“I don’t recall asking,” I reply, turning my phone off and placing it face down on the table.
I recognize Bash Malgeri Jr., the son of the late Sebastian Malgeri. Bash took over after his father died of a heart attack two years ago. He was in business talks with my father back then, but the benefits seemed to be one-sided. At one point, Papa even told me that a marriage proposal was mentioned, but only after my father refused to allow the Malgeris to build their own casinos on our strip.
Bash chuckles, then takes it upon himself to walk over tomytable and makes himself comfortable in the seat across from mine.
“Oh, please. Don’t join me.” I smile sickeningly sweet, batting my eyelashes. “I like to enjoy my coffeealone.” I lean forward, my eyes scanning the crowd suspiciously, then I whisper. “I’m less likely to shed blood that way.”
Bash’s smile widens, and he strokes his chin with his hand, still chuckling, but makes no move to leave.
Arrogant ass.
“See. Your sense of humor is …”
“Dark, with a significant amount of honesty,” I supply.
“Come now, Althea. You aren’t still fuming over our last encounter, are you? I thought we’d moved past that.” He smirks at my eye roll. “Unless, of course, you have reconsidered? In which case, we can leave now and begin planning our nuptials.”
“I’ll marry whomever I choose, when I choose. And you are not on the list of prospective candidates.” I smile. This time it’s genuine. “Now, why are you darkening my morning with your not so welcomed presence? You obviously sought me out for a reason. What is it you want?”
Jovie sidles up to the table with my order. As soon as she places the cup on the table, I lift it to my nose and take a deep inhale, hoping it will distract me from my annoyance. I knew enough about Bash Malgeri to know that anything he has to say, or offer, would be self-serving. Which leads me to wonder, why is he here bothering me?
He can’t seriously think I’ll reconsider his ridiculous offer of marriage. After the way that conversation ended last time, with Papaliterallylaughing in his face, I can’t believe he’d be foolish enough to think his offer would be taken seriously now.
I knew why he had made the offer. Bash learned my husband stands to inherit at least one casino after we’re married. What he didn’t expect was Papa to ask my opinion on the matter. I was given a choice, and Papa respected my decision.
Most Mafia families are archaic in matters of matrimony. The heads of the family typically already have an advantageous marriage preplanned at the birth of their children. Contracts are often written before the child is even brought home. But my papa, at the encouragement of my mother—or more accurately—her insistence as she held him at knifepoint, solidified long ago to allow me to choose for myself who I would marry. It doesn’t keep him from nudging me in specific, highly profitable directions, hoping to build alliances for his empire through matrimony. But he never forces my hand.
I won’t be forced into a loveless marriage of convenience. Nor will I just give up power over my casino to my spouse. The Porthos is my baby. Built brick by brick to my own personal specifications. With my papa’s help, I’ve built my own empire. And it’s going to staymine.
Placing my cup on the table, I lift the Danish and begin tearing small bites off one piece at a time. I eat each piece slowly, enjoying the sweet taste on my tongue and ignoring the intrudersitting across from me. He continues to stare at me, unaffected by my attempt to dismiss him.
“I know you’re looking for your brother.”
I pause with the next bite halfway to my mouth. The shock I feel must be evident if his gloating smirk is anything to go by.
How the hell does he know I’m looking for Annanias?
“I can help you find the answers you’re looking for,” Bash says smoothly, watching me, waiting for a reaction. One I will not give him. I learned long ago never to broadcast my emotions or my next move. Which at the moment may leave my joke of needing a clean-up crew feeling a little less like a joke.
I doubt I’d do enough real damage with a plastic butter knife, but I’d be willing to try.
Sebastian’s hand comes up, a gesture I’m sure he means to help lower my now raised hackles. “An associate of mine knows all about the kidnapping of Annanias. He worked for the man responsible. I’m sure you’ll find what he has to say very interesting.”
Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest and study his features. His long dark hair is greasy, slicked back and full of gel. He looks … dirty. His eyes are sharp, but I don’t miss the redness surrounding his dark irises. It’s not uncommon for drug dealers to become users themselves, but it’s hard to tell. His movements are fluid, and his speech seems unhindered. But I can’t help thinking there’s something more going on behind those eyes.
“Who told you I was looking for someone? I’m here for a job. I recently got my degree, and the Dallas precinct has an opening. I’ve come here to interview for it.”
“Ah, yes. The Forensic Science degree. Very good of you to go to school and learn how to properly clean up your daddy’s messes.” His slimy smile is starting to grate on my nerves. It’s not that Sebastian isn’t attractive in the traditionalolive-skinned, defined features, Italian male way—but to me everything about him is repulsive. The man will do anything to gain power. He knows no limits. Papa even said once that he went so far as to offer to sell his sister, Arianna, to the cartel, but Sebastian Sr. put a halt to his plan just before he died.
“It’s a respectable career. But if it’s cleanliness habits that have you so concerned, I could gladly show you how to kill a man with nothing but a coffee mug and your bare hands without ever spilling a drop on the floor.” He smiles.
He thinks I’m kidding. The smug bastard.
It’s not his fault. Papa and I have worked hard to keep my skill set a secret. An unassuming target is far easier to assassinate.
“Cute,” he taunts. “But your guards are too far to do anything, and besides that, you don’t want them to hurt me. If they do, you’ll never learn the truth about Annanias’s whereabouts or why the Venatti thought to keep it a secret from your family.” His smile is wicked. My pulse is racing. My hands are clenched into fists. If I could kill the son of a bitch right here, right now, I would just for speaking my brother’s name.
Sebastian stands up, pushing his chair under the table with one hand, and buttoning his suit with his other. “At the very least, the information I have intrigues you. So, what do you say, Althea? Shall I set up a meeting?”
