Chapter 6
Michael
“What the hell’s got you so sour?” my sister demands over her third martini. She’s not even 21 yet. “You’re bringing the whole damn mood down. Smile or something.”
My sister is a brat, and not in a cute, charming way. She’s the youngest, my mom’s most favorite precious baby, and dear God does she act like it. She glares at me like this is her wedding reception, and I’m here specifically to fuck it up.
I shrug her off. “I was up all night getting the same shit we’re celebrating done.”
“Well, try to be happier about it!”
I roll my eyes and do my best to stay patient. “Maria. I was up all night making us money, and I still have to transfer it all to our overseas accounts as soon as I can get out of here. I can’t afford to party too hard.”
“Oh, come on, you can do that bank shit in the morning. You’re completely hashing this party, acting like it’s a wake or something. Get more drunk.”
I lift my wine glass with an ironic smirk. “Working on it.”
“Well, work harder! It’s a party!” She huffs and tosses her ponytail before traipsing off to go chatter with Mom. Probably about me.
I’m used to this kind of crap. She’s technically an adult now but still acts about 13. Mommy’s precious girl is never going to grow up. At least until she faces some consequences. But God forbid that Mom ever lets her.
My family’s celebrating my success while I drink too much wine and try to pretend I don’t feel like shit about it. Tomorrow, I’m going to have one of those wine-drunk headaches that make me feel like I want to die. That’s fine. I deserve it.
Arya’s email bit deep. It reminded me again that I hadn’t even tried to say no to my father about stealing from her. I just... went and did it, and messed up her life worse than expected. Now, I’m living with that. But that’s nothing compared to what she’s living with.
God. Forget my sister. I’m the biggest asshole in this family.
“So, now that you’ve pulled this off once,” my father ventures as he saunters up, “do you think you can pull off the same thing Arya did by yourself?”
I drag myself out of my thoughts and put on a neutral face. “I think so. I need to study what she did to make sure I fully understand it all.” It stings to admit that, too. She’s just as good a coder as I am—maybe even a little more talented—and she must have put at least a solid year into the project. No wonder she’s so pissed at me.
“All right, well, let me know when you figure it out.” And on he goes to talk to one of my uncles. I stare at his back, then look down into my wineglass and swallow the contents in one gulp.
Billy finds me soon after, eyes the empty wineglass, and steers me into the kitchen to drink a glass of water. “I’m fine,” I complain, but he ignores me and prods me into drinking 16 oz before he’ll even talk to me. I soldier along, swallowing it down, trying not to get too annoyed with him.
“So, what’s going on?” he asks me as we lean on the kitchen counter.
“Did the job. Left a note about it like Dad wanted. It’s all handled. But I feel like shit about it.” I want to go back to the wine. Billy’s watching me. I leave my wineglass on the counter, empty, for now.
“Because of Arya?”
I eye him, almost annoyed that I even have to confirm that. “Of course.”
“Fuck, yeah. That has to be rough.” He thumps my shoulder a little awkwardly. “I’m sorry, man. I mean, I’m glad you got it done, but it sucks that she got caught up in it.”
“Guess I’ll just have to deal with it,” I mutter, and he nods.
“Nothing else you can do except maybe find yourself a girlfriend to distract yourself with.”
I actually think about it for a moment, but all I can do is go back to thinking about Arya and how pissed she has to be at me right now. “Don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.”
“Come on, man, I’m talking about some casual dating and fucking, not finding your true love. Lighten up about it, seriously.”
“Oh, not you, too,” I grumble before I can stop myself.
“Not me too what?” He gives me a confused look.
“Maria just bitched at me because I wasn’t being cheerful enough at a family gathering. Like she’s the goddamn Smile Police.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean try to have a little fun. You’re usually a ray of goddamn sunshine, man. You need to work on getting past this Arya thing.”
“I’ll work on it.” But I can’t. I’ve already figured that part out.
I end up leaving the party early. I don’t want to offend anyone, so I stick around until some of the guests start to leave. Then, I say my goodbyes and head up to my suite.
Holy shit, parties are exhausting when you’re not in a good mood . I suddenly understand why people dealing with depression tend to white-knuckle their way through social events. I’m definitely ready to sleep off some of that wine by the time I get to my room.
I strip down to my shorts and T-shirt and lie down, only to find myself staring at the ceiling again. The guilt’s weighing me down, making my mind race and keeping me from properly resting.
I make the attempt anyway, closing my eyes, breathing deeply, and even managing to meditate a little. Sleep, though, seems to elude me no matter what I do. My thoughts never fully still. The guilt never fully goes away. And neither does my anger at myself, at my father, at his feud with the Castelluccis... at my own bad luck.
Maybe I could have found a way around all of this. Maybe I could have taken the L and just let Arya win this one. Right now, I feel like a dumbass kid who still jumps whenever his father barks an order.
I log on to handle the money transfer before the exhaustion fogs my brain too much. I just want to get it over with and then immerse myself in a book until I can sleep.
The money’s there waiting in the account I had targeted last night. No complications, nothing weird. I make the transfer. I’ll check in ten minutes to make sure it hit the account all right .
I sit back, massaging my temples. I should be proud of my cleverness, but all I can see are the consequences I didn’t want to cause.
I do a little Internet browsing, shop for a few Christmas gifts, and then go back and check the balance on the destination account. The transfer hasn’t hit yet. That’s strange.
I check the source account. The money’s shown as transferred. I check the destination account. Still no money.
Don’t panic. Sometimes, these things take a few minutes.
But my gut is suddenly curdling, like every drop of the wine I had drunk turned into vinegar. My heart is pounding.
