Authors: Vanessa Vale
“We are. With Emory.”
Paul’s brow went up.
“And Gray. I hope that’s okay,” I said. “Mr. Casale wants to talk with me about something.”
“You know who he is, don’t you?” Paul asked, dropping down into an overstuffed chair that sat perpendicular to the sofa.
“Sure.”
“I don’t mean restaurant owner.”
I frowned and Paul leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, much like Gray did.
“He’s a made man.”
“You mean the mafia?” Christy asked, her voice full of awe.
Paul looked to Christy, then me. “He’s connected, that’s for sure. He keeps his nose clean, so the cops aren’t interested in him.”
“You know this because…?” I prodded.
“Because I work for the District Attorney’s office.”
That made sense. Paul would know more about Mr. Casale’s underworld affairs more than most.
“Is he dangerous?” I asked.
“To you?” Paul shook his head. “You helped his grandson, right?”
I nodded. “He was hurt and I gave him Band-Aids. Plus Chris’ old bike helmet.”
“Christy told me he had his son fix your front lights
and
bring you food,” Paul added. “I’d say you’re under his protection.”
“His protection?” When his expression didn’t change, I went on. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Paul nodded.
“I had no idea there was the mafia in Baltimore. Gangs I’m very familiar with, but mafia?”
The ER was filled with gang bangers who’d been shot or beat up and I was becoming well versed in the tattoos and colors to know there was a war on the streets of the city, but I’d never once heard of any kind of organized crime.
“It’s not
exactly
what you’re thinking, it’s not like
The Godfather
or anything. Casale’s connected to Chicago and New York, but is on a lower, much smaller branch of that family tree. Still, no one messes with him around town.”
The man did have a sense of authority about him, and his son Frank did whatever the man said, but I related that to Old World custom than do-as-I-say-or-you’ll-be-wearing-concrete-shoes type power.
“Hang on.” I remembered the card Frank gave me and went back to my purse and dug through it. “Here. I was given this.”
Paul took it, flipped it over. “Jesus, you have Angelo Casale’s cell phone number. You’re definitely under his protection.”
“What does that mean exactly?” I sat back down and finished tugging off the cotton balls from between my toes.
“It means Gray’s not the only one watching out for you. What time tonight?”
I told him.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
GRAY
My dad wasn’t too hard to find since I knew where to look. Atlantic City meant gambling, and to my dad, gambling meant horses. When he needed a break from work, he didn’t go for the shabbier hotels on the boardwalk, but the newest and nicest. Once inside, even with the powerful ventilation systems, smoke hung thick in the air and the sound of the slot machines—the digital music, the pinging of the game and the clinking of coins falling into little plastic cups—was quickly going to give me a headache.
He sat in a plush chair with about thirty flat screens on the wall in front of him, broadcasting races from all over the country, stats and race information a ticker tape across the bottom of it all.
I dropped down in the chair beside him and stared blindly at one of the screens.
“I figured you’d show up.”
The man was in his late sixties, his hair long ago gone to white. His skin was overly tan and had the weathered appearance of a three-pack-a-day smoker. Even now, a cigarette rested in an ashtray on a side table by his right elbow, a glass of what I knew to be whiskey and water beside it. It was early to drink, but this was Atlantic City and this was dear old Dad.
“What do you want this time?”
I’d never given him money. He’d never needed a dime from me, even with his gambling habit. He always wanted me to fix a fight or take a fall in one of my own so he could win. I never did anything he requested. Never. In retribution, he fucked with me, calling me—I’d ditched one phone number for another more times than I could count. He’d even sent people to my gym to make trouble. It had all worked; I’d wasted time and energy thinking about the guy, dealing with his shit.
“Nothing.”
I shook my head slightly, wishing I had a drink of my own so that I could dull the feelings this meeting brought out. My jaw clenched. “Nothing? Since when have you wanted
nothing?
”
My cell vibrated in my pocket. Worried it was Emory, I glanced at the screen, then, when it wasn’t her number, or Paul or Christy’s, I tucked it away.
“Don’t worry, your guy’s going to lose on his own poor skills, your own fuck-all training, and then I’ll win.”
