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“My father died of a heart attack at the dinner table and I didn’t lift a finger to try to save his life. Yes, filthy girl, I could.”
I gape at him, not sure what to say. Is that really true? Could Carmine be so cold that he could watch his own flesh and blood die without trying to help him? The mafia families are totally foreign to me, but it’s possible—I can’t imagine he grew up under normal, happy circumstances. I’d bet his father was distant and difficult at best, but most likely he was straight-up violent and abusive. I mean, how else do you end up like Carmine? Like there’s darkness boiling under his skin? I can only guess at the things he must’ve gone through.
But I won’t pity him. I won’t humanize him. Carmine’s still the enemy.
We lapse into another silence as the neighborhood comes into view. It’s a nice place, upscale, and right on the outside edge of Dallas. It’s the sort of place new money tends to gather, with big, gaudy homes, huge wrought-iron gates, and sprawling properties.
I let out a long breath and stare at the house as we pull down the driveway. It’s about what I expected—big, bold, new, white, over the top—but my mind’s mostly elsewhere. I keep coming back to the Panagos, trying to figure out why the heck Daddy would turn to them in the first place. He had a dozen contacts in the rich business world—why turn to criminals? I say softly, almost to myself, “I don’t know what Daddy was thinking when he sold the Greeks on his crypto coin idea. I wonder how much he stole from them?”
“Stole, vaporized, whatever he did, that money’s long gone, and if I know the Greeks, they’re going to make sure they get it from your ass before this is done. Even if they have to tear it from your flesh.”
I give him a scandalized look. “Don’t be so crude all the time.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” He parks out front as the moving van pulls in behind us.
“You think this is a better idea then? Sticking me in this huge house?”
“This huge house has a state-of-the-art surveillance system, courtesy of the Arc family, and I’m going to hire a dozen security guys to keep the perimeter safe. No fucking mobster’s going to get anywherenearthis place without me knowing.”
“Great. It’ll be like living in a fortress. Or a prison.”
“Or a castle. Whatever you like, princess.” He opens the door and gets out. “Come on. I want you to meet Haleena.”
Before I can ask who he’s talking about, Carmine heads up the front steps and greets an older woman waiting for him next to the porch columns. I approach them and smile. I’d guess she’s in her sixties, gray hair, bent back, sharp eyes, and skinny from hard physical labor. She looks back at me critically, hands on her hips, appraising, and speaks with a heavy Russian accent. “This is the wife then.”
“Fiancée, but yes, Haleena, this is Brice.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, not sure who I’m actually meeting.
“Brice, Haleena is my housekeeper. I’ve known her since—”
“Since you were in diapers. I’ve seen the good and the bad in this one, and let me tell you, it’s mostly all bad. Hello, dear, come here, let me hug you.”
Haleena gives me a tight hug and kisses both cheeks, and her smile is like lying under a heat lamp in the middle of December. She sweeps me into the house, chattering on about how massive the place is and how it’s going to be horrible to clean, and launches unprompted into several stories about how much trouble Carmine’s been ever since he was a little boy.
There’s more staff inside. A cook, several house cleaners, and a man referred to as “Vlad” and who doesn’t have a position, but I’m pretty sure he’s got a gun on him.
“This is our room.” Carmine shows me into the master bedroom. The movers carry up boxes of my stuff and start placing it down in the massive walk-in closet, which is the size of my old bedroom back at the apartment. I stare at the place and wonder how much it cost, but decide not to ask—I know better than to care about money—and Carmine sits back on the bed, studying me. “Well? I want to know what my wife’s thinking.”
“I’m not your wife yet.” I run my hands through my hair and think about Cassidy back at the hotel, and the violent Greek mafia that wants to kill me, and all the hundred different problems still swirling all around me. “And I’m pretty much just overwhelmed right now. Haleena seems nice though.”
“Looks are deceptive. Haleena’s a snake, but a loyal one. Don’t get on her bad side.”
I smile slightly. “Like you have?”
He scowls. “Exactly. You don’t want to be me.”
“Now you’re talking sense.”
He stands and heads to the door. “I’ll give you some time to unpack. I’ll be downstairs making more arrangements for security.”
Before he can go, I step forward, heart racing. “Carmine.”
He looks back, face a cloudy blank, head tilted to the side. “Yes, filthy girl?”
I feel a shiver down my spine and my hands clench into fists. He’s crude and disrespectful, but that doesn’t mean he deserves all my ire, at least not right now, not after helping my friend. “Thank you for what you did for Cassidy. The hotel and all that. You didn’t have to come over and you didn’t have to take care of her on top of everything else and—thank you.”
He looks at me for a long moment before turning away. “You’re welcome. Call if you need me.” And he leaves.
