Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ENZO
The last place I want to go tonight is Long Island, to my father's property.
It is a beautiful house, built to blend in with the surroundings and has a mid-century feel.
But even after the best interior decorators have been in, it doesn't appeal to me.
Maybe because it is Dad's place. And maybe because I know the meetings that go on there.
Criminals with power and connections all visit this place.
The Hamptons is for entertaining and being seen. This is for living, doing business, and not being seen.
It is somehow colder here than in the city, and it is a long drive, so I'm glad I went back to the office and the parking garage to pick up my car.
This house is one of the places I can stay in if I want when Dad isn't here.
I never do.
Got keys, though. I know all the fucking alarm codes.
I had the best put them in.
I set my keys on the large kitchen island and go looking for Dad.
He is on the porch, beyond the glass sliding doors, smoking a cigar. There is a glass next to him on the railing, and he looks older.
The light should soften his features, but it doesn't. It shows him for what he is.
Brutal and controlling, a man who will do whatever it takes.
He might be older, but he is not weak. No one could ever mistake him for that.
Perhaps that is one reason we don't gel.
We are both too stubborn. We are cut from the same cloth.
Except, I hope, I'm the better version. Though sometimes, I wonder.
Fuck, maybe the drive here made me melancholy.
I cross the great room and slide open the door. "You summoned me?"
He doesn't answer for a while, just puffs on the Cuban cigar as if he is all alone.
It is a flex that makes many underlings and would-be equals tremble and know their specific place in his food chain.
All it does is piss me the fuck off, so I mutter, "I will be in your study, drinking your booze, for exactly five minutes, and then I'm going home."
I don't go there immediately. Instead, I take the curved staircase to the second floor and go to Lyndall's room.
It is dark, empty.
Clearly, he has sent her off to boarding school again.
It makes me angry.
One of her bears is on the bed. Posters of pop stars and a rapper are on the wall, and some dude she would call a total dreamboat, now that she is over her idiotic crush on Cade. I think the only thing that killed that was meeting Violet, whom she adores.
But the room is a child's room. Sure, she is a teen, but her innocence shines through.
And it crushes down on something inside me knowing Dad keeps sending her off to boarding school against her will.
I turn, and light from the hall catches on a reflective sticker on her violin case.
Rage bubbles up, and I pick it up, opening it.
It is the new one in the old one's case. "Good for you, kid."
She loves the old one more than the new one Dad got her.
But it still makes me sad because I would bet she would love this one just as much if Dad showed interest in her.
I close the case and set it back, and I stop by my room.
I poke around in my old room that I have barely stayed in.
He got this house in the past five years. There is nothing I need in here, and I have probably killed enough time to piss him off, so I make my way down to the study, where Dad is waiting, looking irritated as hell.
"Ready to tell me what you summoned me for?" I pour a drink as he sits in his leather chair. Scotch sits within reach of his hand.
Dad looks me up and down. "At least you're in a suit."
"I'm in the middle of something that calls for a suit." God, he fucking pisses me off.
He doesn't bite, even though he wants to.
We stare at each other. A spaghetti Western would be proud.
But I break the silent standoff. "My time is limited, Dad."
If he were Eastwood, he would be chewing the end of a cigarillo, not a cigar, have stubble, and a six-shooter at his hip.
Though, knowing my dad, he is probably armed.
"Careful of the line you're walking, Enzo."
I sigh and wait.
He knows how much I avoid coming here, and I'm counting down the gameplay he is starting to set up. By the time I finish my drink, I'm out of here. And I'm fucking sure he knows it, too.
"I need help with something," he finally says.
I look around exaggeratedly, earning a grunt of disapproval from him. "From me?"
"Enzo."
I heed the warning that sits like flint in his voice by thinking of Lyndall. "What do you need?"
"Help planting some incriminating evidence on a friend's hard drive."
I snort. "A good friend?"
My father shrugs and takes a sip of his drink, savoring it. "A friend who needs to be taught a lesson."
"Cuts down on people needing enemies, huh?"
Dad rises. "Are you going to do it?"
"Do I have a choice?" I pour another drink since I will be doing it for my sister's sake.
He doesn't hold her as a threat, not verbally, but the one argument where he was going to send her to Switzerland to a top boarding school there, one that she would be staying at, one that she would come out and into the arms of a husband of his choice, causes me to curb my ire.
That her school isn't far from the city is small comfort. She is still fifteen, still in his hands legally, and his to sell to the highest bidder.
Of course, I won't allow that.
But I can't stop it if he hides her.
I don't think he would do it, but I can't be sure one hundred percent. So...
Dad's smile is tight. "There are always choices."
And consequences. But I keep that to myself.
He already knows how much Lyndall loves me, and he is not above using her against me. I'm not in the mood to hear anything like veiled threats tonight.
