Page 37 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Roni! Veronica, open the fucking door!”
Reaching the door, I can’t help but smile. This moment miraculously magicked away my hangover.
“Hey, Mickey,” I say, cool and casual while covering my mouth to stop the laugh wanting to break free.
“Ice Queen, thank fuck!” His tone conveys a little concern, then he adds, “Open the door, please.”
I lean against the door. “I don’t think I will. Sorry, but I need to shower.”
I walk away to Mickey hammering his fists against the door and angrily bellowing my name.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mickey
After a shower and a large, strong coffee, I call my dad.
“Son, everything okay?” he asks when he answers the phone.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” I say with a laugh. “Can’t a son call his dad on a Sunday just to say hello?”
“Not if said son is you, no.”
“I feel called out.” He laughs. “So, before I left yesterday, I was looking for another way to get our hands on the Towers, and seeing Kerr’s name triggered an idea.”
“Go on,” my father urges, adequately intrigued.
“Since Clayton fired his board of directors, buying shares on the open market is out of the question, but what if there was a shareholder for both Clayton’s Towers and Kerr’s Bankside hotels?”
“I’d say, we have a chance, but that depends on who the shareholder is and whether they want to sell,” he says, and I sense the raised eyebrow.
“Okay, old man, let me do some digging.”
“Hey, less of the old man. Don’t reach out until you talk to me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Chat later.”
I end the call and look up my target online. Dad didn’t ask me to confirm who the shareholder is, so either he knows who it is, or he suspects it’s not someone he would be keen to do business with. He’d be right on that last count.
Ike Castello, Italian father, English mother, small-time outfit, no affiliation with the five families. He owns a restaurant across from one Simmonds’ hotels, completely legit, but I know he’s had some dealings with drugs and the cartel. It’s why my dad turned him down when he proposed opening a restaurant in one of our bigger hotels. Dad won’t touch anything or anyone associated with the cartels.
It seems that after Dad turned Ike down, he thought investing in Tower and Bankside would be a good idea. I just need to find out how far that investment goes before going to Dad.
Dropping my head back against the chair, I’m looking at the ceiling and begin to wonder what Roni is doing up there, if she’s even there. My mind quickly conjures an image of her getting herself off again, only this time she’s using a dildo, an exact replica of my cock… Damn! My cock hardens, pressing against my joggers.
I’m on my feet and heading upstairs to the secret door before I have time to think about it. Everything is great until I step out of the wardrobe in the guest room. The door is closed, but that’s not what has me concerned. No, it’s the empty glass stuffed in the top of a box and the faint scent of whiskey that tickles my senses.
She’s been in here, drinking. That in itself isn’t cause for concern but…my gut tells me something happened. Dumping the glass back where it was, I stride to the door, not caring about being quiet, and open the—What the fuck? It’s locked.
I press my ear to the door, but I don’t hear anything. I crouch and look through the keyhole only to find it blocked—by the fucking key!
“Roni!” I bang on the door three times and wait. Nothing. I do it again, then again, getting louder each time. After ten minutes of banging and calling her name with still no sign of her, I contemplate going the usual way, through the front door, but I dismiss it when I realise I don’t know if anyone is watching her place. Based on her injuries the other night, I don’t want to do anything that might cause her to get hurt again. I’m surprised that I’m not more surprised by my concern for her. I pull out my phone and call her, but it rings off. I continue thumping on the door for another five minutes.
“Roni! Veronica, open the fucking door!”
Her amused voice greets me through the door, and the relief is instant. She sounds okay, happy, no doubt at my predicament.
“Ice Queen, thank fuck! Open the door, please.” I rest my forehead on the door waiting for the click of the lock, only for her to tell me no and she’s going for a shower.
