Sold to the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel(76)

Konrad takes the opportunity to elbow me lightly. “Don’t interrupt the boss,” he grunts.

“You may be right,” Oskar continues despite our interjections, “my boys, their eyes are not always so good, you know? Could be that they don’t have good eyes like you.”

I know I can’t break the gaze he’s locked me in but there’s something in his eyes that makes me want to squirm as they bore into mine.

“But my thinking is that since baseball season is over, your business boom is dying down a little, no?”

I swallow and pray he doesn’t notice. “You can’t rely on a sports season to keep crowds all year ‘round, Oskar.”

“No, I am seeing this now,” he smiles wickedly, and I feel my mouth grow dry as I realize I’ve played into his trap, “maybe this success of yours over the past few months, it was just ah, how do you say, ‘riding the coattails’ your father left for you in the middle of the season?”

Involuntarily, my fingers ball into a fist on the couch next to me, and I shudder as I feel Konrad put his clammy hand over it warningly.

Oskar crosses his legs and folds his hands over his knees. “But look at me, I’m being terribly presumptuous! I would never want to question your skill as a businesswoman, Miss Foss.” The name is said with biting condescension, and I realize there’s nothing I can say to persuade these pigs of anything. They’re here for their own amusement.

“The club scene is not one you can predict so easily, and even the best of businesspeople can have a club go under, if the limelight shifts on a whim.” He’s looking out the window wistfully, trying to contort that sleazy face of his into a philosophical expression. It really just makes him look like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone.

The next moment, Oskar stands up abruptly, leaving Konrad with me on the couch. As soon as Oskar’s back is turned, I feel Konrad’s hand copping a feel up my back, and goosebumps rise on my arms.

The fair-haired mobster steps around the house, perusing the items that have been taken down to be sold off. My heart sinks as I realize he’s putting two-and-two together.

“But a shrewd woman like you, she puts away some money for the hard times like this, no? That would be the wise thing to do, I think. Otherwise, even a lovely woman like yourself could be pushed to give away things she doesn’t want to part with.”

Oskar’s perceptiveness astounds me as his eyes fall on the box of Dad’s baseball goods. My heart sinks in my chest, and the faintest, cruelest of smiles comes across his face as his eyes catch sight of the blanching of my face.

He bends down to pick up a signed baseball, tossing it up and down in his greasy hand as though it were just a toy.

“Hah, I used to play a little, you know?” He turns his eyes to Nic, who’s been standing like a statue by the door. “Used to be a pitcher, and they told me I had a damn good arm, too. What do you think, Nic?”

Without further warning, Oskar winds up his pitching arm and sends the signed baseball full-force at Nic’s stomach, and the sound of the pop the impact makes evokes a wince from even Konrad. Nic’s face is utterly unfazed, but he gives an approving nod.

Oskar has heinously aggressive “short man” syndrome. Little shows of masculinity like this are all too common, I imagine, but to interrupt them in any way would be more destructive to everyone around him by a long shot. He chuckles to himself as the old ball rolls back to his feet across the floor.

“Really though, Katy, back to business,” he says, making his way into the kitchen and opening my fridge to rummage around a little, finally taking out a beer and popping the top off as he helps himself to it.

“I used to own a club just like yours, Katy,” he sounds suddenly friendly, stepping forward and smiling at me. I notice that Konrad’s hand is still on my back, even though Oskar is looking at me evenly.

“Well, okay, not quite like yours, but close. Mine was a little more, ah...it catered to different tastes, to a different crowd.” I can hear Konrad suppressing a laugh as his grin grows wider.

“And all my employees, they were the loveliest women Brighton Beach had to offer. Some of them with golden locks that spilled down their back like a golden river, some with eyes like rainy skies you could get lost in forever as they danced for you…!”

I suppress a grimace. The strip clubs around town are full of hard-working women, and I can’t stand the thought of those dedicated workers being at the whim and mercy of this pig.

“Some of them were fine little things with long brown hair,” he adds, his eyes narrowing at me as he reaches out to take my chin in his hand, turning me over like a piece of meat. My jaw clenches.