Page 6
“I figured as much when you called me directly instead of using the Coin Slot,” Armond replied grimly. “What’s going on?”
The Coin Slot was a loose, hollow brick located in the town square that the five families used to pass messages. A runner from each family would check the slot, determine whether the message was meant for their family, and either deliver it if it was theirs or leave it be.
It was a form of communication they’d used for decades, switching bricks here and there. It was a safer messaging option than a phone call or text, but it didn’t help with urgency.
Sinking into the leather chair at the head of the table, Severo nodded at the two folders resting in the middle of the table.
“We have a problem. Two nights ago, my family and I held an intimate launch for the newest release in our winter series,” Severo raised an eyebrow at Armond. “One you conveniently missed.”
Coughing, Armond gently pounded his chest as if to clear it. “I was—uh, otherwise occupied.”
“I’m sure. Jules’ company made up for your absence.”
Cassius bit the inside of his cheek as he understood his father’s meaning. He’d been with another woman and left his wife to be the face of the family as he usually did. Their dynamic was one he didn’t understand, but he’d at least stopped despising his father when he realized that Armond’s behavior was what Jules accepted, and therefore not his business.
“As it always does.”
“Anyway, as I was announcing that I’m turning over Aged Creek Whiskey to Aella, some smug asshole strolled in, tossing around veiled threats.”
Armond raised a brow. “Who?”
“At the time, I didn’t know. But after pooling together resources, I discovered his name is Calder Moore. He’s a federal agent who specializes in white-collar crime.”
As Cassius claimed a seat, he reached for one folder and flipped it open, not surprised to see Calder’s photo and information staring back at him.
“Why the hell is he targeting you?” Severo demanded. “You’ve been cleaning money for years with no issue.”
“Until the newly appointed Attorney General decided he wanted to start pillow-talking with the financial analyst that he’s screwing behind his wife’s back, who then felt it was her ethical duty to report the alleged activity.”
While the Farina family laundered their own money, the Torrisis’ involvement was a bit different. Inheritances, political hush funds, and any form of money that needed to be moved or hidden until the coast was clear were entrusted to the Torrisi family, who moved it quietly through private trusts and shell companies, off the books and outside the law—for a fee, of course.
Cassius turned a page in the folder to see a few candid shots of a pretty enough woman who clearly had no idea she was being followed. Armond also thumbed through the folder, his forehead pinched as he absorbed the information.
“Daniel Korr isn’t built for this type of pressure,” Severo continued. “And if the kickbacks he’s received weren’t enough to influence him to keep his mouth shut when talking to his mistress, it damn sure won’t be enough to keep him from talking to the Feds.”
“Shit,” Armond hissed.
Cassius continued turning pages in his folder until he came across a face that he’d burned into his mind from his first interaction with her.
“Who is this?” He turned the page around so the older gentleman could see.
“Iris Calloway,” Severo answered breezily. “She’s part of the newly formed task force assigned to investigate, per Chief Halstrom.”
Douglas Halstrom was Whiskey Creek’s police chief and could be an ally or foe depending on his mood and the day of the week.
“Fine time for him to open up his damn mouth about it.”
“Let him tell it, he was just as out of the loop as we were.”
Cassius snorted. “I highly doubt that.”
“We need to call a meeting,” Armond advised. “With all five family heads. And someone needs to take care of Korr.”
“I’ll take care of Korr,” Cassius volunteered, leaving very little room for objection.
Both Severo and Armond turned to him.
“Son,” Armond began, but Cassius held up a hand to silence him.
