Chapter 26
Bronte
Chicago almost mirrors New York City’s traffic congestion with its bustling streets and lack of common courtesy. My driver pulls alongside the curb in front of an Italian restaurant, patiently waiting for me to get out and handle my business.
And my business today is Franco Giordano.
On Christmas, I intercepted text messages that my brother was making to him about payment and how Meirna’s non-profit just received a million dollars.
My fucking million dollars.
How he knows—no clue—however, I’d place a bet on Meirna’s big-mouthed assistant, Amanda, doing all the talking.
My goal is simple—Meirna is off-limits, off the books, off everyone’s radar, off everything.
Bobby officially has no link to her whatsoever, no ties or means to pay Giordano back with her money, and I won’t be leaving here until he tells me face-to-face that he’s going to fuck off.
Or I’m going to fuck him all the way to the bank.
Leaving the confines of my car and stepping inside the old restaurant, it’s classic Italian with red and white checkered tablecloths, old photos hanging on the wall of generations past, and Italian music playing softly in the background.
It’s early, barely lunch time, but an old couple sits in the corner and the rest of the place is empty.
Two suited men the size of Andre the Giant approach me as I make my way to the back.
One eyes me like I’m stupid as hell for walking to the back of the restaurant like I own the place. While the other’s face lights up.
“Bobby, boy,” he greets with a shitty smile as he approaches. “We weren’t expectin’ ya so soon. Ya come with our boss’s money or what?”
“Tell him Bronte Vasiliou is here to see him.”
He frowns. “Who?”
I stare at him because I’m not saying it again. It’s not my fault if Giordano’s thugs are stupid as hell. He’ll see me. Based off the fact that I look like Bobby, stating a different name, and curiosity always wins in the end.
The other man turns and walks to the back, opening a black door and stepping inside before disappearing.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck with an over-sized meathead with enough brains power to only handle questions, not answers.
“What ya aimin’ at, Bobby? You undercover or somethin’?” My brows furrow because what he mentions makes zero fucking sense. “What’s with the new name, huh?”
“I’m a secret spy who’s here to impose open threats and world domination,” I deadpan because seriously, the fuck?
“Wise guy today, huh?” He closes the distance between us and glares at me. “You’re in a world full of shit if ya don’t come up with that money, boy. Bossman already has a plan for ya, if you don’t.”
Cool story.
I’m saved when the second man reappears by the door and motions me with one hand to come over.
I do, leaving dumbass to stew in his own confusion while I handle my business so I can head back to Meirna.
It’s been over twenty-four hours now that I’ve seen her, and I’m starting to lose my shit over it.
I dropped her off at her condo late two days ago, pressed a long kiss to her soft lips, and said I’d reach out to her in the next day or two.
This is number two.
And I’m not about to ghost her and pull a Bobby, where her life goes back to living practically solo.
She’s going to have me.
And I’m definitely going to have her when I get back into the city.
Passing the threshold of the door, I step inside a small office that is impressively basic, typical, and alluding to money lost.
Of money not being made.
I’ve done my research on the Giordano mob, and it’s failing.
It’s falling.
It’s losing power, prestige, and it has a hell of a lot of problems with other groups trying to come in and seize its influence.
Honestly, I’m unimpressed at Bobby’s lack of research. If he was going to pull this kind of shit, do it with someone who isn’t just as desperate as shit for money.
Franco Giordano sits behind a rickety old wooden desk, puffing on a cigar like a train that’s bringing shit to town.
He analyzes me with zero interest, leaning back with a black suit and tie, appearing tired and worn out with life itself.
“Bobby,” he drones. “I thought we talked about this.”
Clueless and lack of fucks given for that comment, I impart, “Meirna Stetson isn’t your payday for whatever funds my brother owes you. Whatever plans you had to steal my million dollars, I suggest you backtrack that real quick.”
His bushy brows clip together as he leans forward in his brown chair. “Excuse me?”
“My money,” I say slowly, already feeling my temper rise. “I find it missing, I’ll take this whole fuckin’ block.”
He blinks several times, clearly puzzled, before his little mafia boss shit kicks in and he glowers at me. “The fuck do you think you are, Harding? Comin’ into my office and posing threats—”
“Bronte Vasiliou,” I cut in because, obviously, I’m going to need to explain some things. “Bobby is my twin brother.”
“Twin brother,” he clips out. “Bullshit.”
“Look it up and use your insiders to figure it out,” I encourage, like I’m speaking to a child who needs a bit of encouragement.
“Bobby isn’t my problem, and he’s no longer my family.
Meirna Stetson is my wife…and I’m not about to play games with a failing crime organization.
Whatever it is you need to do with Bobby, it is not my problem.
However, I’m going to feel a certain type of way if you steal from me. ”
“Steal from you?” he balks with a twisted expression. “What kind of game are you trying to play here?”
“It’ll be Monopoly except I don’t play with fake money.
I’ll buy every block you roll down and make this mob look like a squad of cheerleaders if I have to deal with you again.
” He continues to stare at me like I’m a fucking Looney Tune.
“I find you near my wife, I’ll come back and kill you myself. ”
I turn on my heels, but that’s when his bodyguard steps in my way like we’re going to do this Giordano’s way and not mine.
“Listen here, you little prick,” I hear him growl out at my spine. “I don’t know who or what the fuck you think you’re doing, but no motherfucker is waltzing into my piece of business issuing threats.”
“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” I spin to face him again.
“I’m not Bobby. Clearly, you’ve seen that already.
We may look the same, but he’s highly impressionable, and I’m not above fucking your future up the ass.
I’ve worked hard to be where I am. And I’m not going to let my brother and some washed-up mob boss take from me.
If you think that’s a threat, then it’s one.
We speak again…your eyes are going to be rolling in the back of your head. ”
He pins me with another glare that does nothing to spark a shred of anxiety, and I’m able to push past his muscle and leave the small Italian diner.
Little does he know, I have a realtor on standby to put offers in to secure his downfall. I hear his name again, he’s dead, and his legacy will become a Chuck E Cheese.”