“My pleasure,” I reply, standing. They come around the desk, shake my hand, before moving toward the door. Alex looks back before he exits, and I school my features to professional indifference, but the moment they leave, I breathe a sigh of relief.
That was intense. I’m not sure why Alex Romero rattles me. I sit and review the contract, noting Stephen’s name with Lucien Moretti and Moretti Global.
I open a new tab on my laptop, search for Moretti Global, and see numerous news articles about the family. The family had been heavily involved in mafia-style business dealings in the past.
I frown. Surely that can’t be right. Stephen works in real estate.
I do a search on him, and hundreds of deals come up, some worth millions upon millions of dollars, but always alongside those searches is the mention of their father, Leo Moretti. The many deaths linked to him. His obscene alleged body count before he, too, found his end in a dark New York alleyway.
I can’t reconcile the man I’ve met with the one who seems to be from this family, and yet, maybe I’ve been naïve.
No. I dismiss the idea immediately. Just because someone is tattooed, dark, and mysterious does not mean they’re part of the New York underworld. Stephen is a real estate broker; he says so himself, that he looks after all his family’s portfolio.
My stomach churns, and I close my laptop, leaving the room and heading back to my desk. I sit and stare out the window for several minutes. I don’t know what to do with this information, if it's true.
I'm a lawyer. My father's the Chief of Police. What if the man I'm seeing—the one I've slept with—is crooked? I have to end it before it begins.
I hate the idea of such an outcome, but what choice do I have? I don’t have a choice.
I can’t date someone who could bring my world tumbling down.
ELEVEN
STEPHEN
The charity eventcomes around quicker than I think. I haven’t seen Dallen for several days. In fact, a few of my messages have been ignored, left unread, or replied to with one-word answers.
What the fuck is going on?
I plan to ask her to come with me. I don't know if she'll care about who I am or my family name when she Googles me.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking she knows who I am and the family I hail from, and she’s too polite to dump my ass the old-fashioned way…in person.
I pull on my evening jacket and roll my shoulders, adjusting the fit to be more comfortable. I stare at myself in the mirror, my suit barely concealing the tatts that are over my hands that go all the way up my arms. A few are visible where my tie sits. I look good enough for a charity event, one my family is hosting and donating to along with everyone else in this city who has money.
A knock sounds on my door, and I turn to find my housekeeper, an older woman, standing on the threshold of the room. “Your car is here, Mr. Moretti.”
“Thank you, May, and remember what I said. No more Mr. Moretti, you can call me Stephen.”
She smiles and doesn’t respond, merely walks back to where she rules this house, the kitchen, where she cooks some of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life. She’s the best investment I’ve ever made, and although I bring in millions of dollars to the family business through real estate, having someone cook delicious, wholesome, healthy meals is one of life’s blessings.
A blessing that was denied to my brothers and me as kids. Our father couldn’t have given a shit if we ate or died.
I push the memory down and start for the elevator. “Thanks again, May. I’ll see you tomorrow after lunch.”
“Have a good evening, Mr. Moretti.”
I sigh, laughing to myself that no matter how much I try, I can’t break her into calling me by my given name. I ride the elevator down to the foyer and start for the car where my driver waits. The distance to the Met is short from where I live, and skipping the red carpet, I enter the gala and start to interact with the invited guests.
I play the part my brother Lucien has taught us all, complimenting, teasing, and boasting as good as anyone else who is present, all in the hopes that those here tonight will open their check books and be generous.
Most are generous; some are harder to convince.
I enter the dining room, where the night’s auction will take place, and look for where I’ll be seated. I read the place setting board and narrow my eyes. The Chief of Police. I purse my lips and turn to take in the room. At least sitting next to law and order should make the night interesting.
I spy Elio and Alex Romero, and any enjoyment I was pretending to have regarding the night vanishes. What the hell are they doing here?
I turn and look for Lucien, spying him near the bar and thankfully alone. Briar doesn’t need to know the relatives of her slain ex-husband are here, not before she sees them for herself.
