Cheryl’s fists fly to her hips, and I know I went too far. “Did you forget my business brings in almost as much as yours?”
“Forget I said anything.”
“I wish I could. I also wish you’d get in a little more of the holiday spirit. You sound like Scrooge.”
Portia’s eyes light up as she comes into the foyer. “Can we decorate this tree tonight?”
At ten years old, our beautiful, talented, sweet girl fills my heart with pride. Of course, every parent says the same things, but being out of her life for so many years gave me a lot of catching up to do in the bragging department.
Being pregnant and alone had to be tough on Cheryl, then raising Portia on her own, but somehow she’s taught Portia to be kind to others and grateful for the little things in life.
“No, tonight is your holiday concert.” Cheryl glances at me.
Bingo! Holiday concert at Portia’s school.
Cheryl cuts me a look. “You didn’t forget, did you?”
“Of course not.” Almost true.
“Seven o’clock in the school auditorium.”
“Right.”
She flips me a look, and I call her out. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“‘Cause until about two seconds ago, you forgot all about it.”
Very hard to fool the daughter of a mob boss.
She shakes her head. “That’s why we have a family calendar—but that means you have to look at it once a week.”
“I said I’ll be there.”
After a quick kiss, I jet out the kitchen door and into our four-car garage. It’s no secret I have a thing for cars. Any kind of cars. Antique, classic, it doesn’t matter. Back in the day, Samson and I made most of our money boosting cars and living hand-to-mouth, doing anything to make a buck. A life I never want Portia to experience. Making it better for her and Cheryl is the main reason I work the way I do, and I make no apologies.
Even back then, I loved cars, and with the success of Club Wicked, what started out as a hobby has turned into a reality. Every year, I drag Samson to the Barrett-Jackson auction andusually end up leaving with a new addition to my growing collection—main reason I rent a garage to house my other prize possessions.
Having a choice of cars to drive every day is a dream come true for a kid who had nothing in the bad old days. My mother had to work way too hard just to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. My breathing catches—like it always does when I think of my sweet mother and the heartbreaking way she died. She deserved much better than she got.
I shift my shoulders and clear my head. Depressing thoughts don’t usually invade the good, but every once in a while—could be the downside of our childhoods Cheryl referred to before. That’s why having her and Portia in my life now makes me determined to keep the good things going, even if it means working extra hours and missing out on the little stuff that goes on at home.
The solid sound of the door slamming on my Maserati Gran Cabrio fills me with satisfaction. It’s confirmation that Samson and I have finally made it big. We not only broke away from the mob, but we have enough power in this town to call our own shots.
And that’s the number one reason I couldn’t understand why Samson is so against making this deal with Graham Pierce. In my experience, power and money are linked, and you can never have enough of either one.
Although I have to agree with him—Graham Pierce is a dumb fuckin’ name.
I pull out of the garage, put down the top, and suck in the dry, crisp December air. I eye my beautiful home, knowing Cheryl and Portia are finally safe, and according to my wife, this will be the best Christmas ever.
Life is fuckin’ good.
2
CHERYL
“I can’t believe you had another tree delivered.” Izzy enters the foyer from the home office on the other side of the staircase. “It is beautiful though.”
“Where were you ten minutes ago? I could’ve used someone on my side.”
