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He laughed, but Anthony didn’t join in.
Luciano soon shut up, and he eyed his cigar, twisting it between his fingers as if the action was his idea of meditation. “Fine. I want numbers. How much money are we talking ‘bout?”
“You mean, you don’t already know?” Anthony put forth his best smug grin, again giving Luciano a chance to showcase his knack for insider knowledge. Money had always been his weak spot.
“I hear millions.” Luciano smiled like he could already see the cash piled on his desk.
Anthony nodded, reeling the man in. “Millions upon tens of millions. But only if you’re down with my plan.”
Luciano finally stopped eyeballing his cigar long enough to meet Anthony’s gaze. “What do you need?”
“Hide me from the police and find my wife. I’ll make sure she returns my money.”
“That sounds like a very loose plan. Besides, what’s my cut?”
“Just let me worry about the details. And your cut is ten percent.”
Luciano spat out a thick and throaty laugh. “Don’t be a dumb fucker. I want thirty and you take one of my men with you. You’re as slimy as I am, and that means I don’t trust you. So if the scheme you’re hatching in that hollow head of yours doesn’t work, you best believe your family will be footing the bill.”
Consequences be damned, Anthony rolled his shoulders back and rose from his chair, already taking on the confidence of a new man—a man about to show his two-faced wife kind of enemy she’d created in leaving him with nothing to lose.
“Twenty-five percent and you have two weeks to find her. That’s my last fucking offer.”
