Page 82 of Remy

“He wasn’t this weekend,” Ollie argues. “All this came to pass because he was in hospital. Who knows if something similar will happen in the future? And if it’ll be a staff member that learns incriminating information next time? But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can be on the inside. I can help cover things up.”

I glance from my brother to Lorenzo, waiting for one of them to be persuaded by her argument.

“I can’t afford to lose access to that retort.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Not when we’re in the thick of it with the cartel. We need her. Do you think her father will work with us if we kill his daughter?”

I’m well aware I’ve just posed a question she threw at me only days earlier. A question that could easily be ignored if she were to simply disappear. But here I am, grasping at all the straws.

“Carlo has been fucking good to me. If you destroy that, I’m out,” I vow. “I’ll move to Washington with Matthew. You can find someone else to do your dirty work.”

Salvatore rolls his eyes. “You don’t have much leverage when Bishop is only a phone call away.”

Not only is my brother a hothead, but he’s a fucking moron. “Bishop would prefer a prostate exam from our mother than to receive orders from you.”

“You feel that strongly, figlio?” Lorenzo asks me.

“Yes. I promised Carlo his interests would be kept safe under our agreement. I won’t be like my father and betray him.”

Salvatore turns back to the window, his chin raised.

If anything can sway him it’s the thought of holding any similarity to the man who spawned us.

“And you.” Lorenzo focuses on Ollie. “Do you understand the ramifications if anything goes wrong due to your involvement?”

She nods. “I think that’s been made abundantly clear.”

“No, child, it hasn’t.” He gives a sad smile. “The dissolution of this arrangement via problematic means would not simply end with the swift conclusion you may expect. It would be lengthy and exceptionally bothersome for both you and your father.”

“She gets it,” I growl.

“You would vow to be loyal to us?” he asks her.

A cold chill skitters down my spine as she nods.

“Your oath requires more than a simple head gesture, mia cara.”

“Yes,” she promises. “I vow it.”

His sad smile increases. “Unfortunately, it requires more than a verbal response, too.”

“That isn’t necessary.” I inch closer.

Lorenzo opens his desk drawer, ignoring me as he scrounges around the contents until he pulls out a card similar to one found in a poker set.

Goddamnit. He pulled this stunt with me and Salvatore a year ago. I still bear the marks to prove it.

“Women aren’t indoctrinated.” I lower my hands to my sides.

“No, they are not.” He pushes to his feet. “Instead, any woman outside the family who becomes a liability is silenced. Which would you prefer?”

I gnash my teeth. Glare my fury.

He remains paused behind his desk, unfazed by my animosity, waiting for a response.

“The ritual is pointless.” I clench my fists.

“It’s symbolic.” He limps toward Ollie and holds out the saint card for her to take. “Although my time spent in prayer has dwindled over the years, my faith remains. I picked Saint Catherine of Siena for you, Olivia. She was a very determined, headstrong woman, much like I imagine you must be.”

Ollie stares up at him, hands trembling.

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