Page 26 of Daddy's Little Mafia Princess
“I won’t accept it. I was precise in the terms I laid out for you. Now,”—I look at my watch—“I’m going to read the contract, and if it’s not everything I asked for, in nine minutes, you’ll be irrevocably fucked.”
I start to open the envelope, but Pisani yanks it from me, spitting as he snaps, “Don’t think I don’t know you’ll run it through her, no matter what name I put it under. I should put it under your name!”
“That’s not what I told you to do.”
“I could give two shits whatyoutellmeto do.” He gets in my face.
I’m taller, but he’s rounder. I’m already thinking through what it’ll take to knock him to the floor when I finally decide I’ve had enough and grab him by his double chins. I’m not there yet, and my tone is perfectly calm.
“Then you’ll die. With all of your shit still accounted for.” I wave what I already know will be an incorrect contract back at him. “Did you think you were going to walk in here and just take her back again? Clara is mine. She’ll never set foot in your home again.”
“I’ll get it annulled.”
“You’ll be dead before morning. Your own partners and now the Moraleses will make sure of that.” I open the envelope and pull out the contract. Sure enough, it’s all made out to Clara Pisani, which isn’t really that big a deal. We have a paper trail and an Elvis impersonator to stand witness for us. It won’t be hard to show in a court of law that her name was lawfully changed, and the assets awarded in this contract are entirely hers.
Unfortunately, he didn’t follow the rest of my terms. He’d given Clara a ruling fifty-one percent of the casino. This morning when we all woke up, he owned fifty-nine percent. He also specified this contract to be invalid if she ever marries me.
I look at my watch. “I hope you have another contract under your coat because you have less than five minutes before you commit ‘suicide.’”
“You son of a bitch, you—”
Dropping the contract at his feet, I take Clara’s arm and lead her into the restaurant. She keeps looking up at me as I push her to walk ahead, staying firmly planted between her and her father.
Pisani grabs the shoulder of my jacket, yanking me back. I snap around, my fists ready, and my bodyguards—as well as his—push through the oblivious crowd to reach us. Something in my face must have shown he was stepping on my last nerve.
Alviero backs up slowly as Clara’s little hands grip the back of my jacket. I can hear her whispering. “Daddy, don’t! Please don’t! He’ll hurt you, too!”
It’s almost insulting, but I forgive her. I’ve only shown her the kind, gentle, protective Daddy. She has no idea what I’m capable of. I hope she never knows.
His face is deep red, but he’s smirking, his unblinking stare promising murder.
I can’t help smirking back. I’ll have him on the floor, choking on his own blood and teeth before he realizes he’s been hit. No one reaches the top in my world without earning it. Being born into a family doesn’t mean shit anymore. I worked my way up the bloody ladder, like everybody else. I’ve done things to earn the metaphorical crown I wear.
After the scars he’s put on her, if I start hitting him, I won’t stop.
Does he see that determination in my eyes? He backs away slowly, reaching into his coat to throw another envelope on the floor between us, and spits on it before turning away. He dodges my bodyguards and settles into stride with his own. My eyes follow until they disappear into the crowd of obsessed gamblers focused on their brightly lit slot machines. They’re heading toward the street exit. Leaving my men to watch after them, I bend down to pick up the second contract. This one spells out exactly what I’d specified. She has all his shares in the businessin her married name, no contingencies, and nothing revoking her ownership should he die.
Yeah. He can’t plot his way out of a paper bag.
Folding it in half lengthwise, I tuck the contract in my coat. I’ll get Clara to sign it after dinner when the ugliness of this business melts from her mind, and she feels safe and secure with me once more.
I check my watch. Less than one minute left. With one phone call, I could call off Pisani’s partners, but I don’t. The man put his hands on me and on Clara.
He cheated me.
He killed my father.
He’s not walking away from this scot-free.
I don’t know how much the hostess saw of our altercation outside her restaurant, but she smiles brightly and escorts us to a private table. I tip her well. Before slide into the booth next to Clara, my cellphone is buzzing delivery confirmations as each packet detailing Pisani’s wrongdoing is left in the hands of someone more powerful than him.
The real ball has now been set into motion. I give them each twenty-four hours—if that—to crack open the envelopes I’ve sent and for my name to fall from some pretty major lips.
The packets were drawn up days ago, but even back then, I’d known I would not lose this. Paperclipped to the top of each stack is a personal note from me. I’ve told them I now control the lion’s share of the casino, Pisani is out of the business, and to show my good faith that partnering with me will be a positive and profitable venture for all, I gifted them another share each in my new restaurant to make up for what they’ve lost by trusting Pisani. That should satisfy them.
It should satisfy Clara, too. I’ll show her how to run her new business. I’ll be the face of authority, but she’ll be the power behind my throne. Until we go home at night. Then she’ll be myLittle girl, and I’ll shed the power I wield every day and relax into my role as Daddy.
“Are you okay?” Clara whispers, eyeing the hostess as she walks away from the table.
