Page 8 of They All Own Me

I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and grab the binoculars from my gym bag. Thank God for paranoia and Amazon Prime.

Chapter 5

Dominic

The black SUVcrawls to a stop in front of Senator dumbfuck's cookie-cutter mansion.

"Would ya look at this place?" Isaac snorts from the passenger seat. "Bet the grass is imported from fuckin' Netherlands or some shit."

Connor leans forward between the seats. "Ten bucks says he's got a room just for his ties."

"Twenty says his pretty little wife picked 'em all out," Sylvia chimes in from the back.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, taking in the top-of-the-line sprinkler system and the stark white columns. "Hard to believe this fuck is in bed with Esteban."

"Speaking of," Isaac adjusts his holster, "you think he knows exactly who he's dealing with? Like, really knows?"

"Nah." I shake my head. "Cope's too far up his own ass to see past the money. Probably thinks Esteban's just some fellow businessman with shady connections."

"If he knew half the shit that goes down at the docks..." Connor trails off with a low whistle.

"Remember last month?" Sylvia leans forward. "When that reporter got too close and Esteban had you guys?—"

"Enough." I cut her off with a sharp look in the rearview. "We don't talk about jobs."

Sylvia isn't usually in tow with us when we do this kind of shit. I prefer to roll with Connor and Isaac or no one at all. But let's just say that her 'ass' is an asset in this particular mission.

"Right, right. My apologies." She settles back. "Still funny though. Mr. Clean-Cut Senator's about to invite Brooklyn's biggest crime family into his Martha Stewart living room."

"Let's just get this shit over with." I kill the engine. "And remember - we're 'diplomats' tonight."

The crew erupts in laughter as we exit the vehicle, the absurdity of our cover story not lost on any of us.

I lead them up the perfectly paved walkway, my boots heavy against the concrete. Thomas Cope opens the door before we reach it, his politician smile plastered across his face.

"Gentlemen... and lady." He adjusts his tie, stepping aside. "Please, come in."

The interior reeks of money and privilege – all gleaming hardwood and pretentious artwork. Sylvia brushes past Thomas, her hand lingering on his chest just a second too long. I catch Connor's eye roll.

"Nice place you got here, Senator," I say, scanning the room for exits out of habit. "Very... clean."

"Speaking of clean," Connor pipes up, shaking his hair from his eyes. "Where's the missus? Haven't had the pleasure."

Thomas's smile tightens at the corners. "Ah, I sent her on some errands. Can't have any... distractions during our meeting."

"I see." Isaac's tone drips with sarcasm as he sprawls onto an expensive-looking leather chair.

"You must know how it is, somethings are better left in the dark." Thomas straightens his already straight tie. "So, shall weget down to business? I've prepared some light refreshments in my office."

"Lead the way," I gesture, noting how Sylvia's hand brushes Thomas's back as she follows him up the stairs. The wire hidden under her bra better pick up something useful tonight.

This whole damn scene makes my skin crawl – the fake smiles, the house straight out of a better homes and garden magazine, the way he just dismissed his wife like she's nothing more than an inconvenience. But business is business, and Esteban needs his damn money, like yesterday.

Upstairs, Thomas's office matches the rest of his house – all show, no substance. The mahogany desk probably costs more than most people make in a year. I lean against it, purposely scuffing the pristine surface with my belt.

Connor positions himself by the window, looking out to the street, scouting for any eyes I’m sure. Isaac sprawls in a leather chair while Sylvia perches on the desk, crossing her legs just so.

"The west side deal," I say, cutting through Thomas's rambling about polling numbers. "What's the hold up?"

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