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“Two days,” Donovan Smith says. He’s trying to sound composed and tough, but I’m sure the asshole is pissing himself standing in my presence as he pleads for my mercy.
“Twenty percent increase,” I state, taking a long swallow of the amber liquid that burns a path down my throat.
“Nick, come on. Be reasonable.”
His lack of eye contact and the way he searches the room for a quick exit disappoints me. I’d thought there’d be a challenge at least with the man. I don’t even have to threaten the loser or rough him up in the slightest. My name alone is all that it takes to have him quiver.
I turn to face him. “I’ve been called many things. Reasonable is not one of them.”
My face must show just how not reasonable I am because he quickly replies, “Fine. Twenty percent increase. You’ll have the payment in full in two days.”
“Twenty percent. Two days. Or…” I lift my lip into a smirk “…two fingers.”
Donovan reaches for his tie and readjusts it. Blood appears to be draining from his face, and beads of sweat form on his brow. His eyes divert to my right-hand man, Harrison Cane, as if he can somehow stop my dictate.
Harrison grins widely and chuckles as he drinks from the crystal tumbler in his hand. He shrugs. “I consider that generous.” His smile disappears as quickly as it came, and his eyes darken as his jaw tightens.
Donovan takes a step away, glances around the converted warehouse that will serve as the home of Wonderland for the night, and then says, “There will be no need to resort to violence. You’ll have the money.”
I nod, turn my back to him again and face the bar. “Wonderland will be opening the doors shortly. So if you don’t mind…”
I hear the heavy steps of a scared man as he quickly flees to safety.
“He won’t have the money in two days,” Harrison says as he leans up against the bar casually.
I sip from my drink. “Are we all set for tonight?”
“Yeah, we had to change our DJ at the last minute. The other one missed his flight from Ibiza. But other than that, it’s gone smoothly.”
Tilting my head back and looking upward, I scowl. “I hate the chandelier. I told you to have them stop using that monstrosity.”
“We had to order a new one from Venice after the last Wonderland. Whoever thought having a foam party would be fun needs a kick in the balls. It ruined the chandelier we had, so we have no choice but to use this one as back up. I can’t speed up the craftsmanship if we want it to be done to our expectations.”
I sigh but shake off the imperfections that I hate. “Have all the invitees gone to the meeting spot so far? Will we have a full house?”
Harrison clears his throat. “Yes, plus one.”
“Plus one?” I ask, surprised to be hearing this. Harrison knows that Wonderland is invite only, and I rarely make exceptions.
“A Morelli.”
I rub my chin and try to remember the guest list. “Sasha Morelli was invited, correct?”
“Yes,” Harrison says. “She’s bringing another Morelli I’ve never heard of. I’m guessing someone from out of the country or something. Maybe a distant relative?”
“What’s the name?”
“Lyriope Morelli.”
I finish off my drink in one swallow, hiding the smile on my face as I do. Oh, this should be interesting. Little Miss Lyriope is coming out of her hole… finally.
Claiming she’s a Morelli? Dangerous. Extremely dangerous.
I can’t decide if I’m amused, impressed by her balls of steel, or pissed. She knows that Wonderland is invite only. She knows who I am. And I know who she is.
She’s not a Morelli—far from it.
Wonderland is my world, and I’m not sure I’m ready for her to enter it… yet.
“I can have Martha turn her away at the door. If you don’t like the call I made to allow her—”
“You made the right call,” I interrupt, placing my hand on his shoulder. “As always. We don’t refuse Morellis. We never have.”
I turn around and take in the scurry of all the staff who are putting together the final touches of the event. The waitstaff all wear glittery and sparkly costumes, the dancers for the evening are in their scanty attire, making their way to the gilded cages placed around the room. The visual and audio department are testing the lights and the speakers to make sure all of it measures up to my level of perfection.
Each one of them knows I do a final walk through with a proverbial white glove.
Heads will roll if my expectations aren’t met.
Because our ceiling clearance is high this time around, we’re also having acrobats falling from the sky in large drapes of red satin, so safety is also a concern of mine. Everything must be a spectacle—magical and flawless.
