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“Eat takeout with me before you go home to your pregnant soon-to-be wife, and stop concerning yourself with dick measuring contests, ’cause we both know mine’s the biggest.”
A slow smile grows on his stubbled face, and he drags a hand through his longer-than-usual hair before his eyes find mine. “It always comes down to the bigger dick with you, V. Don’t you know it’s the motion in the ocean that counts?”
I bark a laugh, relief unfurling in my stomach as he accepts the California roll, alongside my wilful ignorance. “Only dudes with small peckers say shit like that, Caputo.”
* * *
“That was the last conversation we had.” My stomach roils, remembering the last time I saw him later that same day.
I knock my Macallan back in one, the burn easing the pain caused by these unbearable memories.
“What happened after that?” Wren’s voice is small, and I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the now-empty tumbler clasped between my hands.
“It wasn’t until hours later that I realized the death threat letter was missing from my office.”
“He’d taken it, hadn’t he?”
I nod slowly, my attention drawn to a single droplet of whisky in the bottom of the tumbler.
“The letter stated that unless I meet at the designated time and place to discuss negotiations, there would be dire repercussions…” I trail off, needing to swallow down my self-loathing so as to be able to continue.
“I ignored it, just like I’d done with the twenty others I’d received. But Renzo…”
My jaw clenches as Wren’s quiet sob fills my ears and drowns the very soul her presence has brought back to life.
“He went in your place.”
I slam my eyes shut, an unwilling conduit for a memory I’d rather forget. A memory that haunts me every day.
“Yes.”
CHAPTER34
VAUGHN
“Have you spoken to Renzo this evening, Sara?”
“Hi to you too, V.”
I grit my teeth as I slide into the car, revving the engine before peeling out into the Tribeca night.
“Sara. Listen to me closely.Whereis Lorenzo?”
Hesitance colors her voice as she slowly replies, “He said he had a meeting tonight with some of your business assoc—”
I hang up, blow out a heavy breath, and floor it.
Intent on reaching Times Square and the shit hole venue that Nolan Fritz, the brawn behind my deceased father’s sex-selling business, had marked for each of our previously scheduled, never attended meetings.
My car reaches my destination, Saturn, a peep show club with a seedier reputation than most, in record time. Chills race down my spine when I spot Lorenzo’s white Ferrari F355 outside. It’s unmistakable with those custom license plates Sara had gifted him recently, readingDad 2 Be.
I dump my car behind his, and race through the wide-open doors into the blackness beyond.
Almost immediately, I’m flanked by two heavily built men dressed from head to toe in black. I glance around, noting there’s a third at my back, so I train my eyes ahead of me, allowing them to become accustomed to the dark.
It’s a literal dive, brimming with clientele that other establishments—my newly minted Rogue, included—would find entirely unacceptable.
Doors line a long wall, doubtlessly leading to the peep shows this part of Times Square is infamous for, and my stomach tightens, remembering the rumors of human trafficking surrounding Saturn.
