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Still bewildered, I mutter, “I know, boss.”
Aidan retains so much info about the most random shit that he’s pretty much a walking Wikipedia of New York crime factions.
“This is your final warning, Cade,” he says. “You won’t get another chance.”
I tip up my chin. “I don’t need one, boss. I got your back.”
He grunts, stares at his cell, and starts tapping out a message. “So, you’ll deal with Davis, seeing as he’s your woman’s problem.” He flicks a final look at me. “But you make it hurt.”
Gritting my teeth because I know what that means—hurt but leave alive—I nod. “I won’t kill him.”
Another grunt is my answer and knowing that I’m dismissed, I turn back to the traffic, making sure I keep my head turned to the side so I don’t even glance in my dipshit brother’s direction.
Forty minutes later, we’re walking into Davis’s office.
Usually, Aidan meets him for his appointments at a hospital in the city, but this place is his private surgical center and it’s on the outskirts of the Upper East Side. He’s been here a couple of times, but not often.
Over my time with the O’Donnellys, I’ve come to realize that a true measure of wealth isn’t how many cars you have or where your address is or if you own a yacht—it’s who your healthcare provider is.
Aidan’s doctor appointments take place in hospital suites that are so fancy, I wouldn’t even mind being hospitalized.
The receptionist at the front desk recognizes Aidan, and because this office is swanky as fuck, she looks like a catwalk model when she stands and greets Aidan with a polite smile. “Mr. O’Donnelly, I didn’t realize you had an appointment today.”
“I don’t, Chantal. Is he busy?”
“No, sir. He’s between appointments.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’d like you to clear the rest of Dr. Davis’s appointments for the day, please. You can head out as well.”
Eyes flaring wide, Chantal gulps. “I-I can’t do that, sir.”
“Yes, you can,” he rumbles, the threat in his words making her jerk backward. “You take home his schedule and you make the cancellations on the road. Understood?” A couple hundred dollars appear in his hand and he tosses the wad on the desk.
Her mouth trembles as she darts a glance between us and then at the cash. Without another word, she twists around, grabs something from a drawer that she hauls against her chest, takes the money in a fist she shoves in her pocket, and rushes toward a door behind the reception desk.
A few moments later, she returns with a coat and purse, and without a second look, she gets the hell out of here.
Aidan waves a hand at me. “This is your show, Cade. I’d imagine you have plenty to make up for where this woman of yours is concerned. Remember—make it count.”
Striding forward, I grab the door handle and push forward, ignoring Davis’s, “Chantal, I told you not to disturb me!” Then, he looks away from his computer and spies me, demanding, “You work with O’Donnelly Jr., don’t you?” as I slap my hands on his desk and loom over it.
“He does, Davis,” Aidan answers on my behalf, strolling into the room too, my brother at his back.
“D-Do you have an appointment, Aidan?” he queries, his tone more high-pitched than usual as he shuffles his focus between us, clearly unsure of what’s going on. “Do you have news about Isabelle?”
I’m not a sadist, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I appreciate his fear at this moment because I know he terrorized Belle. If the fucker can feel even a fraction of what she experienced, then I’ll consider that a goal ticked off my bucket list of shit to do before I die.
“I think you know I’m not on your schedule today, Davis.” Aidan wanders over to the window behind the fucker’s desk and slowly pulls down the blinds.
“What are you doing? You can’t—”
“Davis, you know who I am,” he drawls. “You know I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He leans against the side of the desk and studies the older man. I’m not surprised Davis isn’t shouting and cursing—not only because he’d be a fool to piss Aidan off but because he’s a bully, and they only pick on people they perceive to be weaker than themselves. Fuckers. “You should have known that I’d find out before you sent me on that fool’s errand.”
“Fool’s errand?” He gulps. “I-I didn’t send you on a fool’s errand. My daughter’s been missing for years—”
“Willfully,” I snarl. “She wanted to get away fromyou.”
Davis growls back, “That’s a lie!”
