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“Oh, indeed I do but not to worry. Like I said earlier, the menu caters for all ages... not just the guests but also what you have to choose from.”
“When?” His eagerness made her laugh. She squeezed his hand.
“I hope you have a big appetite, William. I look forward to spending some time with you at the party as well.” She fluttered her eyelids. “I’d love to be your little girl.”
“Now that’s an offer I’d be happy to accept.” He glanced at his Fitbit. “I better get going before Poppy comes looking for me.”
She followed him down the patio stairs, watching him do a couple of stretches.
“I’ll email you the invitation and details to the party.”
“I’ve got a personal email.” He winked at her. “Can’t afford Poppy to stumble upon my habits, now, can I?” He gave her the address. “You never said when the party is. If it’s soon, I’ll have to clear my schedule.”
“Next weekend.”
“Perfect. I already have a trip planned.” His voice drifted back to her as he took off. “I’ll be waiting for your email, little girl.”
Her delighted giggle chased after him. He grimaced. To each his own, he always said. Playing Daddy to a woman who could easily be his own daughter held no appeal to him.
It was time to head back to San Francisco to strategize and put a foolproof plan in place.
Chapter Fourteen
“Why do we always have to be at his beck and call?” Bastian Conti seethed as he turned into the underground parking garage of the Shutters on the Beach hotel in Santa Monica.
“Stupid question. Boneiro is the one out of the five mafia families you don’t say no to.” Matias Lopez was irritated. He didn’t appreciate having to leave Chicago for an hour meeting, but it didn’t matter. Boneiro couldn’t have cared less. He’d insisted on a face-to-face meeting.
“That’s bullshit.” Bastian cut the engine. He looked sideways at his uncle. “You’re a kingpin. No one dares oppose you. What, is he better than you?”
“You sound like a surly child. Drop it, Bastian.” Matias opened the door. “Let’s get this over with. I want to be home tonight.”
The hotel was tucked away in a crescent-shaped cove with cottages spread out along the beach. The woman at the reception area directed them to the beach house suite. They followed her directions past the Olympic-size swimming pool. Every time Boneiro set up a meeting it was at a different location, never in public. Matias angrily swung the door open, not waiting for Boneiro and walked inside. The garish luxury of the billionaire suite didn’t disappoint.
“Right on time.”
“Aren’t we always?” Matias bristled as he reluctantly offered a hand to which Boneiro snubbed.
“Join me on the patio. I ordered a light lunch. We can talk while we eat.”
Bastian recoiled under Boneiro’s intimidating glare. The knives were already out.
He nodded at his personal security guard who frisked the two men and dropped their weapons in a wicker basket next to the door. He stood behind Boneiro watching the two guests with a stoic expression
“No need to sulk. You should know better than to bring your pieces. This is a business meeting. No need to pack heat.”
Bastian wasn’t comfortable with no protection in the presence of the man known to cut down those who opposed him without thought or regret. How he’d managed to get away with it in the light of the fact that the American Mafia limited killings to their own group he had no idea. He hated feeling powerless but did his best not to show his fear.
“I’ve heard rumors that there are problems with some of the sex workers,” Boneiro said around a mouthful of smoked salmon.
“Who told—”
“What I want to know is why I heard this from the grapevine and not from you, Lopez.”
Boneiro paid no attention to the two men as he continued to eat his meal.
“It’s no big deal. We’ve resolved the issue,” Bastian rumbled as he shoveled a piece of fish and asparagus tips into his mouth. They had hoped to find the two sex workers before Boneiro caught wind of it. How the guards managed to let them escape during transport from the previous sex party in Chicago, he had no idea.
“No. Big. Deal?” The question sucked the air out of the room. Bastian visibly wilted as Boneiro stabbed a fork into his plate.
