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“That’s what it looks like, yes.”
There’s a dull pain in my hand and I glance down only to realize that I’m squeezing my fist so tightly that my fingers have all turned white from lack of circulation. Sheer will alone has me uncurling the fist, one slow, painful finger at a time. “Is there anything else?”
A pause. Then, “Yeah.”
Jesus. Of fucking course there is.
I’m braced for it, and still the word is like a blow. I thought I was prepared, thought I was ready to hear the worst of what Brandon was. What he is. But more than rape, more than assault? I’m not sure I can handle knowing that.
Still, that’s why I hired this guy, after all. To dig up every speck of dirt he could find on my brother so that I could know it all. I just didn’t want the “all” to be this much.
“Tell me,” I grind out.
“He’s dirty. Even by Washington standards. He’s taking money from a couple of shady lobbies for his campaign, but everyone does that at one time or another. However, his largest campaign contributions—and a significant portion of his own, personal money—is coming from what appear to be a couple of shell corporations set up in Vegas.”
“Vegas?” I ask, baffled. Brandon’s running for Congress from Massachusetts, the state he was born and raised in. What the hell does Vegas have to do with that?
But even as the question crosses my mind, the answer hits me like a two-by-four. “The Vegas mafia? He crawled in bed with what’s left of the Vegas mob?”
“I’m still digging. But he and Nico Valducci have a lot of business interests in common—including some big money invested in a couple of casinos with very shady backers. Plus there are those big campaign contributions.”
“Business interests?” My mind is racing as I try to figure out this new and unexpected development. I found Brandon in Vegas a few weeks ago, when I’d gone looking for him after I’d learned about Chloe. I’d assumed his trip had been for pleasure, but now that conclusion seems pretty far-fetched. “Why the hell would Brandon get involved with these guys? He wants to be president someday.”
“Yeah, well, so did Kennedy.” I can all but see him shrug. “Valducci has deep pockets. He’s not your typical Vegas mobster—those guys all got shot or sent to prison a while ago. He’s smart and brutal and he and a couple of his friends have been building their organization in Vegas for the last twenty-five years.”
“Still, Brandon should be smarter than that. A lot of people have deep pockets besides the mob!” Me included. God knows he’s tapped me for contributions any number of times in the last year or so.
“Yes, but Brandon didn’t run up ten million in gambling debts to a lot of people. He ran them up with the Vegas mob.”
“Jesus Christ.” I scrub a hand over my face, shake my head as I try to find a way to think through the fear that’s started racing through me. Fear for Chloe. And fear for my brother.
It’s that fear that makes me angriest. I want to hate him. I do hate him for what he’s done to the only woman I’ve ever loved and to all of those other women. I want him to pay, want him to go to prison for a long time for what he did. Want him and our mother to lose their reputations—their precious standing in the community—and with it any and all political aspirations they’ve been harboring.
But the mob? They aren’t about taking reputations when you cross them. They aren’t about prison. They’re about violent retribution. Torture. Dismemberment. Death.
No matter how much I want Brandon to pay for what he’s done, I don’t wish him dead. I taught him how to ride a bike, for Christ’s sake. How to surf. How to drive. All that doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I wish it would. No matter how much I despise him.
“Did you find out anything else?” I demand after the silence has stretched too long between us. I keep my voice flat, brusque. I can’t afford to show weakness right now.
“I’m tugging on a few other threads, but that’s all I’ve got that’s concrete.”
“Other threads?”
“Yeah.” He sounds reluctant. “Look, they aren’t very substantial right now. Give me a couple days and I’ll have more for you.”
I start to push him—I want to know what he knows, even if it’s just a suspicion. But at that moment, I hear a noise at the doorway. I turn to find Chloe standing there, staring at me. She’s nude, except for a robe she’s loosely belted at the waist. Her eyes are wide, her strawberry blond curls tumbling over her shoulders. Her skin is flushed an inviting pink color and though she’s smiling sleepily at me, there’s an uncertainty in the way she’s holding herself that tells me we’re not completely out of the woods yet.
We’re back together, but trust is a long road, one that for us has had its share of potholes. That most of those potholes were my fault is a truth that weighs heavy on my shoulders.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, ending the call before the detective on the other side of the phone can say anything else.
“Everything okay?” Chloe asks, and her voice is as sleepy as she looks. It makes me hard. But fuck, everything about her makes me hard. It’s been that way since the first time I saw her and nothing has changed. Even as everything has changed.
“Yeah.” I cross the living room to her, then pull her into my arms. “Everything’s great. Just business.”
I bend my head, brush my mouth across hers. I mean it to be just a light peck, but the moment our lips meet, I’m lost. I had to live too many days without her and I’m not ready to let her go yet. Not ready to be without her again, even as past hurts loom dark between us.
I bring my hand up to her jaw, cup her cheek as I deepen the kiss. There’s a part of me that still expects her to pull away, still expects her to tell me that she’s changed her mind and can’t be with me, after all.
