Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Fabien
The present
“Michele ran Hotel D’Amico into the ground,” my lawyer reports. “Everything’s underwater. But what surprised me most was the offhanded comment Mrs. D’Amico, I mean, Ms. Jenkins made.”
“Which was?” I prompt.
“That she was the madam of the family’s call girl ring.”
“What?” I shout.
Saint holds up his hands. “Repeating what Ms. Jenkins said.”
“What happened to Jade? That old bird’s run the call girl ring forever. And why the hell would Sienna have taken over?” No way that was her choice.
“I did some digging, but couldn’t find much information on the former madam. No obituary. The woman simply disappeared. As for why Sienna’s the madam, I don’t know. I didn’t want to pry too much and make her suspicious of my motives.”
A man on the outside looking in, I want to throw my fist through the cinderblock wall.
I don’t, only because I need to be ready in case Angelo sends more “regards.” “Get in touch with Detective Pierre.” I’ve kept him on my payroll for a reason.
“Tell him I need a highly publicized arrest at the hotel related to the call girl ring; a john or a prostitute. Better yet, both.”
“Sure, boss, but I’m not following your logic.”
“There’s nothing my brother hates more than negative publicity, so let’s embarrass Mr. New Orleans.” The arrest will have Angelo’s butthole puckering, and he’ll shutter the call girl ring faster than you can say society pages. And with no other source of income, Sienna will be backed into a corner.
I grin from ear to ear.
The little fox just got outfoxed.
Sienna
The present
In anticipation of my meeting with the boss, I pop two ibuprofen, downing them with lukewarm water because I’m too lazy to walk to the back and deal with the deep freeze.
Ice is overrated, anyway.
There’s a knock on my door, and with a deep breath, I call, “Enter.”
Angelo steps inside, and I flash my most practiced smile as I rise. “If it isn’t the big bossman himself.” Out of habit, my hip pops to the side.
“Sienna.” He says my name with mild irritation. Or maybe that’s just Angelo—always mildly irritated.
“What’s this nonsense I hear about shutting down our call girl operation?
” Nic let the rumor slip. Now that I’ve “accounted” for all missing funds thanks to overtime foot worship, the loss of income from this racket will be a big hit.
And I can’t afford to take any hits right now. “Surely the rumors aren’t true.”
“They are,” he says without inflection.
“But that’s only because you’ve yet to sample from the tasting menu. Angelo, I have the perfect woman for you.” I rub my hands together dramatically. “Her name’s—”
“Not interested. What I am interested in is information. A few months ago, a trumpet player by the name of Ellis played in this hotel lounge’s band. He still around?”
Unease dances up and down my spine. Technically, I cheated on his capo with the little weasel Ellis. But surely Angelo’s not going to kill me for being “unfaithful” to the biggest cheater in all of NOLA? “Ellis. Ellis.” I make a show of patting my cheek with my finger. “Doesn’t ring a horn.”
With zero amusement, Angelo pulls out a wallet and fishes out a wad of hundreds, waving it in the air.
I nonchalantly accept the bills, tucking them inside my bra. Maybe I’ll be able to make payroll this week after all. “Now that I think about it, that name does sound familiar.” Motioning for the couch, I take a seat behind my desk.
“Please tell me this couch gets deep cleaned regularly,” Angelo says with a scrunched nose, giving my couch a close inspection before taking a seat.
“Angelo, you insult my honor and that of my husband’s, God rest his soul.” I make the sign of the cross, mentally flipping off the boss.
“Interesting how you married Michele right after Fabien went away,” he comments.
“Michele and I both realized this life isn’t promised, and to grab onto happiness while you can.” The parroting of Michele’s bullshit makes my stomach roil, but I ignore the sensation, going on the offensive. “Do you have happiness in your life, Angelo?”
“I have hit lists, Sienna,” he says in a bored tone. “Does that count?”
I laugh breezily, even though my name could very well be on that list. “For you, it probably does.” Searching through my file cabinet, I find the legitimate books.
“Let’s see, a few months ago.” I flip through the ledger.
