Chapter 4
LEO
“How was the funeral?” Georgia asks, taking my coat from me.
“Boring,” I say, adding a long sigh before collapsing onto my leather chair. I hate funerals and I couldn’t care less about Vince Russo’s death. He was a means to an end and that end happened a lot faster than I would have liked. “Dante is acting tough, which has become an issue.”
The only thing I would miss about Vince was how easy he was to manipulate.
Not to mention he had that obnoxious, but decently hot, wife, so I always had a good amount of leverage.
But now I have to deal with his brother, and that idiot doesn’t have anything to lose.
And he doesn’t take threats well. Again, a big issue for me.
“He’ll come around,” my assistant replies. “They always do.”
But I don’t have time to wait for him to come around. I’m getting tired of putting my plans on hold, and if I don’t make moves soon, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep my hands clean for much longer.
“What does my schedule look like today?”
Georgia flips open her tablet and scrolls to the right page. “You have a check-in with the housing coalition at ten, a call with Councilman Smith about the transit proposal at noon, and I scheduled you a fitting for the gala on Saturday later this afternoon.”
“Right,” I say, squeezing the bridge of my nose.
“I forgot about that. Can you find me a date? Preferably someone who will look good in photos but won’t talk my ear off.
” And will let me do whatever I want to her after the gala, but I leave that part out.
Georgia is good at reading between the lines.
She narrows her eyes at me and lets out a muffled scoff before nodding her head. “And Enzo Caruso wants to meet. Should I set up a dinner meeting for tonight?”
It’s too early to feel the knot twisting in my stomach. Today was supposed to be a good day. After burying my last insurance policy, the next insurance policy was supposed to be vulnerable enough to finally say yes.
But no. Nothing can ever be that simple. And now I have to deal with him.
I groan, letting my hands sink to my lap. “Fine. Can you get me a coffee? I’m going to need it this morning.”
“Sure,” Georgia says with a smirk. “Black like your soul?”
“Very funny,” I quip, rolling my eyes. She takes that as her cue and heads toward the exit.
As soon as I hear the door click into place, I spin my chair to the bay window overlooking the street and sink deeper into my seat. In less than a week, years of carefully planning and plotting have gone up in smoke.
I drum my fingers against the armrest, each tap scratching a special corner of my brain.
For a moment, I let myself wonder what it would be like to fall off the grid.
Maybe I’d finally experience an ounce of peace.
But even after I get my revenge, I have a feeling it will only make me thirsty for more.
Men like me don’t settle. We get leverage. We get blood. We do whatever it takes to get on top. Hell, that was basically my campaign slogan.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I half-heartedly glance at my screen, but I already know who it is.
A text pops up with a photo featuring the redhead that was in my bed last night, and much to my annoyance, she’s in my shirt, perched on my bathroom sink. I should know better than to leave the women I sleep with in my bed the morning after.
They never want to leave.
“Georgia,” I yell, hoping she’ll hear me through the thick wooden doors. And just like magic, she and her sandy blonde hair and red lips appear with a steaming cup of coffee.
“Thank you,” I say as she sets it down in front of me. “Can you do me a favor?”
“I don’t like where this is going,” she muses before crossing her arms.
“It’s less of a favor and more of an assignment,” I say, trying to justify what I’m about to ask. “I need you to pop over to my place during lunch and scare this woman off. You can pretend you’re my girlfriend or whatever you come up with.”
Georgia’s lips wrinkle together in disgust. She’s put up with every ounce of bullshit I’ve thrown at her and yet, she’s still here. She’ll never admit it, but I think I add some spice to her life. “Fine, but I want a raise.”
“You’re a councilman’s assistant, Georgia,” I deadpan, lowering my brows. “I pay you too much as it is.”
“Have fun with your new live-in,” she counters with a smile before turning away from me.
“Fine,” I growl. “Just make sure she’s gone by the time I get home.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiles, perking up. “Oh, and Adrian is here to see you.”
“Of course he is,” I say, shaking my head. “Send him in.”
Georgia slips out, leaving the door cracked just enough for Adrian to slip through.
My mood lightens when I see the smug grin on his face.
He is one of the few people in this entire building that I tolerate.
He is also one of the few that know exactly how I landed this position because that’s how he got here too.
Adrian walks into my office and fills the space with his broad shoulders and dark tailored suit. He has a way of commanding every room he walks into, whether they want him there or not.
“Rough morning?” he asks, dropping onto my couch. I stand up from my chair and walk around to the front of my desk.
“You could say that,” I mumble, leaning against the edge of my desk and crossing my arms. “I went to Russo’s funeral this morning.”
He nods, sinking deeper into the couch and claiming his space. “Funny you should mention Vince. That’s why I’m here.”
I arch a brow. “You here to offer your condolences?”
“Please.” Adrian smirks. “Don’t pretend like you two were best friends. You only tolerated him because he’s on Enzo’s payroll.”
That’s not entirely the truth, but I go along with it. “Fine, then get to the point.”
Adrian’s grin fades as he glances at the door before looking back at me. “The cops are looking into you.”
“And why the hell would they be doing that?”
“A couple of rookie detectives are looking into Vince’s murder, and your name is at the top of the suspect list. Apparently, someone caught wind of you being with him right before he was murdered.”
I push off the desk and attempt to shake off the tension building in my shoulders.
The last thing I need is attention from the police.
“I doubt they were able to find a witness. We were at Ristorante Ottaviani walking through that new legislation for Enzo, and no one in that area has the balls to snitch.”