I slapped the armrests of the chair and stood. “Great.” I looked down at him. His eyes held no warmth, no love, nothing. He wasn’t a father. He was just some fucking loser who’d somehow spawned me. “Then leave me alone.”
“And your girlfriend, too?”
My phone vibrated again, but I ignored it. The fact that he mentioned Emory had my fists clenching. I knew how to fight with fists and was used to a verbal sparring match with my dad, but that was over inconsequential shit, not Emory. I wanted to beat the shit out of him, kill him with my bare hands—that’s how much I hated him, but this was a casino. There were cameras everywhere, and he knew it. This was his sanctuary and he was safe.
If I made her out to be something important, he’d pick at the very idea of her like a scab. So I shrugged it off. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh? She wasn’t any good between the sheets?”
My eyes narrowed, but I kept my cool. Barely. “If you want to fuck with me, fine, but let’s leave everyone else out of it.”
His cell rang. Neither of us would have noticed it in the loud casino noise if it hadn’t vibrated across the small table beside his drink.
He picked it up and glanced at the screen. I swear his skin paled beneath the fake tan.
My cell vibrated once more but I just watched my dad. He actually looked…afraid.
“Answer your phone,” he said, without looking up from the screen of his.
I sighed, pulling mine from my pocket. “Green.”
“Hello, Gray, this is Angelo Casale. I believe you’ve met my son and grandson. I apologize for reaching out to your father while you’re visiting, but you wouldn’t answer your phone.”
What the fuck? Angelo Casale had Dad’s number and texted him. What the hell did the message say because it looked as if my dad just pissed himself. Besides that, how the hell did Casale know I was with my dad right now? I looked around. There were people all around, but too self-involved to be interested in either my father or me. It
was
a casino; there were cameras everywhere. How far was this man’s reach? Did I really want to know?
“What can I do for you?”
“I’ve spoken with Emory and invited both of you to dinner tonight at Casale’s. She’s accepted and will bring two friends. I believe they are spending the day together. Very smart of you to keep her protected.”
I was trying to keep up. I knew about Casale’s
dealings,
for it was more than just lasagna. From the way my dad was reacting, he knew about them, too.
“If she’s accepted, then it will be my pleasure,” I replied. I didn’t want to say Emory’s name in front of my dad, so I kept it neutral. I didn’t want him to know anything more about her.
“Good. Please ask your father if he would like to join you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I had no interest, ever, in eating dinner with my dad, but Casale had a reason for it. “Angelo Casale wants to know if you want to join me for dinner tonight at his restaurant.”
Dad turned to look up at me and he swallowed. This was the first time—ever—I had seen him weak and vulnerable. He cleared his throat. “Please offer him my thanks, but I will be staying in Atlantic City through the weekend.”
“He offers his regrets,” I told Casale.
“Hmm, yes, I figured as much. I assume your meeting is over, so you should easily be back in time to get your girl. I’ll see you at seven.”
I put the phone away and put my hands on my hips, waiting to see if my dad was going to say anything else. I saw him sitting there, shoulders slumped, skin orange and pale all at the same time, for what he was. An old, pathetic man. He might be a powerful businessman, but he had nothing on me. Nothing. I could deal with whatever shit he tossed my way, but it seemed I had an ally with Angelo Casale. I had no idea what he had on my dad, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about my dad at all.
“We’re done here,” I said, my voice hard. “We’re done, period. Leave me the fuck alone and you stay away from Emory. You forget she even exists. I’d be happy to beat the shit out of you and I’m sure Casale would be more than happy to hide your body.” I leaned forward so he could hear me clearly over the din of the casino. “You think I care what you do? I don’t think about you at all.”
I shook my head and looked at my dad one last time. I wasn’t trying to remember, I was trying to forget.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GRAY
I got caught in traffic on the Delaware Memorial Bridge, some semi jackknifed and brought the highway to a standstill, so I had to meet Emory, Christy and Paul at the restaurant. I’d spent the extra two hours in the car thinking about Casale’s hold on my dad and the reason for the dinner.
