Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lincoln/ Six Years Ago
C onklin looks at the computer screen and winces at the number staring back at us. “That’s a lot of zeroes,” he says, counting them with the tip of his pen that he was chewing. Leaning back in the chair, he turns toward me and blows out a long breath. “I knew the Del Rossis had money, but this seems…”
“Excessive,” I agree, scrubbing a hand through my fresh buzz cut. Grumbling, I exit out of the tab and shake my head. “You ever heard of a business making that much money?”
“In a lifetime,” he replies slowly, moving his head back and forth. “Sure. In the course of a year? No. Not unless he’s suddenly Bill Gates.”
I tap my hand against the edge of the desk and drag a palm down my jaw. “Lord knows, the world only needs one of those.”
Conklin grins. “You’re such a Mac user.”
I gesture toward the computer where Nikolas Del Rossi’s name is spread across the screen. The man must have sources at every local newspaper because he’s constantly being written about and praised in one of them. It’s nauseating. “What do you make of this? You think he’s legitimate?”
My friend is thoughtful for a second before choosing his words carefully. “I think he runs a concrete business that’s legitimate since the IRS hasn’t flagged any of his filings since he took over his partner’s shares. But the numbers aren’t adding up.”
That’s what I was worried he’d say. I asked Knight if he could look into Del Rossi and the Carbones, but he said his resources were limited at his security company. I knew he would do what he could for me, but I wasn’t optimistic he’d find much. It seems like Nikolas and whoever he’s working with have their shit on lockdown.
“But,” Conklin adds, raising my brows. “I was able to look into the charging documents from his partner’s arrest. The detectives on his case dug into his business’s bookkeeping, which led to his arrest for money laundering and fraud.”
He must have seen something interesting. “Is there something that stuck out?”
Reaching for a notepad from his top drawer, he flips it open and turns it to me. “I did a little comparison of The Del Rossi Group’s books to their former company’s books that were reported in the files from the FBI. What do you see?”
I study the first page, trying to decode his horrible handwriting. “Are these supposed to be words?” I muse, shaking my head.
He snatches the notepad from me. “Shut it,” he grumbles, pointing to two different names that he underlined. “Check this out. From 2005 to 2008, when William Murphy was arrested, he was getting large lump sums of money from a company called Scores Tech. When I searched that company, nothing came up.”
“Strange,” I agree.
“And look here.” His finger trails down to the next line. “This is from The Del Rossi Group, starting in 2009 until last year.”
Scores Tech. “Okay, so the investor decided to stick to the company when Del Rossi took over. That doesn’t seem like it’s that abnormal.”
“Normally, no. But there was a stipulation when Nikolas took over MDR Inc. and made it into The Del Rossi Group. He wasn’t allowed to use any of the previous investors. In order for the company to remain legitimate and separate from William Murphy and the scandal he created, they were supposed to start fresh. And that’s not all.”
Jesus, how much did he do? “I asked you to do a little light digging, Conklin. How long did you spend on this?”
He shrugs. “You know I don’t sleep for shit when I’m adjusting from days to nights. I had some time on my hands.” He waves me off and doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “Anyway, I noticed that Scores Tech has two separate addresses by one common name.”
“I thought you said you searched it and couldn’t find anything?”
He eyes me. “You didn’t ask me for help because you thought I would give up after two seconds.”
“True,” I relent, watching him flip the page and show me the information gathered. My eyes scan the Atlanta address and the New York City one below it. “Who is Carlo Salvatore?”
Conklin closes the notepad. “Your guess is as good as mine. There’s no evidence of a Carlo Salvatore in either New York or Georgia. I searched the name in other states and came up with a few hits, but nobody that has the kind of money he would need to write the checks that The Del Rossi Group is getting. My best guess is that it’s a fake name and company.”
A fake name. “What are you thinking Del Rossi is involved in to get that kind of money from a fake company?”
