Page 4 of Dangerous Attraction

“One of our guys down at the freight yard said only nine trucks are accounted for,” Donny grumbled, shaking his head as he watched me. His irritation was clear, which meant someone was going to get an ass chewing.

“FUCK!” I screamed, slamming my fists onto the desk. Running my hand through my hair, I took a calming breath. “Have you contacted Antonio?”

The freight yard housed all our construction supplies and was a front for arms trafficking. A shipment of lumber concealed weapons from inspections. Even though we were each responsible for a business, my father was grooming me to take over as head of our family, which meant everything that happened went through me.

“No, Sir. I wanted to tell you first.” Donny shifted his feet.

Grabbing my phone, I put it on speaker. “I hope Antonio has some clue about what happened,” I grumbled as the sound of ringing filled my office.

“Fratello,” Antonio answered the phone, his tone indicating he probably had no clue something was wrong.

I wasn't about to discuss this over the phone. “Antonio, we have a matter I need your help with here at the club.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Throwing my phone on my desk, I heaved out another breath. It was best practice to keep our conversations minimal in case the phones were tapped. Even though the family had numerous politicians and local officials in our pockets, avoiding a headache was paramount. We never knew when the ATF or FBI were listening.

Needing a distraction until my brother arrived, I called Carlisle into the office.

“Where are we on applicants for Kitty’s position?”

“Oddly enough, I got an email last night after we talked. I forwarded you the information.”

Opening the laptop on my desk, I checked my email. Scanning through the various notifications, I found the one he sent me. “Madison Hart…” I read through her resume. “She’s only twenty.”

“That’s never mattered before.” Donny piped up, reminding me we had ways around the age restriction for employees who’d be serving alcohol. I’d ever hire a minor to work here, but Madison Hart was far from being a kid.

“She has experience waiting tables. None of the other applicants did. Training someone with no prior knowledge of being a server would be a complete nightmare.”

Sitting back in my chair, I closed my eyes. She was young, but that never stopped me before. Glancing at her information again, I noted her birthday was in a month.

“She turns twenty-one in a few weeks. Get her in for an interview. If she impresses me, we’ll work around the age issue.”

“I’ll go shoot her an email now.” Carlisle smiled at my willingness to meet with her. “Any particular time for the interview?”

Antonio stepped into the room, glancing at Carlisle and Donny. “Massimo?”

Glancing at my brother, who apparently was closer than I realized, I turned back to Carlisle. “Schedule it as soon as possible.”

Nodding, he ducked out of the office and closed the door.

“We have a problem.” I leaned back in my chair, slipping a pen between my fingers. “A shipment is missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

“Only nine deliveries were made. There should have been ten.”

“Fuck.” Antonio palmed his face. “Does father know?”

“Not yet. Any idea what happened?”

“No clue.” His heavy sigh proved my earlier suspicion. He had no knowledge it had gone missing yet. “I’ll get some of my guys to ask around. A whole truck doesn’t just disappear.”

“I agree. Donny.” I glanced at my right-hand man. “I need you to put your ear to the ground. Anything you hear related to weapons, I want to know about it. We’ve got to find these guns before any government agencies get involved or they fall into the wrong hands.” The last thing we needed was a turf war with a rival family.

“You got it, Boss.” Donny rushed out of the room.

I knew he’d find something. He had a way of pulling information out of people who normally wouldn’t talk. Antonio plopped down into the chair opposite of me. I could tell something else was weighing on his mind. Being the youngest of the three of us, he was the more emotional brother.

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