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"Oh, shit."
My eyebrows lifted. "I take it you've heard of him?"
"Everyone has heard of him, Alejandro. The guy is on the news practically every night."
That wasn't good, especially if I was going to be taking over the family business in Brooklyn. It wasn't exactly on the legal side of the law.
"This might not be a good idea, my man. Delancy Matisse is a scandal waiting to happen."
"He can't be that bad," I insisted. My grandfather would be stupid to marry me to a guy like that, especially if I was supposed to be taking over Brooklyn.
"Look him up and then call me back." Jake hung up before I could say more.
Taking his advice, I looked up the name Delancy Matisse on Google. Almost instantly I had story after story of Delancy's antics, and there were a lot of them. Everything from swimming in a fountain at the governor's ball to being caught in a compromising position with two stewardesses and the daughter of a prominent banker. Drunk driving, noise complaints, and even one count of shoplifting.
This guy was a mess.
He was also a very public mess.
My hands were shaking a little as I dialed Jake back. "Jake, man, this is..." I wasn't sure what this was, but it felt like I was headed for a firing squad.
"Why would your grandfather give you Brooklyn and then marry you off to this guy?"
"Brooklyn was the deal," I replied. "He said if I married Delancy, he would give me Brooklyn, and as long as we stayed married, I could keep it. He promised to be hands off as long as I sent the required amount of money home every quarter."
"I'm not usually a betting man, but if I was, I would bet that he is either waiting for you to divorce Delancy or get outted by one of the news outlets. Either way, he keeps his promise to his old friend, gets Brooklyn back, and you are out."
Or dead.
That was the thought that hit me the most. This was all a set-up. This was my grandfather's way of getting me out of the picture without lifting a finger.
If I fucked up this marriage and got divorced, I lost Brooklyn and I would face death when I went back to Colombia. If the media got wind of who I was, my life would also be over and I would be behind bars.
Colombia was not very forgiving.
"I knew your grandfather hated you, but this seems like a little much."
While my grandfather hated the fact that his precious son had fooled around and fathered a bunch of illegitimate children, he had always treated his grandchildren cordially, but a bit distant.
He had treated me the same until that one horrible incident in college, and then the gloves had come off. Because I was my father's son, he couldn't outright kill me—the society we lived in frowned on that—but he could plot my death.
And, apparently, he had.
"I'm supposed to be meeting with a lawyer in the morning to get a report on Delancy and sign the prenuptial agreement. Can we meet for lunch after that?"
I needed a plan, and I needed some help creating one.
"I can do that," Jake said. "Do you want me to call the others? We can meet at the ballpark."
"Oh, man," I groaned as saliva built up in my mouth. "I missed the ballpark." I could practically taste the burger and beers now.
Jake chuckled. "The ballpark it is. Noon sound good?"
"I should be done by then."
"Okay, then I will give the others a call and we'll see you at the ballpark at noon."
"Thanks, Jake."
