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“Oh, really? You worked for it?” Venom drips from her laughter. “Tell me, Callum, does your little whore work for all the dollars I’m sure you pay her?”
My jaw clenches so hard I swear I can feel my teeth cracking. I refuse to play into her hand. I cannot give her what she wants. All this push and pull, God damn it, she makes it impossible. Since the very beginning, she’s known precisely which buttons of mine to push.
“Tell me something. In your life, what have you ever worked for? You couldn't even be bothered to be a mother to the daughter you wanted so badly, much less a decent, faithful wife. All you've ever known is how to use people in order to get where you want to be. So spare me your sanctimonious bullshit.”
“I'm just saying. Maybe I'm not the only sanctimonious one.”
“Then why would you want a cent from me, considering your feelings about how the money came to be?”
She sputters, and I can practically see how red her face must be by now. She never wastes time stepping into a trap she set herself.
“You've taken up enough of my time. From now on, unless it has something to do with our daughter, I would appreciate you communicating through our lawyers. I have nothing to say or share with you.” Before she has the chance to continue talking, I end the call and toss the phone onto my desk.
Once again, she leaves me wondering what the hell I ever saw in her. I'm starting to think there won't ever be any hope of getting rid of her, but I have to try. Particularly if I ever want to have anything meaningful with Bianca.
Sebastian Costello is young—he turned twenty-five a month ago. He comes off as cocky, but I see it as more of a front. A way for him to convince you he knows what the hell he’s doing before trapping you. His usual expression would appear to be a smirk since that’s most of what I’ve seen from him since he entered my office, taking the leather chair across from me. Romero, as always, lingers near the window. Holding his tongue as expected, all the while watching closely with his keen, experienced eyes.
Sebastian shakes his head when offered a drink. “I prefer a clear head when discussing business.” This little shit, posturing in front of his elders. I wasn’t much better at his age. In comparison, he's got an advantage over me; he was raised in this dark world while I came into it in my late teens. I have no doubt his father groomed him for leadership from the day he was born. It’s what happens in crime families. The men are set up from birth to take over the family business and the women are merely pawns, set up in arranged marriages and used as bargaining chips.
However, Sebastian is not the only one with experience. Unlike him, I have actual, real-world knowledge, not the sort of experience that's attained while sitting on daddy's knee or playing in his office while the grown-ups talk.
“I understand you’ve come with some information you think would benefit my business,” I ask gruffly as a lead-in. It’s a breadcrumb. I won’t take it any further. I want to see how he handles this without any help from me.
He nods, looking at a carefully blank-faced Romero before swinging his gaze back to me. “There's been much talk in certain circles about the hijacking of your shipment.” He smooths down the front of his silk tie, obviously wanting to up the tension by pausing.
“Okay? Who's responsible?”
“Let me ask you something.” Sebastian tilts his head to the side, studying me. “Who would benefit from stealing that shipment of weapons?”
“Who wouldn't?” Romero counters.
“Not financially,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “We're not talking about the business side alone.”
“Jack Moroni,” I growl. Unsurprisingly, it is the first name to pop into my head.
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Word travels fast in the underbelly of the city, and everyone heard about your unfortunate dinner from a few weeks ago.”
Instantly my heart begins to race while my chest tightens. My lungs can't seem to get enough air into them. That night took a grisly turn shortly after Bianca lodged a fork in Dominic Moroni’s hand.
Now is not the time to get distracted.
Shaking it off, I ask, “Well, what was said?”
Now he wears a full-blown smile—it reminds me of a shark, if anything. Sharp, white teeth merely waiting to pierce into my skin. Eyes nearly as black as the gleam of his hair. “There's plenty of people who would like to meet the girl who had the balls to stab that stupid son of a bitch in the hand. But that's just it. Word has spread, and nothing bad has come of it. Almost everyone who's heard the story finds it hilarious. A case of someone getting what they deserve. So for Jack, it's become personal. He wants to hurt you. You’ve embarrassed him. His family. His name's sake. It’s all anyone is talking about.”
