Page 55 of Blood Money
Stubbornly, I stood there staring into his dark eyes. Finally, I took a breath, my nostrils flaring in frustration, and climbed into the back seat. The driver shut the door, and he and Dario got in front.
He wasn’t wrong. Mario had been trying to kill Gabriel and me. We didn’t know who he was working with. Where at one time we could walk down the street without a soul daring to mess with us, those days were obviously gone now. We had a traitor in our organization, and we had no idea how deeply his cancer had spread.
The entire way to the office, I held my tongue. I was angry. I was impatient.
I should’ve just told her. But I couldn’t. She wasn’t ready. And even after all this time, I wasn’t really sure what to say without hurting her more.
We pulled into the underground garage of the high-rise where our offices were, as well as Gabriel’s condo and mine. Still mute, I went up the elevator, bypassing the office for once, and got off on my floor. I didn’t have the penthouse like Gabriel did, but I had half of the floor below his. Alessio and Leo shared the condo that occupied the other side.
“You don’t need to protect me in my own home,” I snapped as I went inside with Dario on my heels. Where I might’ve let the door slam behind me, he closed it with a soft snick.
When he grabbed my arm, I balled my fist and spun, ready to attack. Inside, I was raging—unraveling. The need to fight or fuck was burning through my veins, driving me insane. If it had been a month ago, I would’ve told the driver to take me to Dahlia. The problem was I didn’t want her or any other random chick. I wanted a redhead who hated me and what I’d done to her. If only I could tell her it had been for her own good.
“Get. Your. Hand. Off. Me,” I coldly bit out through my gritted teeth.
“Your grandfather isn’t running things anymore. Hell, he isn’t even in the country anymore. You can be with whoever you want. Fuck him. So why are you being so goddamn stubborn? Christ, just fuck her and get it out of your system!” he spat, his dark gaze narrowed and focused on me.
Jaw clenched, I didn’t answer. I didn’t like him even talking about me fucking Kendall. And the thought of someone else’s hands on her—like the douche from today—had me feeling downright murderous.
Not taking the hint, he continued. “There’s obviously something going on between you and that bakery chick. After we stopped by the night she was attacked, you said it was personal with her. I’m not stupid. What I don’t understand is when this happened. I’m with you almost twenty-four seven. Yeah, I know you’ve been trying to acquire the bakery, but the granddaughter hasn’t been here in as long as I can remember. So my question is how do you know her? I looked into her, and I know she lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she grew up.” Arms crossed, he stared me down.
“It’s none of your fucking business. We are not friends, Dario.”
“Outside of your brother, I’m the closest fucking thing youhaveto a friend!”
He wasn’t lying. As the underboss for the Chicago Family, I didn’t have a lot of friends. In fact, he was absolutely correct—he probably was the closest thing I had to one. It was hard to know who to trust. Even old high school friends rarely kept in touch nowadays, unless you counted Luciano. Part of me believed the only reason he somewhat worked on our side was because of her—his cousin.
Fucking hell, I couldn’t get away from her.
Worse, I didn’t want to.
Needing to unload, I made my way to my liquor cart and poured two fingers of whiskey. His cocked brow didn’t go unnoticed.
Was I proud that midmorning, on a weekday, I was resorting to alcohol? No. A few more sips, and then I caved.
“I knew Kendall years ago. We, uh….” I glanced down at the glass in my hand. Lost in the swirl of the amber liquid, I tried to decide what to say. “We had a relationship. I was ready to walk away from everything for her.”
I took another swallow. Dario patiently waited.
“It didn’t work out.” That was all I was giving him. Any more and I didn’t know if I could hold my shit together.
“How long ago was that?”
“Ten years ago. It’s been ten years since we were together. Crazy, huh?” The last of the whiskey burned down my throat, and I gave a disgusted laugh.
“Crazy that you still love her, you mean?” he asked with a cocky arch of his brow.
“Who says I still love her? We were kids. Who the hell knows they’re really in love with someone at eighteen years old?”
“Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t, but you can’t tell me it’s pure happenstance that you haven’t had an actual relationship as long as I’ve known you. Nor is it coincidence that every goddamn mistress you’ve had is a redhead. And I know what I saw in there today. You are not one for PDA—you’re the most private motherfucker I know. Yet I swear to fucking Christ, if you could’ve, you would’ve fucked that chick right there in front of those glass windows.”
I hated that he was that observant of my personal life.
“I want you to find out everything you can about that dickwad who’s taking her out tonight,” I told him, still not answering his question.
As I left my apartment to go down to the office, I was pretty sure I heard him laughing.
Though I had a million things to take care of, to include meeting with the contractor we’d hired to renovate a historic building we’d purchased downtown—the plan was to make it into high-end condos, sell off half, and then rent out and Airbnb the rest—I needed to see Gabriel.