Page 8 of Cruel Longing

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I quickly dialed her.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“Sorry, just tell me. Did they vote? Did we get it?”

“The vote has been postponed indefinitely.”

My heart sank. “Indefinitely? That can’t be right.”

The blinds were closed in my room. Only sunlight filtered at the very edges near the drapes. I felt disoriented. I stood to open the curtains.

I hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since college, but that was exactly what happened when Barbara called last night to tell me thesub-committee on gambling legislation wanted to postpone their vote.

I was on the phone with our lobbyist three different times during the night. We scrambled to try to push for an early morning vote. I talked to every big donor I knew. I had to apply pressure. Someone needed to make this vote happen. The success of the Crescent Towers depended on my gambling permits.

I finally climbed into bed at 6 am. I plugged my phone into the charger, turned the volume on high in case there were updates from the team, and pulled a sleeping mask over my eyes.

Barbara exhaled. “I’ve got some ears on the ground. I think I know what happened.”

“Tell me.” I was desperate for answers.

“There’s a new lobbyist. He showed up last night. He has a big backer in the tech industry who are swaying Senators Merritt and Hyde. Apparently, a huge PAC was set up in the last few days with enough money to fund both of their re-election campaigns.”

“I can fund their re-election campaigns,” I argued. This couldn’t be happening. “Who is it? Who is the donor?” I had paid everyone in the city. Hitting the state level wasn’t out of the question.

“You know how these things go. Shell companies fund the PAC. I don’t know who owns the shell yet.”

“I want to know who it is. I want a name.” The landscapers were outside mowing. I turned from the window.

“We’ll find out who it is, but it’s going to take time. I need a few days, maybe a week,” Barbara explained.

I closed my eyes. Delaying a week felt deadly.

“Do you have any leads? Anything?” I grasped at straws.

“All I know is the PAC is called BONO. For the Betterment of New Orleans.”

I shook my head, taking a mental inventory of the PACs I had run across since my reign as the head of the New Orleans Amatos. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” I felt despair. Dread.

“To me, either,” she admitted.

I groaned and plopped on the bed. “Barbara,” I pleaded. “Don’t let this happen to the project. It is the last hurdle. The only hurdle.”

“I won’t. In the meantime, I’ll still use our contacts. Our lobbyist is still working. Construction is going well, right?”

“Yes. It’s on track.”

“That’s good. Keeping the project on schedule is key to pushing the legislators. It’s going to come together, Amara. You’ll see. Focus on those things you can control, and I’ll focus on the others.” She was one of my only employees who called me by my first name. I allowed it because of our mutual respect.

“I could go under,” I whispered. “The entire project could fail.” I was afraid to say it out loud.

“You won’t,” she urged. “It won’t.”

I took a giant inhale. “Call me with any updates. As soon as you hear anything or have a lead on who is behind BONO.”

“I always do. Try not to worry. We’ll figure out who is behind this, and I will pass that information on to you to handle at your discretion.”

The understanding between us was that Barbara did not do my dirty work for me. I had a large-scale army of Capos who were at my disposal. Uncle Gio didn’t agree with the size I had acquired, but it worked. I was profitable. To the extreme.

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