Conklin clicks his tongue. “Nothing good,” he surmises. “I know this might be out of left field, but there’s only one reason I can think of that would explain why a fake company would give Del Rossi that money. It’s the city, and he’s Italian. So…”
When I look at him, I already know what he’s thinking. “You honestly think this is a Godfather situation?”
He lifts his palms up. “Logically, it makes sense. We both know organized crime is alive and well in the city. I never thought I would witness it firsthand in Middle Point, but we know drugs have been moving upstate. It’s not like men in Italian suits are on the street corners dealing out, but there has been evidence in the past of the five families dabbling in drug trafficking.”
Those families were knocked out by the big boss, though. “Drugs caused a lot of those families to dissolve.”
“Which means new families formed.”
And he thinks Del Rossi is one of them or that he’s working for one? “What would you do if you were in my shoes and this was Marissa’s family?”
He smiles at his girlfriend’s name. “I’d want answers,” he admits. “If I’m married to someone, I’d want to know who’s on my side and who’s not.”
I’ve basically known Conklin as long as I’ve known my wife. And he knows that my relationship with her was fast-paced because we went from bonding over being single to me admitting I’d gotten married.
He called me crazy.
I told him he was probably right.
“Nikolas Del Rossi is up to something,” I murmur, eyeing the door of the office we stuffed ourselves into. It sounds like second shift is coming in to take over, so I start exiting out of the tabs and delete the history, just in case. “And I don’t know what, but this smells pretty fucking fishy to me.”
“You really think he’s out to get you just because you married his daughter?” he asks skeptically.
I haven’t been completely honest with the guy, but it’s for his own good. I’ve done my own research on Nikolas Del Rossi and the people he’s been seen with. Including Captain Chamberlin. There are pictures of them plastered online, all smiles and laughter. There’s even one of Chamberlin with his hand on the small of Georgia’s rigid back from two years ago. Her smile is forced. Her eyes screaming for help.
I’ve never met Captain Chamberlin, but if I do, it’ll take everything in me not to punch him in the throat for touching her at all.
I also learned that the Carbone family has the largest growing real estate business in New York State, using The Del Rossi Group to lay concrete on a few developments they put up on the New York-New Jersey line. The more I read about Antonio Carbone, the less I like. And when I saw the headshots of his son Luca, I’d almost put my fist through the screen.
The smug asshole in the headshots on the Carbone Realty website had been this close to getting Georgia.
And I hated that feeling.
“He wanted a very different future for his daughter,” I tell him, stretching my legs out in front of me. “One that I took away from him.”
Conklin gestures toward the computer with his pen again. “With that kind of money, it’s no wonder he wasn’t cool with her settling for a rookie. There’s no way in hell your starting pay comes close to an eighth of what this fucker is getting in two months.”
My nose twitches. “Thanks for that.”
“Did you get her a ring from the twenty-five-cent machine at the grocery store too, or make it out of paper on your salary?”
I’d flip him off if I had a reason to, but he’s not far off. “I didn’t get her one.”
“You…” He sits up, dropping his feet from where they’re perched on the corner of the desk. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you right. You didn’t get your wife a ring ? No engagement ring or wedding band?”
There’s a difference between the two? “You thinking about taking that step with Marissa? I wouldn’t have known the difference between an engagement ring or wedding band unless I googled it.”
Or if my mother hounded me about when I was going to buy one for Georgia. She’d brought that up a time or five over the last year.
He blanches. “You’re one to talk. One second, you’re single; the next, you’re marrying the chick I thought was your roommate.”
I’m almost tempted to correct him and say she was a temporary apartment sitter like she insisted but swallow the words.
“Plus, I’ve got sisters,” he points out. “And they know how all that shit works. If one of their boyfriends asked for their hand without a ring, I wouldn’t hear the goddamn end of it in the family group chat. Most women don’t settle without at least a carat and some gold. Your dick game must be top-notch for her to marry you without anything.”
