Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Stefano Bianchi?” He’s got a sharp face, a bald head, and soft eyes. Built large and flabby, but that probably hides a street sort of strength. I’ve seen men like him lift cars before. He’d probably look comfortable in a pair of cutoff jeans and a sleeveless shirt, although he’s in a dark suit tonight.
“That’s me.” I shuffle past him and into the locker room, desperate to get off my feet.
“My name’s Albert Morton.”
I stop walking.
Well, shit. I know that name.
I slowly turn to face him, squinting. “You’re the fight manager.”
“You know me.” He smiles warmly. I don’t trust anyone who grins at a stranger like that. “I know you as well, Mr. Bianchi. I know you work for the Marino Famiglia.”
“That’s not a secret.” I slump down on a bench with a groan. “What do you need?”
“My employer wants to speak with you.”
“Yeah? And who’s that?”
“Harrison Westbrook. You might not recognize the name, but I assure you, he’s very much worth your time.”
Westbrook…
I try not to show my surprise. That’s Charlie’s last name. And she was talking about how she’s connected and knows people…
Can’t be the same fucking family.
There’s no way I slept with the daughter of the man who runs these underground fights.
But knowing my luck, that’s exactly what happened.
The way Albert’s looking at me, I get the feeling this isn’t exactly a request. Men like Westbrook, men who have resources and power, rarely give men like me any options.
My lower back aches. My knee’s definitely sprained.
Slowly, I push back to my feet, despite how badly I want to sit and rest a while.
“Let’s go then.”
Albert’s smile fades. “You don’t want to change?”
“No reason to.”
“You have blood—” He gestures at me. “All over.”
I grab a towel and wipe it off my chest. Then I pull a shirt on. “Better?”
Albert laughs as he turns away.
“Good enough. Follow me. He’s not far.”
Chapter 5
Charlie
One day earlier…
I find my father in his study. He’s leaning back in a large, overstuffed Eames chair, feet up on the ottoman section, as loud jazz blares in his face. His eyes are closed and his narrow lips are pressed together. His bald head gleams in the soft overhead lighting. Speakers worth more than a small house make the walls and the thousands of records lined up in stacks vibrate ever so slightly.
Dad doesn’t look back at me, but he knows I’m here. He wants me to stand awkwardly while his favorite piece of music comes to a roaring end, and only then will he finally grace me with his attention.
Screw that. I march over to the turntable and lift the needle off the record.
I do it carefully, though.
I’m not a monster, and it isn’t the record’s fault my dad’s a prick.
His eyes open and he frowns at me. I face him, hands on my hips. A few hundred thousand dollars’ worth of high-end audio gear is stacked all around me. It’s hard not to note that my father’s study has almost nothing related to business anywhere.
“I see you’re home.” His voice is low and crinkly. I’m pretty sure it’s put on for effect, but I really don’t know.
“Albert told me you wanted to talk.” Some of my confidence starts to drain away as my father smiles like he knows something I don’t.
“Yes, that’s correct. Come, take a seat.” He gestures at another chair set off to the side. Out of the “sweet spot,” the place in the room where the music sounds the best. Since guests don’t deserve that experience.
I hesitate but end up shuffling over as he continues to glare at me. I sink down into the seat, perched on the edge.
“You smell like smoke and alcohol,” he says, nose wrinkling.
“What do you want, Dad?”
“I thought we might have a friendly conversation.”
I laugh once, even though it’s not funny. “We haven’t had a friendly anything since Grandfather named me as his heir.”
Dad’s frown somehow deepens. He’s good at looking disappointed. I’ve been finding new ways to make his face look pissed all my life, but it never fails to amaze me how many new expressions he has for sheer and utter disgust.
“There’s no need to bring that into this now,” he says softly. “I only wanted to ask you about your evening. Did you have a nice time at the warehouse?”
I keep my chin raised, even while inwardly I’m freaking out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come now, Charlotte. We both know I receive updates on the happenings at our business. From what I hear, you had a very interesting night.”
Anger grips me. I really need to stay under control, but I can’t help myself. “Sounds like you already know what happened to me. Not going to ask how I’m doing?”
His eyebrows lift in mock surprise. “I didn’t know you needed that. Seems you were already taken care of.”