Page 17 of Joey

And now I have a purpose. For once in my life, I have a purpose.

I will never stop until this little girl is in my life. I will do whatever it takes.

Huck grips my shoulder and I know, if I were to turn around, he’d be smiling big.

“However,” the man continues.

I force myself to look at him and pretend that I’m not in the middle of some bizarre psychological reaction. But I can’t really pull it off. I can’t whip out that well-practiced, cool, Boston Brother smile.

“The Kane family does not feel like you’d be a proper influence in Miss Maisy’s life and will be petitioning the court—”

“No way,” I say, standing up. “No way.” It takes every ounce of self-control not to jump on this table, walk down the length of it, and choke this guy out right now.

I want to fucking explode.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice—” the man continues.

But my lawyer stands and says, “We anticipated this. And believe me, if you think you’re going to pull this stunt and expect Mr. Boston to capitulate and cower in the face of the Kane family lawyers, you haven’t done your research.”

Whoa. Didn’t really expect that level of animosity from my side right out of the gate.

“Surely you must understand how upsetting this is for Maisy—”

“She called me,” I say, feeding off the bravado my team is displaying, the anger very clear in my voice even though I keep my tone low. “She called me and said her mommy wasn’t home. Who is taking care of her?”

“That’s a private matter, Mr. Boston.”

“The hell it is,” I growl. Pounding my fist on the table. “Either you arrange a time for me to meet Maisy this week or I will inform my brother, Johnny, that this matter should take precedence above all other family business.”

Total silence in the room. Everyone stares at me.

I don’t really know why I said it. Because I know what it implies. And it solidifies the vague warning my lawyer just hinted at when he informed them that they hadn’t done their research.

It’s a threat.

A Boston Brothers threat.

I don’t even know who we are, or what we do, or why all those people pay us billions of dollars every month. But there has to be a reason. And so my threat carries weight.

“You don’t want to do that,” the man says.

“No,” I say. “I really do.”

Even from this side of this absurdly long table I can see this guy clench his jaw.

“I want to see her and I want to see her now.”

Another man stands. An older man. Skinny, nice suit, expensive watch. He smiles when he looks at me. “Mr. Boston,” he says. “We have concerns about your parental fitness.”

“Too bad,” I say. “I’m her father. I have rights.”

“Our clients have rights as well.”

“Where is Charlotte?”

All thirteen of them look at each other.

“Where is she?” I ask again.