“Ah, here he is: Ellis Harrell. Ohhhh, I remember him.” Pausing for dramatic effect, I continue, “He tried selling party drugs in our house. Instead of killing him, Michele had Ellis’ little side hustle raided by the cops. ”
That’s revisionist history. The real story is that after I sent Ellis on his way following the world’s most underwhelming fuck, I called in a favor from my detective contact. Poor Ellis was left holding the bag. Several bags…of pure Colombian snow.
“Anything else you need?” I ask sweetly.
“The audit Nic has been repeatedly asking you for.”
“And I have all the paperwork.” I hold up my stack for emphasis. “Jade left things in quite a mess; it took me some time to sort through everything, but all invoices and monies have been accounted for.” And my feet never want to be touched again.
“Ms. Sienna, come quick.” Jermaine barges into my office, his eyes going wide at the boss. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“What’s going on?” Angelo demands.
“Well, you see…”
“Spit it out,” Angelo barks.
“Cops are in the lobby.”
“What?” I gasp.
With the boss hot on my heels, I enter the lobby to find one of my best clients being escorted out of the hotel in handcuffs, followed by a cuffed Merlot. “What is the meaning of this?” I chase after them.
“Ma’am, stay back,” one of the uniformed officers tells me.
“This is my hotel,” I inform him.
“Oh, good. Then you can come to the station with us to answer some questions.”
“Am I under arrest?” I challenge.
“Well…”
“Then no. All questions can be directed to my lawyer,” I tell him dismissively. Cutting Merlot a warning look letting her know she better keep her mouth shut, I stomp back inside the lobby.
The boss is nowhere to be seen.
Fuck, this is bad.
Nic enters my office, and I know I’m in deep shit. My only option is to go on the offensive. “The family is supposed to have NOPD in their pocket! How can I operate this business if everyone is afraid of law enforcement?”
Nic holds up his hands. “Let me stop you right there. I’m here to deliver a message from the boss.”
“You really going to kill me, Nic?” I call his bluff, all the while my heart’s beating out of control.
“Not today.”
Nodding, I release a shaky breath. “Fair enough.”
“The ‘hostess’ operation is hereby shut down. Nose candy will no longer be distributed through the hotel. I’m here to collect any remaining family funds.”
My body vibrates with anger as I turn the dial on my safe. It pops open, and I grab the books and cash. Flipping to this month’s records, I begin counting out the family’s cut.
“All of it,” Nic warns.
“But Michele got his percentage—”
“And Michele’s dead.”
“So my time is worth nothing?” I fume. “Not a madam, but an indentured servant? Use women and spit em’ out, that the Calvani family motto?” Years of pent-up rage erupts like a volcano as I slam the bundles of cash on my desk.
Nic rubs the back of his neck. “Sienna, I’m sorry, but I need all the books. All the documents. All the funds from the audit. Anything related to the hostess operation since its inception.”
Grabbing a box containing the last rolls of toilet paper to the lounge’s name, I extend the box cutter and slice the thing open. The rolls are dumped on the couch, and I get to work filling it up. Yanking my desk drawer off the hinges, I give it an upside-down shake.
“Sienna,” Nic starts, but snaps his mouth shut as I fling the empty drawer across the room.
Papers. Photographs. Cash. Receipts. The only thing I keep is my little black book inside my purse. Notes for myself on the clients. Contact information. What they spend. What they like. How to maximize profits. It’s my work product, and I’m not turning it over.
The last thing to get tossed is mine and Michele’s wedding photo. The glass busts in the frame, and I close the box tightly, dramatically wiping my hands clean of everything. “There you go.”
Nic silently picks up the box as I march to the door and fling it open, gesturing for him to leave. With a heavy sigh, he crosses the room. At the threshold, he turns to say something, but I slam the door in his face.
Waiting until I’m sure he’s gone, I get on the phone with Saint. “Tell your client that I want a meeting.”
“Hello, piccola volpe.” Fabien greets me in the attorney/client room.
Swallowing what little pride I have left, I tell him, “One million, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Deal.” He extends his shackled hands, and I lean over the table, awkwardly shaking with him.
Big and strong hands, with those annoying sexy bulging veins.
“Tomorrow at eleven,” he tells me. “Saint will pick you up.”
But I’m already out the door, my own words nipping at my ass.
We always have a choice. You made yours; fucking live with it
One million will make it easier to live with this decision, I lie to myself.