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“That sleazy son of a bitch? You let him in the door.”
“He pays the entry fee, same as everyone else.”
“He also got an associate of mine killed.”
“That was twenty years ago, Rafael. Let it go.”
“Presumably you don’t mind him knocking up his employees, then firing them.”
“That was never proved.”
“Because she killed herself. Listen, Vincent. If Delaney’s there, you just keep him away from me.”
He coughs down the line, sounding amused. “You might not like him but he’s got a right to attend, same as you. Where would I be if I started picking and choosing my clientele? You know the rules. No bloodshed on club property. Assure me you won’t kill him.”
“Tellhimhe better not bid on Amelia or he’s a dead man.”
I hang up and head out to my waiting car. My driver holds the door open for me. “Good evening, Sir.”
“Thomas,” I reply in acknowledgment before climbing into the back.
As the car glides into the evening traffic, the comfortable silence between us stretches. Thomas has always had a knack for sensing when to speak and when to let silence do the talking.
I light a cigar and inhale, letting the smoke drift out slowly.
He glances at me through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. “So, the young lady. Still thinking of her, perhaps?”
“Amelia,” I say, her name a whisper that fills the car like a tangible presence. “You got something to say about her?”
Thomas nods slowly as if weighing his words. “Obsession is a dangerous path, especially for a man in your position. It can cloud judgment and lead to unforeseen consequences.
“Your father is obsessed with getting an heir before he dies and wants you to marry anyone from the families to get there, even our enemies.”
I lean back, letting his words sink in. “This is different. She doesn’t come from my world. No power struggles to contend with.”
Thomas nods, a gesture of understanding, if not agreement. “Just remember, power and love are a volatile mix. Be sure you’re ready for the fallout with your father. I doubt he’ll be happy with the idea of you marrying a civilian.”
“I pay you to drive, not to tell me what to do.”
“The advice is yours to take or ignore.” He glances back at me. “For what it’s worth, she seems a decent sort.”
“You’ve looked her up?”
“Of course. Poor family. She lives in Queens with her mother, a grocery store clerk. Father’s a gambler, and her sister is still in school, heading toward college.”
I’m only humoring the old bastard. Does he think I don’t know all this shit already? Obsessed with Amelia I may be, but I’m also smart enough to do my due diligence before making a move.
“You sure you want that baggage rather than a mafia princess?” Thomas asks.
“I want her. I don’t give a shit about anything else.”
* * *
As I enter the opulent foyer of my house, the familiar scent of aged wood and subtle hints of jasmine greet me.
My mother, Isabella, awaits in the living room. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, her dress impeccable, but it’s her piercing gaze that demands attention tonight. She’s the living embodiment of elegance, and the strict family values she upholds.
“Rafael,” she greets, her voice laced with a blend of affection and reproach. She always had a way of saying my name that made it sound like both a caress and a reprimand.
