AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Governments have learned their lesson. Taking down a cartel doesn’t stop cocaine trafficking—it simply creates a vacuum thatwillbe filled. Better us, who despite having an arsenal of weapons and enough men to put small countries to shame, no shots are fired unless necessary.
Colombia would rather end their relationship with the US than us. We’ll take the dirtiest down without interference from the US within Colombia—what our citizens and government would prefer. While we could remain in Colombia without concern of being deported to the United States for prosecution, it would hinder our ability to do business the way we prefer.
Richie clears his throat. “I get you killing an agent might not appeal, but I can make it worth it for you. I’ve heard you’re in need of a wife. I have a daughter. She was promised to Eddie Paseo but he died before they married. The year up on mourning is up within a few weeks. Maybe instead of a business relationship, we could have a family relationship? This thing with the FBI, and being so far away from my wife, has me thinking I belong in Colombia with her. If Tony Sabatini can retire, why can’t I? I’m sixty-two years old. I think I've earned my retirement.”
The offer of his daughter tells me how desperate he is. I’ve heard his men talk, Nicolette is considered a prize with the way she was raised as the prospective bride of a son of a capo. I thought I would have to pay significantly for her. Now he’s practically handing her over. Combined with the clear lie of him moving to Colombia since his wife would cut his dick off if he got close to her. Tells me things are very wrong, just not in the way he’s saying they are.
“Your daughter would agree to our marriage? I don’t want someone who is forced or not given a choice.” I’ve no doubt he would force her. I don’t want her forced.
“Nicolette would agree. She loves children,” Richie rushes to assure me. “I wouldn’t have made the offer if I thought she wouldn’t agree.”
“I want to meet with her to get her thoughts on the marriage.”
He nods. “Yeah, of course. She’s out right now. How about you join us for dinner tonight—”
I shake my head. “No. I want to speak with her alone. Without your influence. When will she be home?”
Double blinks cause me to run my eyes over him more closely. Double blinks, hesitation, a rush to push one’s interest, all are signs I’m not wrong. Richie Angelo is fucked. The only honest thing Richie has said so far is likely that he’s broke—and he’s willing to trade his beautiful daughter to pay for his mistakes.
Inhale. Soften tension within the body, give a small smile of reassurance, soften tone when speaking, tilt head to the side to give the appearance of mere curiosity. “There is no need to be concerned for her virtue. I want us both to have the freedom to speak openly without concern for her modesty. It’s important she understands what she is agreeing to, to me.”
The relief in his eyes is clear, yet he’s still stiff with tension. “Yeah, okay. I um, I hate to admit I don’t know when she’ll be home…”
Exhale. No tension. Curiosity deepens. Eyebrow lift, half-smile, give an encouraging nod. “I have no problem with you calling her to find out when she will be home.”
He doesn’t move for a moment, too long. “Right, yeah. I’ll do that.” Those double blinks are happening again as he takes his cell phone from his pocket. The grip on his cell phone is so tight the tips of his fingers are white.
Despite what people think, I do experience anger. I’m experiencing it now. I consider getting up and walking away. I do not want a wife who will fear me. Yet, I remember the girl huddled on the ground in the alley, the way she sucked my cock like she couldn’t get enough, and the way she loved it so much she got off from it. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget the way it felt to touch her delicate skin.
If I walk away from the offer of Nicolette, I have no doubt he will call up the next man he knows with deep pockets and offer her up to him. Whether she wants to marry the man or not.
He sighs. “Damn girl, her ringer is off.” He mumbles to me. “Let me leave her a message. Nicolette, it’s your father. Call me as soon as you get this.” Setting his phone down on his desk, I don’t miss the way he runs a shaky hand through his thinning hair. “As soon as she calls me back, I’ll call you and let you know.”
I nod as I stand. “Have her call me directly.”
I pretend I don’t notice the way he pales. “As soon as she gets off the phone with me, she’ll call you.”
* * *
Nicolette
The door of my bedroom opens without warning. My father fills the doorframe. He’s kept me locked in my room for the last week and a half, afraid I’d run away.
His eyes run over me. “Fuck, you gotta do something about your face. Why’d you have to be a little bitch? Why’d you make me smack you? I swear, sometimes, you’re just like your mother. Manuel wants to meet you. Wants to hear you say you want to marry him. I shoulda fucking known. Fucking Augusto Reyes lied to him about his daughter, and the girl did a runner. Now, he’s worried you’ll do the same. If you do, I will find you and kill you. I’m serious, girl. There’s nothing, not a penny for me, your mom, or you. You convince him the only thing you want in this life is to marry him.”
Fear slams my heart into my throat, causing me to nod fast for him to believe I’ll do whatever he says.
“Get that makeup on you love so much and fix your face.” He tosses a card along with my phone he’s kept from me on my bed. “You call him. Tell him you were busy with a friend or some shit.”
Hand shaking, I pretend to study the card for the number. Not daring to let on I have committed both numbers to memory. The phone rings only once before he answers. He doesn’t say anything.
Nerves have air coming out of me in a shaky sigh. “Hello, this is um Nicolette Angelo. My father,” I wince at how high and squeaky my voice is. “Richie Angelo, he said we, I… I would.”
My father’s hand becomes a fist. I rush to get the words out. “I am interested. I am. I would like to meet with you. Whenever it works for you.”
My heart is pounding so hard my entire chest hurts. “Where are you?”
I remember that voice. Deep, dark, bass I felt in my chest. It’s whiskey on velvet, smoke drifting through a room, leaving a haze in the air. It soothes me in a way I don’t understand.
