Page 63 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“It’s a promise. Stop getting involved in an issue that doesn’t concern you,” Hamilton replies. “You won’t like the repercussions. And this little bitch isn’t worth it.”

Cora gasps. I take a step forward, and it takes all the self-control I can muster in order to stop myself from kicking his ass. “I’d mind your words if I were you, George.”

“You’re frustrated and you’re lashing out,” Riggs says, slightly more calmly. “But you’re crossing a line I guarantee you’re not ready to cross, because the consequences are way worse than anything you think you have in store for us.”

“In layman’s terms,” I add, “show Cora the respect she deserves, or I will beat you to a pulp, and you won’t be able to do anything about it, Mr. Hamilton. This is where we draw the line.”

Hamilton’s eyes widen as he quickly realizes his mouth took over for him at the worst possible time. “Listen, you all need to stay out of this. For your own sake.” He looks at Cora with hard, unyielding eyes. “And you need to withdraw your escrow offer and let me buy the building, just the way Orson intended. You have no idea the mess you insist on wading into. You’re going to get yourself hurt or killed.”

“I was right,” Sebastian says. “Hamilton doesn’t have the money to outbid you, Cora. They’re desperate and going for intimidation.”

I move closer and get into Hamilton’s face. Close enough to make the fucker sweat as he takes a wary step back. “Your associates already tried to hurt us. They failed. The next time one of them tries something, however, you’re the one I’m coming for. Fuck the law and common courtesy, I will break every fucking bone in your body if you don’t instruct your goons to leave us alone.”

“You’re wrong,” he mumbles, his anger fizzling away, quickly replaced by what I can only describe as pure dread. He’s putting two and two together. Learning new information from us. “I didn’t send any goons. Neither did Orson. That’s what I keep trying to tell you, you prideful bastards. You’re in over your heads.” He looks at Cora again. “Especially you and your sister.”

“It’s Denaro, isn’t it?” I ask.

Upon hearing that name, Hamilton lets out a heavy sigh, then shakes his head and spins on his heels, choosing to hurriedly walk away instead of respond. I don’t know how to interpret the gesture except as a tacit confirmation that we are, in fact, dealing with the mob.

The four of us watch him leave and get in his car. The black sedan darts off, taillights glimmering red in its wake.

“They’re beyond desperate,” Sebastian concludes. “Hamilton didn’t think this entire conversation through.”

“Do you think he saw us? Earlier, I mean,” Cora murmurs, looking up at me. “Your car’s pretty tall. I dare hope he didn’t see anything, but what if—”

“You’re fine, we’re fine,” I reassure her, though I can’t exactly crush this doubt of hers either. I can only assume Hamilton would’ve said something. He would’ve rushed to use it against us. But even then, it’s a skinny case, at best. No evidence, just a bad angle.

“Cora, do you understand what this means?” I ask her.

She shakes her head slowly.

“They’re bound to make some terrible mistakes. All you have to do is stand your ground,” I say.

Sebastian nods in agreement. “And we’ll be right here with you.”

It’s about to get a whole lot worse. We now know, almost for certain, that a dangerous third party is involved in this whole mess. It’s not just Orson and George pining to get this building away from Cora and her sister.

And that’s a whole new level of danger, because once Denaro figures out we’re on to him, it’ll be even harder for us to take him down.

19

Cora

“Two almond croissants and two cappuccinos,” a man in his early thirties says. I didn’t even notice him and his wife come in until he spoke.

“Hi, welcome! Of course,” I reply with a warm smile. “Will you be enjoying that here or to go?”

“To go,” the wife says, her tone flat, almost sounding offended.

I give her a curious look but think nothing of it since she isn’t even looking at me. Her gaze wanders around, her gray-blue eyes filtering thoughts perhaps better left unspoken, I soon realize.

Eva’s in the back, doing inventory. The bakery has been steady today. Two tables are currently occupied, their plates half-full.

I get the coffee going and froth the milk, pouring it into two paper cups, while the man watches me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but it makes me nervous.

They look like an average couple from the suburbs. Nothing stands out, nothing that triggers my internal alarms, yet theyboth make me feel uneasy. It could just be the pregnancy hormones, along with the fact that I’ve yet to tell the guys about the baby.

“Is this your first time at our bakery?” I ask while I put the lids on the coffees and proceed to add two almond croissants to a takeaway box.

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