Which was ridiculous.
How could I have faith in a criminal, for fuck’s sake?
When had Daddy’s promises ever meant shit? I loved him, but the Irish Mob had come first. That tended to happen when someone’s kneecaps were on the line…
The fact that my heart almost stopped when my cell buzzed told me I was taking this too far, especially when I only experienced disappointment seeing Lara’s name on my screen.
Lara: How is it? You doing okay? Still with Plane Daddy?
Me: It’s going great
She didn’t have to know it was a lie.
Me: Talk later. Neev is going to force me to twerk lol.
My prediction was on point.
“Come dance with me!” Neev took advantage of my distraction by grabbing my hand and yanking me out of the booth.
Grimacing, I tucked my cell into the pocket of the jeans I’d poured myself into after we’d arrived at the hotel—only because I wanted Stan to see my ass in them—and let her haul me onto the dancefloor.
“Kitty!” Neev shrieked, bouncing up and down when one of her favorite songs came on. “Oh, my god, I ADORE THIS ONE!!!!”
She’d been annoying me today, yet I still laughed at her screech and forced myself to stop thinking about Stan.
This trip was about her—her gift for doing so well in her studies. Annoying she might be, but I loved her and she deserved this.
Life hadn’t been easy for Neev, not since we’d lost our dad and Vinny, her fave brother—mine too, if I were honest. Then there’d been that fucking mess with her Spanish teacher in high school.
I shook away the cobwebs on that memory by dragging her in for a hug that led to us both bouncing as we danced.
And it wasn’t so hard to let her prod me into a party frame of mind.
If my butt cheek was on red alert for the vibration from an incoming text… that was between my ass and myself.
Because Stan had to keep his promise.
He just had to.
I couldn’t think about how devastated I’d be if he didn’t.
That’d mean he’d made a fool out of me, and terrifyingly enough, that might just break my heart…
EIGHTEEN
STAN
“Custanzu.”
I gritted my teeth at the sight of the man who lounged on his chair like it was a throne.
By association, Martinez and I were allies. By deed, friends.
That didn’t mean I appreciated the dirty cops in his pocket escorting me off the fucking plane and transporting me to his compound like a lost package.
The use of a chamber this size only reinforced his position, and that goddamn throne of his amplified the message.
Marble floors and columns, a tapestry worthy of a medieval battlefield behind his grandiose seat of power… Yes, he was pissed and posturing.
