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I likely could’ve told them the truth. Admitted she was my legal assistant. Apologized for misleading them. I would’ve lost the job, but even violent gangsters aren’t stupid enough to straight out murder a couple of people in the back of a bar.
Probably, at least.
But some part of me can’t let go. I can’t lose, not if there’s a way to turn it around.
And so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
Now I’m fucked because Orin wants to have another meeting.
And he wants me to bring my new wife.
This is bad. Extremely bad. I could go to Carmine or Evander for help, but I can only guess what they’ll say. Something along the lines of,holy shit, you’re an idiot, you might as well put the gun in your mouth and pull the trigger for Orin next time.
I’d deserve that.
But no, I can handle this problem myself. I solve issues, I don’t create them. Ever since I started practicing law, I’ve been damn good at what I do. I pride myself in keeping things tight, in winning cases, in keeping my clients out of prison and on the right side of the law. Even when they’re operating in extremely murky waters.
Going to Carmine or Evander would only embroil their respective organizations with the Crowleys, which they most certainly donotwant.
There’s also Ford and his vast reserves of cash, but he’s got another baby on the way. He doesn’t have time to play mobster politics.
Lanzo might help, but he’s still somewhere in Poland hacking targets in Russia for the Ukrainians.
I’m on my own, like I’ve always been. I got myself in to this mess and I’ll drag myself back out.
Only I need to make sure Fiona walks away unscathed as well.
She’s the real wildcard here. I understand Orin Crowley and his sons—I’ve worked for men like them for years. Yes, they’re powerful, and yes, they’re extremely violent, but they’re still motivated by simple things. Wealth. Prestige. Influence. They’ll look the other way if I can increase their family’s standing in the world, even marginally.
All I need to do is convince Fiona to play along.
But I have no clue if she’ll be willing.
I’m tired from a long trip when I step into the Hyatt, body tense with stress. I need to work out and get a fucking massage. But no time. I head to the bar, looking around until I spot her sitting at the far end.
I pause for a moment to take her in.
Thick auburn hair. Long, dark lashes. Smooth, creamy skin. She’s in a blouse with the top two buttons undone, showing off a not-insignificant amount of cleavage. Her skirt’s shorter than work-appropriate, giving me an extremely pleasant view of her long legs. This must’ve been her backup outfit. And what a fucking outfit it is.
The girl is absolutely stunning.
She’s also ten years younger than me.
I need to get it together. But fuck, out in that hallway after that kiss, I wanted to tear into her. I wanted to rip her top open, hike her skirt up, and fuck her then and there. That kiss made my blood ring with utter lust.
Lust is going to get me killed.
I approach as she looks over. She doesn’t smile—her face is twisted in an exhausted frown. I can relate to that. I nod as I take a seat beside her and order a whiskey.
“Here,” she says, sliding the credit card back.
“Thank you.” I shove it into my pocket. “How’s the room?”
“Better than what I was going to get.” She hunches forward slightly and sips from her wine. “Do you want to know what my mother said when I told her my apartment burned to the ground?”
My eyebrows raise. Family issues already? “Go ahead. Tell me.”
“She asked if she could Venmo me fifty bucks.” She laughs bitterly. “Fifty bucks. I’m homeless and that’s what she offers.”