Mr. Casale himself met me by the hostess stand. I shook his hand and he clapped me on the shoulder. “I trust you had a good visit with your father?”
“I didn’t realize you two were friends,” I countered.
He offered a small shrug. Very Italian. “Friends? Absolutely not. We have…an understanding. While he will still be your father, I am sure he will not offer you too much trouble.”
I narrowed my eyes and felt threatened. A guy like Casale didn’t do something like this without wanting something in return. “What do you want, Mr. Casale? I have no intention of having my fighter blow the fight, or a fight three years down the road when it suits your needs. I don’t need a partner in my business.” I tried to keep my voice even. My father was an enemy I understood. Mr. Casale was in a completely different league.
He shook his head, kept his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve misunderstood. Emory is in love with you, therefore I just
reminded
your father of a few things. If Emory’s happy, I’m happy.”
While I was curious about Mr. Casale’s connection with my dad, I decided there were some things I didn’t want to know.
“She’s…she’s not in love with me.” I could hear the surprise, the uncertainty in my voice. “We met last week.” While I said the words, I knew them to be empty. Time didn’t seem to make a difference when it came to me and Emory. It was as if I’d known her forever, yet everything was brand new.
The older man actually tsked me, led me around the corner so I could see Emory sitting at the table chatting with Christy and Paul. She hadn’t seen me yet. “You’ll keep her happy?” he asked, as we both watched her.
I nodded. It’s all I could do because the sight of her was like the worst sucker punch I’d ever taken. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything but wonder what she saw in me. When she looked up and looked at me, she tilted her head and gave me the most perfect smile. Her eyes brightened with what I hoped was pleasure and excitement and they were both for me.
I was thankful for the small nudge the older man gave to my shoulder, prodding me to move toward the table. She stood and met me halfway, taking my hand as she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Hi,” she whispered. “I missed you.”
Those words, God, they were the best thing I’d ever heard. This woman wanted me. I wanted to think it was love that made her eyes bright, made her smile so broad. I couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across my face, but I had to push her back and get a look at her. She wore a sundress, a bright blue that was soft and flowing and hit just above the knee. On her feet were a pair of sexy high heels and she wore makeup. Gone was the girl next door I woke up to and in her place was, shit,
a siren. She pulled me in all right and I never wanted to leave. I closed my mouth and tried not to look like I was drooling.
“You look…incredible,” I whispered when I kissed her forehead.
She grinned at me, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Sit. Mr. Casale’s brought us wine.”
I held out Emory’s chair for her, then shook Paul’s hand. “I see you took care of my girl.” Glancing at Emory, I saw her blush. I loved that I could do that to her.
“If that means being dragged to the mall for dress shopping, then yes, I took care of your girl,” Paul replied.
“Are you okay with wine or do you want water?” She remembered I’d said I didn’t drink anymore.
“Water.”
She put the bottle down, then pushed her water glass toward me. “I only had the clothes I put in my bag last night. I couldn’t go to the hottest restaurant in town wearing shorts and a T-shirt.”
She could’ve and I wouldn’t have minded. While she looked stunning, I liked her best when she was naked. I knew enough about women to know now was not the time to tell her that. I would later, when she
was
naked.
“I’m a lawyer. I know I have a painful, boring job, but I’d rather go through a two-day deposition than to go through that experience again. Have you ever been in the lingerie department before?”
I didn’t know if I should commiserate with Paul over that scary task or get turned on by the idea of Emory picking out something super sexy. I turned and eyed her, wishing I had x-ray vision and could see what she had on beneath the dress, but she smiled sweetly at me, giving nothing away.
I reached for my water and took a big gulp. As Christy and Paul were commenting about something on the menu, Emory leaned in and said, her voice low enough so only I could hear, “It’s pink.”
I turned my head so our mouths were inches apart. “It’s pink?”
“And lacy.”
My mouth fell open when I realized what she was talking about. She grinned wickedly and picked up her own menu. Turnabout was fair play, so I put my hands in my lap, then moved my right so it rested on her thigh, my thumb slowly inching the hem of her dress upward.