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And he couldn’t bear what would come next.
He briefly considered bidding himself, but he didn’t have fifty grand. He might have a rich father, but Dornan was rich in assets, not cash. He had six sons, for shit’s sake. Six sons who ate him out of house and home.
‘You do not want to sell her,’ Dornan said, jabbing his finger in the direction of the basement.
‘Of course I do, figlio. And I want her owner to be the most brutal motherfucker. I want to send Marco pictures that will make him wish he was dead.’
Dornan’s fingers tightened around his tumbler. Scotch on the rocks, to ease his fraying nerves. That little whore Bella had always been good at two things — sucking dick, and relaying gossip to him. So when she’d called a few hours ago and told Dornan there was an auction tonight, he had jumped on his bike before he’d even hung up. He’d sped as fast as his bike and the traffic would allow, weaving dangerously between cars and trucks on the busy stretch of highway that ran from Venice Beach, LA, all the way down to the ends of San Diego where the US touched Mexico.
‘Pop, I’ve spoken to people,’ Dornan protested. His trigger finger was itchy, and he had an impulsive desire to rip his gun from its holster and shoot his father in the face. He had a tendency to be volatile when cornered. ‘I’ve been speaking to Marco’s business associates.’
Emilio looked up sharply from where he was studying a handwritten list of names. ‘You what?’
‘It was a coincidence,’ Dornan continued, the lie as easy as the truth.
He had inherited his silver tongue from his father, and so it was much harder to sway him. But it was worth a try. He couldn’t let Ana go; he hadn’t thought of anything except her for the past few days. He’d tried to fuck her out of his system, then resorted to booze and drugs, but nothing worked.
He wanted her, and he was going to find a way to get her.
Emilio stood up and rounded the desk, standing over Dornan. ‘You want to defy me, son? For a girl? A fucking Colombian whore?’
He did. He really, really did.
‘Gino says she’s been doing the books for Marco for years. Two or three. Says she’s pretty fucking good at taking dirty money to the laundromat and cleaning it up.’
Emilio took a step back, his indignation fading slightly.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘Apparently our Marco has been quite the gambler. He owes a lot of bookmakers a lot of money.’
Emilio threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘You’re telling me things I already know. Get to the point.’
‘She was using Gino’s workshop as a front. Funnelling a lot of illegal money through, holding off the bookies by laundering their money for them.’
Emilio looked bored. ‘The point,’ he urged, clicking his fingers.
‘I think Bella is in over her head,’ Dornan said. ‘The burlesque club in Venice is bleeding money, and she’s too fucking dumb to figure it out. I say we put this girl to work, see if she can do better.’
Emilio didn’t seem overly keen, but then, he wasn’t ordering Dornan from his office, so it wasn’t all bad. He circled back to his side of the desk and uncapped a decanter of whiskey.
‘If it doesn’t work, I’ll shoot her myself,’ Dornan offered.
Emilio rubbed his fake tooth with the pad of his finger, like he did sometimes when he was thinking.
‘Gino’s shop woulda been small fry,’ he said.
‘Millions, Pop,’ Dornan corrected his father. ‘Millions.’
‘I’ve already invited sixteen fucking people to this auction,’ Emilio snapped. ‘Could you not have come to me with this yesterday?’
Dornan scoffed. ‘I very much doubt she’s the only girl you have at your disposal.’
Emilio grinned. By saving Mariana, Dornan knew he was only condemning someone else. He wondered if she was older. No, probably younger. Probably a girl who’d been promised a better life and herded into a shipping container, then driven to her doom. Dornan’s gut turned to ice. Forget about it. Focus.
He couldn’t save them all, and he needed Mariana.
‘And you’re going to vouch for this little bitch?’ Emilio’s eyes were beady, alight with something all of a sudden. Anger? No. He was amused.
