Page 91 of Whiskey Kisses

“No, not an annulment,” he says slowly. “But there are other ways to make amends.”

Tired of dragging this out, I get to the point. “Listen, I’ve already discussed this with my father, and we’re willing to negotiate, starting with the warehouse on West Saint Julian Street. We know you want it back, so we’d be happy to sign it over.”

“That’s a damn good start,” he says, slapping his hand on the table.

“The deed will be in your hands by the end of the week,” I say. “I’ll have my lawyer draw a contract.”

A smile starts to form at the corners of Danny’s mouth, and it’s not one that I particularly like. “I said it was a good start. But if you think signing over a little bit of property gets you off the hook, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“What else do you want?” I ask warily, wishing he’d just spit it out already. “Money?”

“You were raised up in this line of work—you tell me.”

“What line of work, exactly?”

“Don’t do that,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower register that just reeks of violence. “I met with you today so we could negotiate, man to man, not so you could play games. Does your family not receive tributes from the businesses under your care?”

“Protection money,” I affirm. “You want a piece of that action.”

“There we go.” His restless fingers drum a staccato rhythm on the tabletop. “I’m thinking five percent of the distillery’s monthly intake. That’s what I offered Randall.”

My jaw clenches. I knew it was gonna come down to this. Evie had been so earnest, so sure it would fix things if we offered to pay the Deschamps off, but I knew they wouldn’t be satisfied with a little when they could fleece us for a lot.

It’s not the financial cut that bothers me—we could give them fifty percent and not even feel it. No, paying tribute is acknowledging Danny’s superiority over us, and while I can respect that this is his city—we’re just doing business in it—it really rubs me the wrong way. My grandfather, my father, Lucky and I—we’ve already paid our dues. We’ve earned the right not to kiss anybody’s ring.

I’m tempted to reject his proposition outright, to let him know how I really feel about his smarmy family’s attempts at getting us under their thumb, but this isn’t the time or place. I’m in Danny’s world right now, and it’s vital he thinks I’m playing by his rules. “And what do we get out of it?” I ask.

“You get to do business in peace,” he says. “Safety. Nobody will fuck with ya.”

Nobody but him, that is. We’d be safe from Savannah’s two-bit goons and wannabe gangsters, but we’d be Danny Deschamps’ bitch. And Cole’s, by extension. I’d rather have a root canal every day for a week. Still, I have to tread carefully. Thoughtfully. The man sitting across the table from me is a kingpin staking claim on his territory. This conversation isn’t a negotiation. It’s a warning.

“I’ll have to discuss this with my father,” I respond after a moment. “And my brother. He’s the boss, now.”

“You won’t get a fairer deal than this,” he says grimly. “You’ve had some gall, moving in without permission. I’ve shown a lot more restraint and respect than you deserve.”

“I appreciate it,” I say, unsettled by the reptilian glint in his eyes. I guess Cole is his father’s son, after all.

“You have three days.” Danny’s face hardens as he rises from the table. “After that, what happened to Randy will look like mercy.”

That’s as good as a confession. I push back from the table and stand as well. “So, it was you.”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” He gives an exaggerated shrug, eyes wide. “Three days, son.”

“Three days.”

Reaching for his phone, he taps out a quick text. “That’s my number. I’ll be expecting your call.”

My phone vibrates. Pulling it from my pocket, I see a text from an unknown number that reads simply ‘3’. Danny texts something else, and the door to the room opens. Cole walks in, eyes on me. “Let’s go.”

I start for the door, expecting him to lead me back downstairs. And he does, but not before swinging for my gut, knocking the wind out ofme. A split-second later, he punches me in the cheek and then my eye, his fist colliding so viciously that for a second, the world shimmers, threatening to go dark. I manage to shove him back, bringing my fists up in a belated stance of defense, but Danny’s voice cuts in from right behind me.

“All right, all right, you got your licks in. We need him in one piece.” His friends chuckle as he claps a meaty paw on my shoulder as if we’re the best of friends. “Now take him home.”

25.Evie

My phone emits a small chirp from beneath the blankets. Tristan asked me to take it off silent, which it’d been on for years, so that he’d be able to reach me quickly, and sometimes I’m still caught off guard by its little noises.

I set aside the old document I’ve been poring over for the past half hour. It’s one of the files from Daddy’s office, and this one’s a doozy. Apparently, there’s an inheritance clause should the Deschamps and Doyle families ever be joined in holy matrimony. Based on the details, I’m pretty sure this is what the old letters we found were talking about.Bananas.Makes me wonder if this is why Danny Deschamps wanted me to marry his kid.

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