Smith. She’s part of the Russian Mafia.”
Although Roxie’s voice is crystal clear, it’s obvious she isn’t talking to me. I don’t even think she’s aware I can hear her.
“She was featured in a crime documentary last year.”
I slant my head to the side, inconspicuously cupping my ear with my shoulder to ensure I don’t miss Smith’s reply. “That documentary was filmed three decades ago. It isn’t possible for her to be the same person.”
I’m drawn from their debate when my father’s beady eyes burn a hole in my temple. I raise my head immediately, lost as to what the fuck I missed. My father is glaring at me, Isaac looks smug, and Murph, my father’s goon, looks relieved all the focus is on me.
“Go!”
My father’s roar startles several partygoers mingling in the distance to watch a battle of mafia kingpins. I’m just as shocked, but instead of freezing to watch the charade unfold, my hand itches to slide into the back of my trousers to retrieve my gun.
I’ve been embarrassed by my father many times—chewed up, spat out, and used more times than I can count—but this is the first time he’s disrespected me in front of an enemy.
His disregard will open a floodgate for many more incidences. If you’re not respected by those in your realm, you’re not respected by anyone. I can’t explain it any simpler than that.
He broke the ultimate rule, and it’s taking everything in me not to retaliate with the same amount of inanity. I wouldn’t hold back if it weren’t for Fien. As much as this pains me to admit, her survival rate is hinged on my father’s immortality.
Roxanne’s virginity is the key to unlocking my daughter’s freedom.
My father owns the lock.
I can’t do this without them.
