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‘John.’ Emilio nodded, acknowledging the boy who’d grown to a man beside his own son. ‘Can we have a moment?’
John nodded. ‘Yeah. Sure.’ He slid past Emilio, making his way to the office.
‘Does he know she’s in there?’ Emilio asked his son.
Dornan shrugged. ‘He will now.’
Dornan took a sip of coffee and stared out of the small window to the bleak, overcast day outside. Theirs was a stunning view of the peagravel parking lot that lay behind the back of the club. Living the dream. At least at the Gypsy Brothers clubhouse, if you went up to the roof, you had unrestricted views of the Venice Beach coastline.
No wonder he didn’t spend much time here. He always felt trapped, like a rat in a cage, spinning in his wheel as he went around and around. He didn’t know how John could stand being here all the damn time.
‘Find anything of interest?’ Dornan asked his father.
Emilio’s look was so furious it actually made Dornan take a step back. ‘Whoa, Pop,’ he protested, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘I don’t know what she did, but I swear, it wasn’t me.’
He was trying to make light of the situation, but Emilio wasn’t smiling. ‘Which whore are you talking about?’ his father asked him.
‘I don’t know,’ Dornan replied slowly. ‘Why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind?’
Wordlessly, Emilio handed Dornan a piece of paper. He scanned down. There were a lot of numbers in columns, the same number often repeated twice in a row, and they all added up at the bottom to a hefty amount.
‘This is how much she’s going to save us?’ Dornan asked his father. He whistled. ‘That’s a pretty sum of money. She’ll be debt-free in a couple of years at that rate.’
Emilio snatched the paper back, his eyebrows quaking together in an expression Dornan knew and feared.
He drained the last of his coffee and was about to swallow it when his father replied.
‘This is how much that other cunt has siphoned out of our accounts.’
Dornan choked on the coffee mid-swallow. Slamming his mug down on the counter, he hit himself on the chest as he coughed and spluttered.
As he was catching his breath, Dornan held out a hand, gesturing for the piece of paper again. Emilio relinquished it, and Dornan read the figure at the bottom of the page with a sinking feeling in his gut. Oh, Bella, you stupid, stupid girl.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
Emilio’s eyes burned with a rage that would not be contained until he’d tasted the accountant’s blood himself. Dornan didn’t need to hear his father say the words. He saw her fate in his black eyes.
‘Where is she?’ Dornan asked.
‘On her way,’ Emilio replied. ‘If you see her, make sure you grab the thieving bitch and let me know.’
‘Will do, Pop,’ Dornan answered, as his father stalked out of the room.
Fuck. He knew the club had been losing money, but he assumed generous waitresses overfilling drinks and stealing twenties from the register had been to blame. But Bella? He couldn’t believe it.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he murmured, shaking his head. The bitch hadn’t exactly been discreet. He’d wondered a few times at how she could afford the diamonds that she wore, but she’d assured him she had a great eye for costume jewellery, and that she was adorned in cubic zirconia.
But this . . . this. It made sense. They’d found the hole in their finances, and it was in the most unlikely place of all.
He felt a small pang of nostalgia; Bella gave an excellent blow job.
At least he had Mariana now.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MARIANA
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had been wondering what kind of a man could be president of the Gypsy Brothers. The way Dornan acted, the way he moved, the fact that he was the son of the leader of the Il Sangue Cartel — all of these things told me he should have been in charge, not somebody else.
