Page 13 of Blood Ties

Facet: Why are you asking?

Me: Because my target is his fucking daughter

Facet: Abort. Jesus fucking Christ. Abort!

Me: Great. Well, she’s in mycondo

Facet: Oh my fuck

My phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Dude.”

That was all I heard before Facet’s voice cut in and out, then my call cut off. When I tried to call him back, it went straight to voicemail. Several times. Slowly, I set down the phone. Then I focused all of my attention on the beautifully broken woman in my condo.

“Nivea,” I calmly drawled, then blinked twice. “Who is your father?”

Eyelashes spiky with her tears, she stared back at me. Her eye twitched and she sniffled.

Chest tight, I stalked to the small table by my door and grabbed a box of tissues. Then I returned to the kitchen and set it in front of her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled before plucking a few from the box and blowing her nose in a very unladylike manner. Gross, but I liked it—the fact that she didn’t give two shits about being prissy.

“You didn’t answer me,” I prompted.

“Matthew Bulgari,” she warily offered.

“Yes. I know that.” I counted to ten and breathed deeply.

“How about you tell me what the hell happened today, Mr. Mafia, and I tell you about my dad?”

“I’m not in the mafia,” I grunted.

“Semantics. You’re the grandson of a former Chicago Family don, the son of another, and the brother to the current don and his underboss.” She gave me a look that clearly said she believed I was splitting hairs.

“Well, looks like you know your mafia lines,” I muttered. “Why’s that?”

“Does it matter? I’m not wrong, though you’ve been very good at keeping any current pictures of yourself off the internet. Now what happened today? Because if I don’t have a really good answer for my dad when he gets here, well, let’s just say he’s very protective of me.” She crossed her arms belligerently, though her inhale was shaky—likely from her crying bout.

“How well do you know your stepmother?”

“Besides she’s a bitch and I have no idea what Justin saw in her?”

I pressed my lips flat, then tipped my head back to stare heavenward. Then I brought my gaze back to her and bluntly asked, “Did you kill your father—Justin?”

Her jaw came unhinged as she blinked at me, clearly in shock. Then her face went bright red, and I was pretty sure she was looking for something to throw at me. “You really are a fucking dick.”

“No, I’m simply trying to get to the bottom of a bucket of bullshit. Your stepmother has email traffic where you were trying to find out about Justin’s will. She also has photographic evidence of you putting something in his drink when he left the table. It was timestamped the day before he died,” I told her, my jaw ticking in frustration.

To say she was stunned was a gross understatement. Her mouth was flapping like a fish and her hand splayed over her chest.

“Shewhat?” she finally choked out.

I sighed. Then I walked out of the room and into my office. I returned with the large envelope that I slapped on the breakfast bar in front of her. She stared askance at it like it was a venomous snake.

“Open it.”

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