I know. I don’t believe it, I can’t believe it, I don’t want to think it’s real—but I know.
Someone has grabbed the cash right out from under me, just the same as I did from Arya.
I stare at my screen and refresh it a few times. My stomach is boiling.
Someone just fucking robbed us!
I quickly text my father, knowing I’m neck deep in shit and have to bring him in on this as fast as possible. Otherwise, it will be his boot up my ass later.
The grandfather clock in my father’s office ticks toward the hour. Is it midnight or one? I can’t see it from this angle, and I don’t want to check my watch. All I want right now is to give my father answers that will satisfy him so I can go to bed and mourn my battered pride.
“So, what you’re saying is that somebody broke into our network, did the exact same thing to you that you did to the Castelluccis, and then made off with our five million. That’s the story you’re sticking to.”
“That is definitely the story that I’m sticking to, at least until I have evidence to the contrary. But all the sleuthing work I have done so far says that whoever this is stole Arya’s money and her idea right out from under us.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Michael, how could you let this happen?” he snaps.
“I’ll get the money back,” I burst out. “I’ll fix all of this. I just have to find out—”
He slams his fist down on his desk, making his drink jump and the ice cubes in it rattle. “You had fucking well better, Michael. Because if I find out that you willingly screwed this up to cut that Arya woman a break—”
“How does this cut her a break? She doesn’t have the money either!”
That calms him down a little. “So, she didn’t steal it back?”
“I’ll double-check it, but unless she’s got a spy on our staff, there’s no way she would have known when we were making the transfer. Someone must have been monitoring me the same way I was monitoring Arya.”
“How the hell could anyone manage that?” he demands. “I thought you made sure the system was secure!”
“That won’t prevent social engineering. If she put someone on our staff as a spy the same way we did to the Castelluccis, they would have inside access to our network.”
He sits forward, frowning and gazing at me piercingly. “I’ll screen the staff. You’re sure about this?”
“There were no intrusions on our network last night or this morning. I checked thoroughly. So, either someone on our staff is a plant, or someone’s login information was stolen.” Which is always possible. Brute-force attacks are still a thing, and so is being a lazy asshole who picks a simple password and doesn’t change it often enough.
“Figure it out, Michael,” he sighs. “I’m not accepting humiliation for this whole family because you slipped up. Find me the perpetrator, and find me the money.”
I nod, and he immediately goes back to his drink and paperwork, dismissing me. I push up from my uncomfortable perch on one of his chairs and walk out, feeling his gaze on my back like a hand shoving me out the door.
Fuck. I have no idea where to start. Probably a closer look at the night’s access logs, but right now, my head is spinning from the lack of sleep. I need to rest, but I can’t rest. Too much fucking adrenaline.
I go back to my suite, feeling defeated and furious. How the hell did someone snatch Arya’s protocol and use it against me so damn quickly? I have a feeling I’m missing something very important. But my brain just plain isn’t firing right yet.
It hits me then that I’m going to need help. Expert help. I only have a few really hotshot hackers I stay friends with since a lot of them want nothing to do with mob families. I quickly send a text to all five of them, determined to get something done on this before I let myself rest.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time, wondering who it is that has fucked me over and wondering as well if I didn’t deserve it.
Then, I slowly drift off.
Arya is in my bed, naked, those gorgeous tits of hers bare and sleek as they brush against my chest. I slide down her body, skin against skin, kissing her neck and then sucking one of her nipples hungrily. She moans and whimpers and tangles her fingers in my hair, begging for more, pressing her full breast against my face while I suck until she’s trembling under me.
I thrust into her, and she’s slick, swollen, and perfect, wrapping her arms and legs around me as we move together. My body feels like it’s dissolving in a cloud of bliss...
I sit up, gasping and sweaty, and then fall back against my pillow, suddenly awake with a stinging headache and sticky sheets. “Shit,” I mutter, staring at the ceiling again. On top of all the other insane shit going on, here is a stupid one: The sex dreams won’t quit. And as always, every last one of them is about Arya, the woman who officially hates my guts now.
I change my sheets, shower, get dressed in my gym clothes, and grab some coffee as I sit down at my computer. I probably don’t have much time to redeem myself, and I need to get my ass moving.
I am haunted by the vision of Arya in my arms as I check my texts. Her robust curves under my hands, her full mouth against mine, and the way I blew my load so hard that it woke me. My body is still tingling and more relaxed than I am actually feeling.
My messages are chock full of disappointment. I don’t know how news has gotten around so fast—maybe my brat of a youngest sister—but apparently, I’m persona non grata among my hacker buddies for fumbling the ball at the eleventh hour in what could have been an epic heist. Nobody wants to help me out. Maybe they see too much risk to their reputations in it.
“Fuck.” Well, I can’t expect the situation to not come with consequences. However, the more I look at what happened, the more I sense that I’m missing something. I need a second pair of eyes on this. I need an expert in this kind of work...
I blink, sitting back suddenly. Wait.
No, no, no. That will never work. She’ll never agree. Never.
Arya Castellucci will never help me fix this mess.
Unless... what if I gave her the name of the spy in her household? What if I split the money with her? What if I actually make the effort to make things good with her, like I wanted to do anyway? It’s risky. Dad will be really pissed if he finds out I burned his spy. But it will take a peace offering of that caliber to even get a foot in the door with Arya. I’m certain of it.
This is an insane idea and very risky. She could refuse me, she could screw me, she could do all kinds of damage. And yet...
It is my one possible shot to make things good between us.
I just hope I can sell her on the idea.