“You’re free tonight?” Giuseppe eyed me skeptically.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I countered.
The cook shrugged. “Would have thought you’d be at the casino, rubbing elbows with some of the big brass.”
That was what my grandfather expected me to do. Which was why I was here, planning to cut some of our enemy down.
“The don had a long lunch with the capos, which I sat in on. Don’t need to go with them to the casino right away. I’ll make an appearance around midnight.” Wear the monkey suit, dance to their tune. But only after I worked out the tension knotting my shoulders and let the boiling red steam out.
Otherwise, I might do something stupid and end up with cinderblocks tied to my ankles, left at the mouth of the bay. There would be no exile this time.
Chapter 8 – Rae
“He’s a vicious brute, signore!” A voice snarled as an echo to the front door being slammed open.
I jolted from the lounge chair in the front parlor. After being assigned to wait up in case the master of the house needed anything, I decided to rest my feet. Which turned into a much-needed nap.
Now I was stuck where I shouldn’t be. If they bypassed the parlor in favor of the lounge, I could scoot away. If they came in here—
I’m so screwed.
More footsteps thumped into the foyer before the door slammed shut.
“Go, clean yourself up, Tobias,” Mr. Grimaldi ordered. “We’re going to have a little chat about your behavior.”
“I wasn’t cheating, Don Grimaldi! I told you, your grandson was wrong.” There was a plea behind those words.
“And I said, I don’t care about the money,” the big boss snarled. “I care how the thing looks.”
The shuffle of feet faded as they went deeper into the house.
I took a long, steadying breath.
The smart thing to do would be go to bed. Tell the housekeeper that I wasn’t needed. But if she found out I hadn’t even offered a beverage? That little white lie might haunt me.
I gritted my teeth and hurried after the men. My heels clicked loudly on the floor, and I bumped and thumped into objects to announce my presence.
The door to Mr. Grimaldi’s office was open. I knocked on the wood, but a few of the men saw me. The conversation died immediately.
“I was told to wait up,” I explained, ignoring the goons in fancy suits and looked only at my employer. “Can I bring anything from the kitchen?”
“Look at those legs?” someone hissed.
His friend chuckled.
My molars threatened to crack.
“No, thank you.” Mr. Grimaldi waved me off. “We’ll just have something from the bar cart. You can go to bed.”
I turned, not needing to hear anything else—
And stifled a shocked squeak as another goon trudged from the powder room.
His face was a mess.
The kind that only a plastic surgeon on a TV show could fix. I tried not to stare, but the damage made my blood run cold. The cut across his forehead looked deep where the bandage didn’t quite cover it. One eye was swollen shut, and his lip was three times the normal size.
The goon bared his lip at me, and I ducked away.
