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FOURTEEN
SEBASTIEN
One of the benefitsof owning a gambling operation, there were plenty of people who owed me money. And they were willing to do things for me no-questions-asked if I forgave their debt. Their loyalty came incredibly cheap.
Gamblers knew me as Bastien the Bastard and rarely fucked with me. Anyone who did, those who lived to tell about it, advertised really well the consequences of such asinine actions.
A call to one of my capos had a shitbox car dropped off a few blocks from Becca’s townhouse. A small price to forgive a ten-grand gambling balance. We needed a decoy to pick up Becca from the Bronx and then get her the hell out of the city.
Gian took his limo back to the Warwick hotel where he lived. From there, he planned to wait in the underground staff entrance where I would give him the car to pick up Becca.
It burned my gut, but we all couldn’t go with her to his safehouse this time.
We hoped the new hired hitman didn’t know we saw the contract online. Anthony and I left the townhouse together and he did his best Saturday Night Fever Tony Manero strut down Second Avenue to one of the most popular bars his family owned. I caught a cab and gave the driver the address to my warehouse downtown. But when we crawled down a quiet street, I told him to stop and I jumped out. I tipped him fairly, but not obscenely so he’d be less likely to remember me. Then I doubled back to grab the decoy car.
To whoever was watching, Anthony was showboating in one of his most popular chic bars, I was kicking someone’s ass in my warehouse, and Gian was home in his penthouse at the Warwick.
Gil stayed at Becca’s townhouse with all the lights on.
Once Gian found Becca, he would drive her to his safehouse. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, fearing I’d never see her again. That I’d handed over my queen, literally, to him, making me vulnerable to anything The Byrne Group would want from Daria Inc.
Something I couldn’t explain to my father, who already skated close to the madness line. Giving up the Sunrise drug deal should have sent him over the edge. It didn’t, and I tried not to think about why he gave in so easily. Was he behind this hit on Becca? Would he do that to me? Kill the only woman I ever loved?
I had enough on my plate to start playing that awful guessing game.
Except for a few hiccups here and there, I made the exchange with Gian, who took off with the shitbox after saying very little to me. I hated that he’d see Becca and I wouldn’t. But he had skills to make himself invisible that I didn’t have. I had only brute strength and a law degree.
We agreed to attend a gala the Warwick hotel hosted that night. Gian often skipped those, so his absence wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Anthony not showing up would.
In my loft, my stomach never settled. I could barely get my bowtie on, my hands were shaking and sweating.
Outside the Warwick, a donor’s red carpet would be a great place for people to see me. See me smile like I didn’t have a care in the world. Like someone wasn’t trying to kill the woman I loved. That she wasn’t in a shitbox driving up north with Gian, taking back roads to avoid toll plazas. Dark, windy roads, filled with deer.
Great.
I waved to the cameras and pushed the vomit I tasted down deep in my gut. A hand clapped me on the back.
“Yo, boyfriend.” Anthony wore his Armani tux and smelled of booze.
I shook his hand with the look on my face I often wore in public around Anthony. I always feared someone would see through me. See how I secretly desired that maniac to fuck me.
“How much have you had to drink?” I asked him, that smile frozen on my face. The one that never reached my eyes.
“Too much,” Messina replied with his own fake grin. “But that’s what people expect of me.” Anthony and I strutted into the hotel lobby like nothing was wrong.
“Mr. Daria?” One of Gian’s concierge managers called out to me from behind.
I turned to face him. “Yes, Taylor?” I’ve been to so many damn events here, I knew Gian’s whole staff.
“Can you come with me, sir?”
My right eyebrow quirked up and I grabbed Messina. Mostly to keep him out of trouble. “Where?”
“Just follow me, sir.”
Shit, this wasn’t good.
Taylor knifed through the crowd in the Warwick’s majestic lobby toward the check-in desk. He rounded the right edge and nudged his chin for us to follow. “There’s a call for you.” He pointed to an office. On a meeting table sat a black business phone. The receiver lay next to it. “Hit 2050 and you’ll be connected to a call waiting on hold in that room.”
The plan was for Gian to get back here tomorrow. No calls. Act like nothing was wrong. What the fuck was this about? Room 2050 was for his operatives.
I walked into the office with Messina behind me. He closed the door and I picked up the phone, my heart pounding. Not knowing what this could be, and as if my world wasn’t collapsing, I dialed room 2050.
When it connected, I spoke in my most menacing tone, “What?”
“She’s not here. I can’t find her.” Giancarlo’s voice made me drop the phone.
