Page 70 of SINS & Riley
He can’t afford to torch this bridge down. Now while the dumb shit’s standing dead center on it.
I draw a cigar from my jacket—the kind he really hates—strike a flame, and take a slow drag.
“Speaking of D’Angelo…” My voice goes flat, all business. “I’m still waiting to be paid.”
Andre exhales a defeated breath and sinks into his chair. “It seems I have something you want. And you have something I want. I propose a deal.”
“And what exactly is it you think I want?” My voice is smooth, detached. “Or rather—what do you think I want that I can’t take myself?”
His gaze flicks up, sharp as glass. “You’ve been very curious about the disappearance of my brother, Antonio.”
A smile creeps slow across my face. “Ask around. Your brother owed me over ten million. A small loan here, a gambling debt there. You know how it goes.”
It’s no secret my father liked to gamble. What most don’t know is he was a shark. To the tune of two million a year.
A secret he hid well.
It’s easy bait. And Andre nibbles at the hook. “I could just pay his debt.”
There it is. Another test.
One I’m ready for. “I didn’t realize you and your brother were close,” I murmur, leaning in. “In fact, the way I heard it, you might’ve been the one to make him disappear.” I puff smoke at his enormous face.
Andre’s mouth twitches, but I don’t give him a chance to respond.
“Your brother owed me ten million about six years ago. With compound interest, that debt’s closer to twenty-five today. Not including fees, of course. If you’re willing to pay your brother’s debt, by all means—do it. Spare your nephews more of my wrath. They are, after all, your brother’s children.”
The color drains from his face.
See and raise, motherfucker.
He tugs at his collar. “I didn’t realize he owed you that much.”
“The only reason I haven’t come after you already,” I say smoothly, “is because debts don’t fall to siblings when there are heirs. And I’ve been taking small chunks of the D’Angelo debt out on his sons.”
Semi-true.
A handful of staged hits, smoke and mirrors.
Pocket change to Enzo. And, as Smoke likes to call it, the price of doing business.
Andre loosens his tie and reaches for a fresh bottle—different label, different vintage, different glass. “They’re grown men. They can take care of themselves.”
“So, my money?”
“You want information on Antonio…” His tone shifts, careful now, testing the air. “That’s worth something right?”
I lean back. “Go on.”
“I’ll dig up what I can. Make sure it finds its way to you. But I need something in return. A gesture of good will, really. Perhaps if we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
“What sort of arrangement?”
His eyes gleam. “You purchased a girl. The Mullvain girl. Is she still alive?”
Color me stunned. He almost sounds like he gives a shit.
But I don’t give anything away. “Whether the people I purchase live or die is up to me,” I say flatly.
