Page 66 of Dangerous Intent
“McCoy already owes Dad for that mishap he had with the mistress.”
Senator McCoy and my father went way back. My father’s dealership was able to elevate the senator to the next level and create a useful ally. So when McCoy’s mistress overdosed in a hotel room registered to him a few years ago, my father made the problem go away.
“Right, but let’s act as if we’re not cashing in on that favor yet. He knows he owes us more than one.” I checked my phone, making sure I hadn’t missed Lissia’s call. “Suggest that most of the problems were because of Gian and we’re not going to cause any issues.”
“I’ll get it done,” Milo said.
He always got things done. “Sorry about the way I reacted when you told me we had a problem.”
“I get where you’re coming from. We’re both frustrated. We’ve had too much shit thrown at us these last few weeks.”
“It feels like it’s been years.” I sighed. “I want to go back to the way things were.”
“We will,” he said. “We have to rid ourselves of Collins and this sex trafficking bullshit, but once Dad is home, we’re going to restore peace. This isn’t anything we can’t handle. It’s business as usual.”
“You’re right.” Only, this time, our brutal business seemed a little more personal.
“I’ll reach out to McCoy, then I’ll let the team you’re taking to Miami know their travel plans.”
“I couldn’t do any of this without you.”
“You won’t have to.” He hustled out of the office to tackle the next set of obstacles that plagued us.
I took a seat behind my father’s desk and glanced at the picture of him, Milo, and me. It was taken a few weeks after my mother had been killed. We had wanted to do something in her honor, so we organized the first charity gala for her favorite cause.
That night was meant to celebrate all the work she had done for young women who found themselves in bad places, but it ended up being a constant reminder that she wasn’t with us.
My father had been unshakable—a fortress in the storm. He’d given Milo and me the illusion of safety, even as he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Now that weight was mine, and every step I took felt like a misstep; one wrong turn and we were headed toward disaster.
I leaned back in the chair and studied the picture. Twelve years ago, we were dressed in our finest designer suits, playing the part of the gangsters disguised as legitimate businessmen.
My father broughtMilo and me into his office at the dealership to give us a break from the crowds of people who had come to support our cause. In some ways, it was like being at my mother’s funeral all over again. Everyone wanted to greet my father and offer their condolences.
He graciously accepted their wishes, but I knew he was taking it all in. I may have killed the man who planted the bomb, but we still hadn’t found out who was responsible. Whoever it was hadn’t come forward or made a move against us. That put us all on edge.
It was odd that someone would go to all of that trouble and not follow up. But maybe that was the plan—to make us grieve and throw us off our game while they made their move. I loathed not knowing.
“We could all use a break.” My father strolled to the cabinet and grabbed the vodka. “We knew tonight wouldn’t be easy, but you’re both doing a wonderful job of keeping it together.”
“Do you think the bastard is here tonight?” Milo asked. “Would they have the balls to show up?”
“It’s possible. But we don’t need to worry about that now.” My father poured three glasses, despite the fact that Milo and I weren’t old enough to drink.
Drinking didn’t seem like such a transgression, considering the other activities we engaged in when it came to our family business.
“I just want to make them pay.” Milo motioned toward the door. “All those people out there are here because of Mom. They want to celebrate her, and we haven’t even avenged her death.”
I hated that Milo was right about that, but whoever took our mother in such a senseless way hadn’t made themselves known, so we had to wait. I had many theories as to why. My favorite one was that after committing such a bold act, they were now afraid to come forward.
They should be.
“We will when the time is right.” My father handed me a glass of vodka. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m just taking it all in.” I sipped the smooth alcohol. “Trying to make all of this make sense. One second I think whoever this was is playing with us, but then I feel like they’re afraid to follow through.”
“It will never make sense,” my father said. “But the three of us will pick up the pieces and rise from the ashes of this devastation. We have to stick together and protect what’s ours.”
“I just want it to get easier.” I gazed out at the skyline. “I want Mom to be alive.”