I bite back a smile as I cross to his computer and listen as he explains what he wants done.
"Are you going to use mine?"
"I don't have one with me. Don't worry, I can make it very anonymous and seamless, like it was always there, or I can make it obvious and point at someone else as the culprit, if you like."
"Keep it simple." Dad wants it to be seamless. He clearly knows his friend will guess who did it but won't be able to prove it.
I nod and get to work.
It is not hard, and I set up Dad's entire computer network to be protected. It is way too advanced for him, but it means no one can do what I'm doing.
I cast him a dark look. "Don't make a habit of this."
Dad laughs. "I will use you when it suits me."
"No, you won't."
"It goes both ways. You using me when it suits you, and then refusing to repay the favor is pretty poor form."
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"What I ask. Because we both know I won't put up with poor form regularly, Enzo."
I finish the job, and because the words "fuck you" press at me and I really don't want an argument, I rise, ready to leave.
Dad frowns. "What's the big hurry? You're here now, why not stay for dinner?"
"It's late." I straighten my tie.
Christ, it is just past ten p.m.
"So is dinner tonight. Stay."
"I have got work, Dad."
He laughs and gets to his feet, going to stand behind me to look at the work on the computer. It probably looks like nonsense to him. "Work? I don't call what you do work. I call it pissing your life away."
"One press of this button..." I hold my finger over the option key. "One press, and everything's undone."
"One phone call, and you won't get to see your sister."
He doesn't explain it.
I grind my teeth. "I'm not staying for fucking dinner."
"The housekeeper left, I was going to heat up her lasagna."
My stomach rumbles a little.
Damn it. I love Maria's lasagna. She is from Long Island but goes with him from place to place, and her food is phenomenal.
But I wasn't lying about work.
It is a lot to run a company, even one where Louie has chosen his hires well and it is running along on its own. I just want to know the nuts and bolts as well as poke around.
After all, who knows what else is sitting there like his badly laundered money?
And I need dirt on fucking Dom.
So much so, I almost ask Dad.
Almost.
But that is a card I'm not playing, at least until my hand is down to that card.
"Lasagna?" He is being so silky that I almost miss the why.
Dad wants to placate me with Maria's cooking and pump me for information on what I'm up to.
"I can't. Early morning." I could if I wanted. I'm great on very little sleep, but I don't tell him that.
He wouldn't be interested. All he wants is for me to give in and take my place as his successor.
"Don't worry, I will be over Sunday if you're still here."
"I will be in the Hamptons." Dad's voice is tight.
I grit my teeth. "I will be there. For Sunday dinner. That's family night, right?"
"You know it is when we're in the same city." Then he rubs his face, the cigar smoke thick and acrid. "The problem with you is you treat me like the enemy when I have gone out of my way to give you everything, Enzo."
That pisses me off. "Maybe I won't be there on Sunday, after all."
"Maybe Lyndall will be home from school. I would hate to disappoint her..."
"You don't give a shit about her." I look at him. "You know...if only you had given Lyndall half the attention you have given me, you'd have a successor. Or maybe you'd have kids who want to spend time with you."
Dad balls his hands into fists. He approaches and sticks his face close to mine. "You're not too old to be given a beating, Enzo. You need to learn to respect your elders."
I want to laugh, I really do, but I choke it back and step past my father. I don't want to get into a physical fight with him. He is not a young man anymore.
This isn't out of respect.
It is because I'm aware of how vindictive he can be.
And what I feel is anything but respect.
"I will see you and Lyndall Sunday in the Hamptons. Enjoy the lasagna."
Even though it is nothing like a last word, I walk out.
I love wearing suits, but the T-shirt, old worn jeans, and bare feet are just what the doctor ordered. I microwave a high-protein meal and eat it while sitting at the computer, just doing some casual digging into whether I can find any photos online of Emilio and a woman. Any woman.
There are a few, but no real repeat offenders.
And most of them are before shit hits the fan. Still, it is an avenue to pursue.
I pick up my phone to see if Lola has texted Alex, but she hasn't. The last correspondence was Alex being busy, but he would be in touch.
And that was days ago.
It's forever in text years.
Did she even save Alex's number? If she didn't, then she lost it when she smashed her phone. Presumably, so I couldn't see the racy photo she sent to Alex.
I start to laugh, leaning back in my chair and crossing my ankles.
What is she doing? Sitting anxiously with her new phone in her hands, trying to remember my—Alex's number?
Oh, fuck, do I hope so.
Lola can't text Alex. All she can do is wait and have her mind throw all kinds of scenarios at her.
Obviously, I don't want her eaten up by guilt or angst, but a touch of anxiousness is a turn-on. It means...well, I'm not sure what it means...maybe just that she will want Alex even more.
I put my phone down.
She has waited this long, she can suffer and wait a little longer.