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“If he's trying to change plans because he's pissed over what he thinks he's owed, I doubt he'll feel generous..”
“He doesn't have to feel generous. He only has to care about his own self-interest.”
Our eyes meet when the phone rings, and we both know who it is without looking. I pick up the phone and tell Henry to let Sebastian through. “I didn't think he meant he was on his way already,” Romero mutters, shrugging into his suit jacket.
“He's young and impatient. It's not a surprise.” Frankly, I'm glad for it. Every moment I spend without something to occupy my mind is a moment spent in agony. Where is she? What will she do today? Has she commiserated with Tatum yet? For all I know, this could be what brings them back together, something for them to relate over. They can join together in their hatred of me and everything I stand for.
Romero steps out, and I assume he means to greet Sebastian. Instead, he gets no more than a few steps from my doorway before his voice rings out. “This is unusual. Guests don't normally show themselves to Mr. Torrio's office without being greeted first.”
“Can we please drop the bullshit?” I look up from my computer in time to see Sebastian shoulder past Romero before marching into my office. Usually, he's the definition of collected, almost annoyingly so, though not today. Today, his eyes glitter like a man who stumbled over a gold mine. Romero's right. He looks as manic as he sounds. “Been here before, and I'm not some beggar looking to kiss the ring.”
I sit back, hands folded, sizing him up in a single glance. “You're in quite the mood today. To what do I owe the pleasure of you strolling in here without waiting to be greeted?”
“I'm here to make sure you don't hear chatter and get the wrong idea.”
I blink, waiting for more. When he merely stares at me, his shoulders rising and falling as he jogs from the car, I lift my brows. “Care to elaborate?”
“The warehouses. That could only have been a message.”
“A message to Moroni. Not to you.” Why do I feel like we're speaking two different languages? “Why would I send you a message?”
He blinks rapidly, stammering, color rising in his cheeks. Romero observes all of this from the doorway, frowning in puzzlement. “I thought… I mean, I assumed you heard and wanted to take away part of what you promised me.”
I didn't promise a damn thing. It was an offer. This kid still has lessons to learn, but I'm more concerned with what he's hinting at. Lesson time can wait. “What are you talking about? Sit down, for God's sake, and take a breath.”
He rakes both hands through his hair before sinking into a chair. “I had planned on telling you, but since he hasn't committed either way…”
“Since who hasn't committed?” The hair on the back of my neck is beginning to lift. I've never enjoyed being the last to know.
“I've been attempting to negotiate a deal.” He draws a breath, grimacing. “With Moroni.”
“You what?” Romero makes a move for the gun I know is tucked in his waistband. A slight wave of my hand signals him to stand down, which he only does reluctantly.
My blood is simmering, and everything around me begins to go red. “I'm giving you a chance to tell me what you're playing at before you learn what happens to people who go behind my back,” I murmur, fighting for control over the rush of rage brought about by the mention of the man's name.
“It's not what you're thinking. I have a plan.”
“Really. It sounds more like you're double-crossing me.”
“If it's a double-cross, he's the one getting fucked.” His gaze bounces to Romero like he's looking for support–he might as well try to get blood from a stone. “It's not what you're thinking, I swear. I had planned on sharing this with you, although as I said, he hasn't committed. He's dragging his feet.”
“On what?” I grit out.
“I know how to hit Moroni where it will hurt a hell of a lot worse than anything you pulled last night. And when he agrees to my terms, you can have him.”
“I'm looking forward to hearing this,” Romero announces before closing the door. He's right, of course. I would rather the girls not venture by and overhear any of this. The least I can do is keep them out of it.
Sebastian merely turns to stare at him for a beat before looking my way again. “Dominic isn't Jack's only offspring.”
Consider my interest piqued. “He isn't? What, is there a love child tucked away somewhere? Some leverage we can hold over his head?”
“Not quite. They were born out of wedlock, two girls who were one and two, before Jack's wife kicked the bucket.”
“He's got two daughters?” I exchange a glance with Romero, who looks gobsmacked. “You knew nothing about this?”
“I'm not in the habit of keeping information from you,” he reminds me. To his credit, he doesn't look offended, but I can only imagine it stings to know he missed something this big.
“They're twenty years old and currently living with their mother's family upstate. He rarely ever goes to see them but provides for them financially. Word has it he wants to keep them as far away from his work as possible.”