“My guy says they found a valet ticket on Vince’s body.”
Dread fills my gut like wet cement. “That’s convenient,” I say, taking a few steps toward the window. “Sounds like someone is trying to set me up.”
“Maybe,” Adrian says, practically yawning, “but don’t worry, I called in a favor. They’re going to be chasing their tails for a while trying to get to you.”
“That’s not the point,” I growl, turning back toward him. “I don’t like my name being thrown around by a bunch of cops, especially when I had nothing to do with Vince’s murder.” Then again, I didn’t have a solid alibi either. The one time I go home alone and it’s going to bite me in the ass.
He shrugs, making irritation bubble up inside me. He’s always like this. So calm and collected. I swear the guy doesn’t let anything get to him.
“Relax. My guy is handling it. They won’t get so much as an interview from you.”
“I would say thank you, but I’m assuming this favor isn’t free,” I say, shoving my hands deep into my pockets. I wouldn’t respect the guy if he was just being nice. Friends or not, we both know how this world works.
“Get me a bottle of that expensive bourbon you’re always bragging about and we’ll call it even.” He smiles, dodging the rays from the early morning sunlight.
He starts toward the door but pauses and turns around. “One more thing, Leo. Make sure to keep a low profile while this blows over.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “When have I ever done that?”
Adrian’s lips twitch.
“And that’s what I love about you.”
“Michael, wait out here. I won’t be long,” I say, making eye contact with my driver through the rearview mirror. He responds with a curt nod.
I take a deep breath as I step out of the car and stare up at the huge neon sign.
Every time I come here, I feel a fresh wave of nausea breeze through me with a hint of pure resentment.
Who knew having a bunch of criminals bankroll your election campaign would involve so much shmoozing?
It feels like I have a clingy girlfriend that needs constant reassurance.
The bouncer gives me a silent nod as I make my way inside. Music vibrates off the glass walls of the club as a dancer finishes her set. If you ask me, a strip club is a little cliché for a mafia front. People pretty much expect it at this point.
I dodge a few doe-eyed glances of dancers trying to lure me to a private room. Why pay for a dance when some girl with daddy issues will do it for free? And in the comfort of my own home, where I’m allowed to touch them as much as I like.
As soon as I push past the thick velvet curtain, I spot Enzo and his posse on their pedestal in the corner. He’s not a large man, and his comb-over salt-and-pepper look isn’t the most intimidating. But his looks aren’t what got him where he is.
When Enzo sees me, his face lights up as he not-so-gently shoves one of his girls off his lap. I swallow a laugh, looking at the way her lips pout.
“Leo,” he says, gesturing his hand to the seat across from him. “You’re late.”
“I had a late meeting,” I lie. I simply didn’t want to come. He keeps smiling, but I know better than to let my guard down.
A drink appears in front of me, but I leave it untouched. Enzo notices. “Not in the mood for bourbon? I can have one of the girls bring you out something else.”
“This is fine,” I say, settling in my seat. I keep my shoulders square and aimed right at him.
“You look tired,” he says, taking a sip of his own drink. “Politics wearing you down?”
“People wear me out,” I say flatly, “the politics have nothing to do with it.” It’s the first honest thing I’ve said all night.
“I’ll drink to that,” Enzo says, raising his glass and eyeing my own. I finally break down and take a sip. The smooth liquid goes down like butter. “You’ve been busy. Very visible.”
“I like to keep up appearances,” I reply, setting my glass down. “Money isn’t the only thing that wins campaigns.”
Enzo’s lip quivers.
Most people miss small things like that because they’re too busy being afraid of him. But I’m not. Men like Enzo have weaknesses just like anyone else. You just have to know where to look.
“Well, I like some longevity to my investments so that’s good to hear. I am a little worried about you being the wrong kind of visible. The police are poking around about Vince Russo’s death, and your name has come up quite a bit.”
My fingernails curl into the meat of my thighs, but I keep my face completely neutral. “Adrian handled it. Russo got a hold of one of my valet tickets.”
“Now that’s bad luck,” he huffs, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing you have such good connections.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” I say, my hands fully clenched underneath the table. He wants me to grovel. To thank him. But that’s not going to happen. “I have some news about that zoning subcommittee vote in a few weeks.”
Enzo retreats back into his cheery, greasy self. “Great. Go on then.”
“There’s been an agenda addition. It’s easy to miss if you’re not paying close attention.
It’s framed as a redevelopment initiative.
There are infrastructure improvements and affordable housing language to make it palatable, but buried in the fine print is a variance that loosens restrictions along the waterfront. ”
He leans in closer, tapping his fingers against the table. “So that means less restrictions on warehousing and shipping.”
“And hospitality,” I add. “The sky is the limit with this new ordinance.”
Enzo’s smile spreads across his face, and I can see the wheels turning inside his head. “Can you guarantee the vote will pass?”
I tilt my head, smoothing my features into a relaxed confidence. “If it goes to the floor as written, it should easily get passed. There may be a few questions just to keep up appearances, but trust me, I have a way of getting people to do what I want.”
“Good,” he says, lifting his glass. “You’re proving to be exactly what I need, Leo. I think you’ll be seeing another sizable donation to your campaign next year if this vote goes through. Hell, who knows. With a face like that, maybe I’ll make you mayor someday.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and force out a smile.
Little does he know he’s throwing away any money.
But I guess that doesn’t matter when it was never his to begin with.