I know our circumstances are a far cry from normal, but she’s still a woman. Was she disappointed when I didn’t try getting her one?
Choosing not to acknowledge his comment about my dick game, I say, “I didn’t have the money for one.”
I want Georgia to feel secure. Cared for. I’ve done what I can to make her comfortable under the budget I’m working with. Her job doesn’t offer her much, so it isn’t like our combined incomes are astronomical. But we’ve managed to save over the last year. Not a lot, but some.
“It’s got to be tough knowing what Del Rossi is pulling in,” Conklin sympathizes. “But look at it this way, man. Your girl chose you . Not your money. Not her family’s money. If I were you, I’d be on cloud nine knowing that.”
At the end of the day, Georgia didn’t have to tell me yes. She could have walked away—could have gone back to her father like he wanted. I know I didn’t force her into this. But her other options were lacking.
So, maybe a part of me does feel good that she chose me, regardless of what I can or can’t offer her. The other part of me doesn’t want to hold on to hope that she feels the same way I do in case this is all circumstantial to her.
I stare at the ground, unsure of how to feel.
Because as each day goes by, Georgia somehow claims another piece of me. Whenever I come home to a warm meal after a long day or get handed a lunchbox with food so I can save money on my shift, another chunk of my heart gets tucked away in her back pocket. She buys my favorite red apples because she knows I don’t like them too sweet or too sour. She keeps grapefruit juice in the fridge—the pink kind, not the yellow—because she found out it was the only juice I’ve preferred since I was a kid.
Georgia doesn’t know it, but I’ve been falling for her a little every day.
Maybe it’s time I showed her.
Conklin smacks my shoulder to regain my attention. “You want me to look into this some more? I can do some research. Pull some strings and figure out who’s employing Del Rossi’s company.”
I should tell him no.
Tell him it doesn’t matter.
Because Georgia chose me not her father.
Not the Carbones.
Not the lifestyle she walked away from.
But that’s not what I say. “Yeah. Let me know what you find.”
Because at the end of the day, my gut tells me never to be too safe.
*
The apartment is dark when I get home five and a half hours after my shift ends. I told Georgia not to wait up for me when a vehicle pursuit led to an arrest involving twenty-five grams of cocaine being taken from the car. If second shift hadn’t helped with paperwork, I’d probably still be there.
Georgia is tucked in bed with the lamp still on and a paperback draped over her chest that she must have fallen asleep reading. She’s propped up against two pillows, her head slumped slightly, and the softest snores indicating she’s probably been out for a while.
Slowly creeping in, I grab the book from her and put her favorite bookmark in it that I bought her from a local indie bookshop. It has a yellow labrador on it with its tongue hanging out that says “you pawsed here” in bold lettering.
She told me the Del Rossis never let her have pets because they were too dirty, but she’d always wanted a puppy. I couldn’t get her a dog, so I told her the bookmark would be a baby step toward the future.
A promise.
Even a small one.
Her eyelids flutter awake, her head groggily lifting when I set the book on the nightstand. “You’re home,” she whispers, a tired smile gracing me.
I smile, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside her. “Sorry I’m late.”
She sits up. “It’s okay. Did you catch the person who ran?”
“We did.” I smile and peck her lips. “We got a lot of drugs off the street. Me and Conklin were pretty happy about that. Our bosses said we’d get a letter of accommodation for it.”
I usually try not to bore her with the details from work, even when she asks. There are times I’ll come home frustrated, and the only thing that seems to help is ranting about it. Georgia listens, always attentive, always interrupting and asking questions.
I know she cares.
I just wonder how much.
“There are leftovers in the fridge. I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, but you can take it to work tomorrow if you want.”
I am hungry, but I don’t want food right now.
Leaning forward, I kiss her. It’s gentle. Coaxing. My palm comes up and cups her jaw, stroking it with my thumb until she relaxes into me and opens her mouth.
