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“Vinny, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you the only one who’ll take me places?”
He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “As far as I know. Why?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “I, um, I saw a red-haired man at the penthouse my first night there.”
“You met Greg?”
Huh, that’s not what I thought his name would be. “I guess I did,” I reply.
Vinny must hear something in my voice, because he pulls over to the side and turns to face me completely. “Did he do something to you?”
“He just scared me a little, that’s all.” When I see the thunderous expression on Vinny’s face, I gulp. “You’re not going to tell Domenico, are you? I don’t want to get into trouble.”
An icy knot forms in my stomach when he doesn’t reply, and instead starts the car again and pulls away from the curb.
Stupid, stupid Kira. I should have kept my mouth shut.
8
Domenico
Kira’s dad sits across from me with the plaster cast on his wrist resting on his knee. The sport coat he’s wearing has been pressed within an inch of its life, but the fraying at the collar betrays him. Just like the shoes, polished to a shine that can’t hide the worn-down heels.
Despite the pleasant temperature in my office, he’s sweating. Not the kind that beads and rolls, but the kind that seeps, turning the collar of his shirt dark where it meets his neck. This man truly is pathetic.
When I finally can’t handle staring at him any longer, I say, “You wanted to talk, Harry.”
“Yes, Mr. DeLuca.” He clears his throat, shifting the cast on his knee. “It’s about the last payment for my daughter. Err, for Kira. Your wife.”
I say nothing. Let him fill the silence. Men like Harry can’t help themselves—they talk when they should listen, explain when they should shut the fuck up.
“I wasn’t sure if my original agreement with Paolo still stands.” His eyes dart to the window behind me, then back to my face. “You know, since, uh, circumstances changed—”
“Kira married me instead.” I keep my voice flat. “Yes, I was there.”
He laughs, a small, nervous sound that dies the moment it hits the air between us. “Of course. I just meant… the terms. Whether they’re the same.”
What is it with the Adams family wasting time dancing around a subject instead of just spitting it out? I’m beginning to see where his daughter gets it from.
“The terms,” I repeat, and watch him nod too quickly. “You mean the money.”
“Well, yes. And the conditions.”
I lean back in my chair, one hand flat on the desk, the other resting on the arm. “Talk me through the arrangement you made with my son.”
Technically, the agreement was with me. Or at least with my money. But Paolo set his own terms, negotiating with Harry by himself. I wanted my son to take it seriously, so I only demanded that he accept the deal. The rest was up to him.
Now I wish I’d stayed more involved. Because I’m honestly not sure what they agreed on.
Harry stammers his way through explaining the amount he sold Kira for. A measly five hundred thousand, with two-fifty already paid. And apparently, the marriage was only supposed to last for ten years.
Once the time was up, Paolo could either pay for another ten years or give Kira back to her dad. Since I know my son isn’t a bad negotiator, this tells me he wanted a way out from the beginning.
Fucking fool. That’s not how DeLuca marriages work.
