Page 90 of A Very Daddy Christmas

She swipes my card and hands it back to me with a dry smile. “No, sir, all good. Enjoy your time here.”

“Where are Mr. Hamilton and Mr. St. James?” I ask.

“The cigar room.”

I give her a slight nod and lead the way.

“You fucked up,” I snap as soon as I see them.

“Gentlemen, be civilized.” Orson tries to get ahead of the ensuing storm, but I beat him to it. In the blink of an eye, Sebastian, Waylan, and I step closer, towering over him. We’retoo big and too threatening for him or George to even think about getting up. It gives me a position of dominance, and I intend to make good use of it. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Orson, do you need me to call security?” another club member asks from two tables away, but Sebastian gives him a flick of the wrist.

“Mind your fucking business. We’re good here. Aren’t we, Orson?”

“We’re good,” Orson manages with a weak smile. “Just a chat. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’d be worried if I were you,” Waylan hisses. “Where is she?”

For a moment, he and George seem genuinely confused, their gazes bouncing between us.

“What are you talking about?” George asks, slightly short of breath. His expression shifts, ever so slightly, and I’m almost certain he just figured something out. Something that troubles and chills him to the bone because he’s fidgeting in his otherwise comfortable seat.

“Cora Levine is missing, and I know you had something to do with it,” Waylan says. “It’s written all over your face.”

Orson sits up straight, his brow furrowed. But it’s not outrage I see in his eyes. It’s fear and concern. “I’m not sure I understand. I got what I wanted from the Levine sisters—”

“You’re not getting jack shit until it’s settled in a court of law. Rest assured their lawyers will be filing an appeal against your raggedy-ass morality clause,” I cut him off.

“You meanyourlawyers?” Orson scoffs.

I take a small step forward. Enough to make him shrink in his seat. There are too many eyes for me to do much more. “Whatever deal you’ve got going with George or with Denaro, believe me, none of it matters if anything happens to Cora.”

“Listen to me very carefully,” Orson insists. “I saw the Levine sisters earlier this morning, and I left them there, at the bakery. I have no reason to cause either of them any harm because I already got what I wanted. I’m good.”

“I don’t believe that,” Sebastian interjects. “You’re nervous. You’re sweating. There’s a tremor of uncertainty in your voice.” He points a finger at George. “And your lackey here is about to have a stroke. Anything you want to share with the class, Mr. Hamilton?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” George instantly retorts.

“Wrong answer,” Sebastian hisses. “Where’s Cora?”

“I swear to you,” Orson reiterates. “We don’t know. Whatever she’s doing, wherever she might’ve gone, I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been here since this morning. I came straight over from the bakery. The staff can confirm.”

I give Sebastian a wondering look. Waylan isn’t pleased with this development, either.

“What’s your deal with the bakery building, anyway?” I ask them. “You never told us.”

“Nor will I tell you because it’s none of your goddamn business,” Orson snaps.

“Is Denaro squeezing you? Do you owe him something and the bakery’s the quickest to sell? Make it make sense for me,” I say.

“You’re harassing us,” George says, and finally gathers the courage to get up. He’s too close to my face for his own comfort, but he manages to hold his own and step aside. Orson is quick to join him, and I can’t help but chuckle at their obvious discomfort as they quickly begin to walk away.

“Where are you two going? We’re not done with you yet.”

“Call the sheriff if you’re worried about your girlfriend,” Orson says from the open doorway, loud enough for the other patrons to hear him.

“They think they’re better than us,” Waylan mutters. “Hypocrites.”

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