I swallow the faintest moan as I peel away the blanket from her lap and tug her down so she’s flat on her back. “Missed you,” I say against her lips, nipping her bottom one, then the top, and trailing my mouth down her jaw and neck.
Her hands find my waist, getting a fistful of my shirt and tugging until I help her take it off me. Then my mouth dips down and nips at the curve of her breast, peeking through the deep V-neck of her pajama shirt until I hear her suck in a sharp breath.
I work fast getting it off her, followed by the matching shorts, until she’s in nothing but a scrap of fabric that’s damp from my mouth, teasing her supple skin.
Latching down on one of her pebbled nipples, I suck until her hips arch off the bed and her covered pussy rubs against the leg of my jeans. Even through the denim, I can feel how hot she is. My dick hardens at the thought of sinking inside her and feeling her muscles clench around me.
“Lincoln,” she whispers in awe, her fingers gripping my head as I move from one breast to the other. My hands trail down her body until my knuckles graze along her wet panties.
“You’re already ready for my cock, baby,” I praise, tongue following the same path as my hands until it stops at the cotton covering her. “Have you been waiting for this all day? Thinking about my mouth on your pretty pussy? My cock getting you off?”
I press my mouth against her panties as her thighs fall apart to make room for me. “That’s it, pretty girl. Let me in.”
My name whispered on her lips makes me eager to get a taste of the woman under me. I can smell her desire and feel how badly she wants me. It’s as much as I want her.
I don’t make her wait.
Peeling her panties off, I dip down until my mouth finds her core. She jerks up as my fingers work with my tongue and lips until the choked noises she’s making put me at risk of embarrassing myself before I can even get naked.
Lifting my head from between her thighs, I grin up at her glazed eyes as they watch me.
There’s no point in asking what she wants, because her eyes tell me all I need to know. I waste no time getting the rest of my clothes off and positioning myself over her, my cock nudging her entrance eagerly as her legs wrap around me.
Inch by delicious inch, I sink into her and watch her mouth form an O as her body accepts me. It’s a sight I’ll never get sick of. “You’re beautiful when you’re taking my dick, baby girl. Do you know that?”
Her eyes roll into the back of her head as I withdraw and push back in.
My movements aren’t slow, but they’re not fast. She’s used to me fucking her—bending her into positions that get me the deepest inside her until we’re both crying out.
But this time is different.
I claim her.
I let her feel every inch.
Every grumbled groan.
Every whispered sigh.
I brand her with my scent, my body, and every ounce of my being to show her how much I appreciate coming home to her, the food she makes, and the sleepy smiles she greets me even when I’m late.
Reaching behind me, I grab the expensive piece of jewelry that I’d slipped out of work to buy shortly before getting into my pursuit.
“Got you something,” I tell her, biting down on her throat as I pull out so only the tip of my dick is inside her. I pick up her hand and slide the gold ring onto her finger as I settle fully inside her, grinding down until her pussy vice grips me.
She stares at the polished piece of gold before slowly looking up at me in stunned speechlessness.
I slide the engagement ring on with a small round diamond in the center. It’s nothing extravagant. Nothing flashy. But her eyes water all the same.
I kiss her, keeping my lips on hers as I start pumping into her again. “I know I’m not the most romantic guy. I know I can do better. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine ,” I rasp against her mouth, swallowing her moans as I pick up the pace with each thrust.
Our fingers interweave.
I feel the ring as I press her hand into the mattress and listen to the bed frame squeak with our quickening movements.
“Mine,” I say as I bite her throat.
“Mine,” I repeat as I bite her breast.
Each nip leaves marks in their wake. But nothing claims her like the ring on her finger.
And then she utters one word that makes me lose control, coming before I even have the chance to pull out.
“Yours,” she whispers, her hand tightening around mine as she comes on my cock. “Yours,” she says again, bowing her back as I fill her.
It’s not an admission of love.
Yours.
But it’s close enough.