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Or at least I think that is why we are here.
What I can’t figure out is what sane woman walks into the lion’s den looking like fresh meat? She can’t be unaware of her father’s dealings. And why the hell did he allow her off this property unescorted in the first place?
The selfish bastard in me shoves the obvious questions aside for a better one. Did she find the one piece of information that can lead us to my father’s killer in the safe? Someone holds the original contract and if D’Angelo is calling us that puts him low on our suspect list. Not clear from it, but at the bottom.
I drag my palm over my chin and take another swallow of bourbon. That leaves the Mounts and a couple of other names to take his place. I don’t discard that weaker families could have killed my father, but it stands to reason one of the three stronger families had him killed. Since I didn’t end my father’s life the list only has two names—D’Angelo and Mount.
I paste a frown on my face and consider the space and the man. It’s void of life. Nothing that shows signs of a wild daughter on the premises. No shopping bags, lipstick cases or shoes left around. The guards are all on the outside when they should be in here guarding their king. Hell, we were not even patted down when the front door opened and a single enforcer led us to D’Angelo’s home office.
It’s like he doesn’t care one way or another. The life is gone from his eyes the more he stares at that screen. He’s hurting, and it’s something he’s been living with for a while.
Tonight is a night for questions.
The aging mafia man sits on the edge of his desk with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a remote in his hand. A man in his position would normally be armed, but he’s got nothing in the way of protection. Worry digs into the creases across his forehead like an unwanted parasite. Gray spreads through dark hair and time in the sun tending to his stable of expensive race horses has left his face grooved and the lines at the corners of his eyes pronounced. But from the neck down he’s maintained his body. I’ll give him that. Old fighters like him have a hard time aging and D’Angelo Sr. is one tough son-of-a-bitch. That is why it’s hard seeing tears in his eyes as he stares at his daughter committing a crime that could get her killed.
I push off the hearth and finish my bourbon before I come to stand behind Augustine. Per his usual MO, my right-hand man and best friend has kept his lips sealed as he takes in the information in front of him.
I tap his shoulder, and he reads the silent signal. He flicks his hand toward the T.V. “We’ve seen enough. It’s clear your daughter is in trouble. But why call us?”
Augustine crosses an ankle over his knee and gives off the vibe of being relaxed but D’Angelo would be a fool to believe he’s in the company of friends. Victor keeps his eyes on the screen but his mind is already clocking in what I hoped he’d catch.
D’Angelo pauses the video, freezing the image of his daughter snagging piles of money and stashing contracts inside her leather onesie.
The old man lifts a shoulder like the weight of the world presses on him. “The enemy of my enemy, right?”
I flick my attention to Vi. A simple nod of his head confirms he sees the same thing I do. The proof we are after is with this man’s daughter. I guess that makes us all ears.
It’s D’Angelo’s lucky day, and he doesn’t know it yet. We’ll do anything he wants to get those stacks of contracts. Having unfettered access to his mischievous daughter just makes the deal sweeter.
D’Angelo crosses to the TV. He reaches out and strokes a finger over the black-and-white image of his daughter’s face. Not something a man does if their daughter is safely tucked away in their room.
My smile is grim when the older man turns from the screen and looks at me. “We’re listening,” I offer and receive a stiff nod back but he doesn’t start in on his spiel right away.
This is the weirdest shit I’ve experienced, but I’m curious what this is all about so I mean what I said.
“I don’t make a habit of calling men who would rather put a bullet in me than listen to my proposal, but you’re here so I’m going to gamble with my life and ask a favor. If it means anything, I have something you want. I have territory and I’m willing to give it up if you agree to help me.”
I spin my head toward Vi who sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. The muscle in his jaw ticks and he’s fiddling with the ring on his right ring finger. He’s agitated but just as curious as I am. Or he would already walk for the door.
“You have five minutes and that is us being generous with our time. But answer one question and we might give you ten.”
“What is that?” D’Angelo lowers himself into a chair behind his desk. He thinks it gives him a level of power, but where a man sits means nothing to me. He’s weak no matter which side of the desk he is on and we are about to exploit that weakness.
I said I was a bastard.
“Why the hell did you let your daughter break into the Mount’s safe?”
D’Angelo huffs out a humorless belt of laughter, looking torn down the middle. He wipes his face and shakes his head but neither gesture meant to school his emotions work. He looks no less torn between too much rage and copious amounts of fear eating his insides.
“If there’s one thing you must understand about my daughter, gentlemen, it is that no one lets herdoanything. She does what she wants and never thinks about the consequences. Just like her stubborn and very dead mother. I told her sleeping with the head of the Mount empire would end badly.”
I take the third leather-back chair positioned between Vi and Augustine.
“How did she die?”
I grunt at Augustine’s question. I have no desire to help this man unpack his past grievances with a wife that is no longer alive. The daughter however is very much on my radar. And why the daughter is rebellious, I would wager.
Gray hair falls as he shakes his head. “I rather not talk about her. It’s my daughter I am worried about now. But if you must know, she took her own life rather than live in a loveless marriage.”
