Page 98 of Scorned Beauty
“Yes.”
“Bullshit. You think the De Luccis started as billionaires? We didn’t. Our ancestors worked the land. We were farmers who grew up smart about how to make money. This”—he waved his arm around the penthouse—“is something we worked for. And you’d be a hypocrite to say I earned it illegally because you made money off us, too. Because you know if you were a regular cleaner of office space or Park Avenue apartments, you wouldn’t be able to keep your brother in rehab.”
“You know nothing of my choices. What forced me to work for the mob!” I snapped.
“No? Then why don’t you tell me, because all this, Sloane, could be yours. It doesn’t have to be a barter between us. Sometimes lo—caring for someone depends on who needs it more. Like when you took care of me, and I took care of you. Wealth-wise, I have the money, but you have the ability to make me feel peace, make me want to have a future with you.”
“We agreed…” I broke off in a whisper.
Dom clenched his jaw. “I have a meeting tonight. I’ll know more about your situation…” He glanced in the direction where Lucy disappeared. “Everyone’s situation after I have it.”
“You’re meeting with Margo Winthrop?”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t I meet her too? Find out why she relocated me?”
“She wants to talk to me alone for now.” He exhaled a breath. “Lucy will take care of you.”
“I want to see Harriet.”
“Let me get a read of the situation first.”
I pursed my lips, wanting to say more, but I gave him a brief nod. I always fell back on practicality. I grew up detesting the entitlement of my mother’s former Park Avenue clients. I also learned work quality mattered, and that was why I charged outrageous fees for being a mob cleaner. Quality also included keeping mum about my criminal clients. There was a price tag attached to confidentiality and why my affair with Dom had repercussions.
We made this mess. He was offering to fix it. In helping me, he was also helping his sister.
I would be an idiot to make things difficult for him out of spite.
“Thank you.” He kissed the top of my head, and I stilled myself from recoiling. My reaction was disconcerting, but I couldn’t help it. Over the past few weeks, I’d built up a belief that Dom was all wrong for me. That hadn’t changed.
He must have sensed my body’s rejection because he stood back and a stab of guilt hit me at the defeat in his eyes.
“I’ll be at The Grindhouse after I’m done with the meeting.”
And I wasn’t going to argue with him about that anymore.
I had no problem staying at The Grindhouse third floor. Somehow, it was important to Dom that I stayed here instead.
So be it.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Dom
“Ms. Winthrop will see you now,”the blonde receptionist at the counter said.
Margo insisted on meeting at her business, Marriage Ink, a full-service bridal shop. Allegedly, they did everything from the cake, the flowers, invitations, and the venue.
It was all a front.
I knew they used their print shop to print counterfeit money. But who would dare rat out the madame who was the matchmaker to the wealthy and powerful?
They owned the French Gothic Revival architectural building built in the 1920s. The façade was a French pastry shop that bore a red-and-white awning typical of the business. A wedding cake—an architectural feat of pistachio green, pink, and gold—sat proudly in their window display.
The blonde led me through a hallway. Floor-to-ceiling glass made up one wall and provided views to the flower shop, but she didn’t lead me there. She led me to a solarium.
