Page 9 of Convenient Mafia Vows

Her face pales, a pink flush spreading up her neck, and I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. “I apologize, Mr. Murray. I’ll speak to the new Executive Concierge immediately.”

I hold out my hand, and she places the note back into my palm. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

“It absolutely isn’t fine,” she mutters under her breath as she sits back down. What’s next? A party invitation? A request for a private conversation?”

The internal phone is already in her hand as I head back into my office. I scrunch up the note and toss it into the wastepaper basket as I resume my seat and send a curt response to Don Dragonetti.

I’m showered, shaved, and wearing a freshly laundered silver-gray suit, pale green shirt, and emerald-green tie when Lauren announces the don’s arrival.

I open the door to greet Don Dragonetti and Olivia with an easy smile and firm handshake.

“Apologies for the short notice,” the silver-haired man says without a hint of an apology in his tone.

“Caleb!” Olivia steps out from behind her father and hugs me tightly, kissing both cheeks, and entwining her right hand with mine before I can extricate it. She trails a perfectly manicured fingernail across my tie and settles on the dimple beneath the knot. “This color suits you. It picks out the green in your eyes.”

“Olivia.” I incline my head and gesture for her to sit with her father in the lounge area of my office. I already had Lauren arrange for the Concierge to bring up a bottle of cognac and some glasses while I was getting ready in my apartment.

I take a seat on the black leather couch across the glass-topped coffee table and pour brandy into three crystal tumblers, adding ice from a black cooler, no soda.

The don sips his cognac and releases a sigh, studying the amber liquid as if only slightly concerned that I might’ve watered it down or added arsenic to his glass. “Not bad.” His lips are permanently turned down at the corners, and a quick glance at his daughter tells me that the expression has been passed down genetically. “You know why I’m here.”

Small talk over.

I leave my glass on the table. I need a clear head for this conversation. “My brother’s nightclub was raided again.”

The don smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Beside him, Olivia’s eyes widen as though bewildered that I would even try to lead the discussion. “We have to feed the Commissioner some scraps, you understand.”

Fucking scraps?

That’s my brother’s fucking nightclub he’s talking about.

“Of course.” Against my better judgement, and to stop my hand from balling into a fist that might just collide with his throat, I swallow a mouthful of cognac and track its journey all the way down. “What can we do to prevent this from happening again?”

Don Dragonetti sets his glass down on the low table and sits forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He has the decency not to rub his hands together like a common fairy tale miser. “I’m certain that we can come to some kind of arrangement, Caleb. One that will benefit both families.”

It doesn’t escape my attention that Olivia sidles closer to her father, a sly smile curving her mouth upwards as she twists several white-gold rings around her fingers.

“I’m listening.”

“The Wraith would not be quite so appealing with the cops making regular visits to the casino on level fifty.” There’s no threat in the don’s voice; he might be discussing plans to install a new chef in my restaurant. “A small monthly transaction should cover the cost of my expenses for seeing that it never happens.”

“How small?”

The old man doesn’t move. Instead, Olivia slides a silver business card out of her purse and places it on the table between us, face down. It would be far too vulgar to air the figure written on the reverse of the card to the entire room.

I flip over one corner and note the zeroes. I don’t pick it up.

This isn’t the real reason why they’re here. The Dragonetti family has no need of my money, and the cops will never find anything in the Wraith that will give them a reason to shut down the operation. The don is saving the best for last.

I’m all ears.

“I’m sure that we could reach a suitable compromise.” I contemplate my brandy and decide against draining the glass. For now.

A flicker of amusement dances across the don’s eyes. “On one condition.”

And there it is.

I wait for him to elaborate.

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