Hard Up(56)
“I couldn’t— I wasn’t feeling well.”
“I see. Well, despite all your attempts to be as disagreeable as possible, I had six proposals tonight.”
Viola looked at him, then sat opposite. “Is that so?”
Her father pursed his lips.
“Yep. And since you’re so worried about it, here are the six.” He handed her the manila envelope. “You choose.”
She opened the envelope. It had briefs on each of the men who’d proposed, detailing everything from their position in the mob down to what each one liked for breakfast.
“Me?” she said, looking at up him with a shocked expression.
“I don’t want to hear that you complaining that you had no choice.”
She gaped at him. How in the world was she supposed choose without meeting them? Without knowing them well?
“All right. You can let me know tomorrow,” he said, standing up.
“Tomorrow?!”
“Yeah. And do it by noon — I gotta let the lucky guy know. You and him are on the first flight from here to Miami.”
Her look of complete bewilderment made him laugh.
“The new son-in-law promised to run Miami, until things settle down.”
“You mean until I settle down.”
He shrugged. “Whichever comes first. I’m gonna tell whichever one you pick that a grandchild seals the deal, as far as I’m concerned.”
She almost blurted, “Guess what? You’re in luck!” but knew there would major repercussions. Honestly, the grandchild news was the least of her worries.
“You look here,” he said. “You’re gonna go where I tell you to go, do what I tell you to do. From here on out, it’s a whole new world for you.”
“You know when I get married, I’ll no longer belong to you.”
He sucked his teeth. “What I know is that you’re gonna get your slutty ass in a wedding gown and marry this guy, and you’re not gonna give me any more lip about it. Otherwise, my boys are gonna make a call on… what’s his name again?”
She glared at him, furious but silent. When she didn’t say any more, he just nodded, and left the suite.
She was left alone, to stew over his list of names and their short files.
Getting up, she took the manila file into her bedroom and spread out the briefs. For a minute, she worked at organizing them by age and relative goodness. There were a couple who were objectively too old. There were also the ones who had serious criminal pasts.
Sergio Valucci, at thirty-three years of age, had already been booked with three counts of criminal manslaughter. It never stuck, but his rap sheet was a mile long.
Imagine trying to raise a child around that, she thought. Then, imagine trying to raise a child around any of these guys. These guys have no valor!
The thought drove her to tears. She wanted nothing more than to call Callum, to apologize for leaving the way the way she had. To ask for him to come save her from this self-imposed hell she was in.
Foolishly, she checked her messages on her brand-new phone. But it was ridiculous — he wouldn’t even have the number.
She knew he was probably getting some huge pair of fake tits waved in his face right now, not thinking of her at all. Still, she hoped he thought of her sometimes, thought of how good they were together.
Not that we were even official…
She cleared the bed off with a single sweep, nestling down in the blankets.
Savannah was far away. This was her new reality, one she really needed to deal with. One she would be forced to deal with, eventually.
But not tonight.
27
Callum landed at JFK, unsure how to proceed.
He walked out of the terminal, putting on a pair of sunglasses, and waved down a taxi.
He might not know anything about Viola or where she was, but he knew where the mafia hung out, where they liked to be seen. It was old information, but it was a start.
Heading into the city, he gave the driver the address of a casual Italian restaurant, somewhere guys too lame to be made men hung out. They wouldn’t know anything of course, but if they were anything like the Irish’s castoffs, it would be easy getting them to talk.
And once he got them talking about women, something would slip.
When he got to the place, he got out of the car and tipped the driver handsomely. He’d only brought a small overnight bag, because he had no earthly idea how this was going to play out.
He pushed up his sunglasses, scoping the place out.
It was a little Italian bistro, a place he’d normally never be caught dead. He walked inside, past the outdoor tables, eyeing the men he came to see on one side of the restaurant, and was stopped at the host stand.
“Just yourself?” a young brunette asked.