Page 133 of Cruelest Contract
“Drinking your sins away?” growls a deep voice.
Fury and sarcasm in the flesh. Matthias Grimaldi.
I snatch my shot and down it with one gulp. “That ought to do it.”
He grunts, plops his cranky ass down on a neighboring stool and demands a beer. The bartender nervously fumbles and castsa fearful glance this way before successfully filling a glass and sliding it over.
Instead of reaching for his beer, Matthias props his elbows up on the bar and gives me the kind of flat, hostile stare that suggests I owe him money. I’m in no mood for his bullshit and the only reason why I don’t tell him to fuck off is because he’s Cecilia’s brother.
Since it looks like I’ll be stuck here for at least a few minutes, I order a beer as well. Casually, I sweep my eyes around the immediate area to check whether Matthias has brought any buddies along for this chat.
The bar is dim in a classy way with golden accent lighting. Jazz music plays at low volume and fails to completely eclipse the echoes of slot machines from the casino. As hotels go, this place is not bad. It will be a satisfactory addition to our real estate portfolio.
A table full of cackling corporate types definitely aren’t friends of Matthias. Neither is the weepy old man drinking himself into a coma on the opposite side of the bar. As for the boys I brought with me, I’ve already turned them loose in the casino for the rest of the evening.
Satisfied that this confrontation is only between me and the man beside me, I chase the lingering burn of the whiskey with a sip of beer.
“Where’s your boss?” I ask.
“Where’s yours?” he fires back.
Always a difficult son of a bitch. Reminds me of Getty.
Without rolling my eyes, I keep my tone civil. “Once business is done for the day, my father doesn’t have much use for being social.”
He snorts. “You call this being social? When I got here you were dicking around with your phone and drinking alone.”
“And now I have your company. Lucky me.”
He looks away. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He finally picks up his beer, drains half the glass and sets it down with a bang that makes the bartender jump.
“Cecilia was innocent,” he says softly.
“She’s still innocent. And she’s safe.”
His narrowed blue eyes veer in my direction. “She wasn’t supposed to be part of this. I kept my distance from her all these years to give her a chance at a normal life.”
“Did you ever stop to think about whatshewanted?”
Instead of answering that question, he answers an earlier one. “Vittorio is flying back to Sicily in the morning. He knows he got the better end of the deal by handing you this hotel in exchange for more useful resources. He’s got no use for Vegas, says it’ll be irrelevant in ten years.”
Matthias has just uttered a much longer string of words than I’ve ever heard him use at once. To my surprise, he also sounds intelligent.
“Vegas’s best years are ahead,” I argue. “The downturn is temporary.”
Matthias shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that your grandfather’s a little salty that you’re working for Vittorio instead of him.”
“Yeah, I’m aware. But if he chokes on his fucking tongue in his sleep I won’t shed a tear.”
“What happened between you?” I ask. “Why did you leave the family?”
Curiosity has gotten the better of me. I don’t expect him to answer.
Again, Matthias surprises me. He rubs a hand over his jaw and takes a moment to compose his answer before speaking. “He ordered me to get married again. It was less than three months after Daniela’s death. The bastard had a bride all picked out. The daughter of a Bratva family in San Francisco. The deal wasalready made. When I refused, the old man said I was dead to him. Too late for him to take that back now.”
“Grimaldi hasn’t done himself any favors over the years. He’s burned so many bridges he’s about to drown.”
