Boy, oh, boy. This is a bad idea. I’m opening myself up to more than I’m bargaining for. But the alternative… Shit. He’s really got me by the short hairs.
“Listen,” I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I’m starting to get a headache from this conversation. “I don’t think we should go out to dinner, however…” I am going to regret this. “However, I guess I have to agree to the terms you had with Omar. Ten K a month off the top of whatever you bring in from the club’s profits. As for the fifty thousand that Omar owes, forget it. That’s not my debt to pay and I won’t take it on. The way I see it, he screwed us both. If you do manage to find him, he deserves whatever you do to him for leaving me hanging out to dry like this.”
I’m picking at the fuzz on my blanket, waiting for his response. I’ve never negotiated with a gangster before. I hope this doesn’t go badly.
“All right,” he says, finally. “I will deal with his debt internally, then.”
“So… so it’s a deal, then? And you’ll work with me on the ins and outs of owning a club?”
He snickers. “I am a man of my word, despite whatever you might think of me. You’ve got a deal.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll even throw in dinner for free.”
I smile in spite of my annoyed feelings for him. “The answer is still no on that.”
“You can’t blame me for trying. Good night, Ms. Lorenzo.”
I hang up and lie back down. Natasha’s going to get a kick out of finding out how right she was about his liking me.
6
ROMAN
“Be careful. Don’t scuff the walls.”
I watch from the far side of the room as the movers bring the couch in. I’ve always thought that Omar’s office was lacking the kind of respect and gravitas that it should have with his being owner. While they work, I notice a thin film on the two-way mirror window overlooking the club below. It makes everything look hazy. I’ll have to have that replaced as well.
I got here early, much earlier than anyone else in the hopes of getting this all done before anyone showed up. This first week, I’ve kept up my part of the bargain, staying out of the way of the basic business practices while Ember ran it the way she has been the last six months. She’s been asking me things about the back end as well, and when I’m here, I show her the dry bones of it all. The timing of property taxes and such. I’m tempted to show her other things. Like, how to keep the cops off your back and how to funnel money back into the coffers of my Bratva.
She’s not ready for that yet. Hopefully, we’ll get there soon.
My guys have been frequent customers, or at least, that’s what Ares tells me. I’ve asked them to watch their behavior. This is a delicate situation. I don’t need them wrecking it.
The movers get the couch all the way through the door and I direct them to set it down in front of the window where the old couch and coffee table were. I’m changing this entire setup. The old couch had fabric with little spots and burn marks in it. It looked like something that Omar might’ve picked up from someone’s curb. This one is made of soft leather. The coffee table I purchased is lacquered glass with a marble base to hold it up. It’s elegant. Pristine. The kind of thing that you would come to expect in an owner’s office.
The movers get the couch situated, then leave to get the coffee table. My phone buzzes as they leave. It’s Sasha.
“Hey, Dad,” she says, “I was wondering if it would be okay if I spent the night at Laura’s house. We’ve got a big exam tomorrow and I want to get some study time in.”
I frown slightly. “You can’t get that time in during the day? Or at the library?”
“Laura’s got cheer practice all week. You know, she could really use it more than me. She’s failing Algebra. Her parents are going to kill her if she doesn’t get her grades up.”
I don’t know why, but it sounds a little fishy. Maybe it’s because I’ve only met Laura’s parents once. They did seem pretty nice, though.
“All right—” I start.
“What the hell is going on? Where are you going with that?”
The voice is coming from down the stairs and I can already tell who’s speaking. Dammit, I wasn’t expecting her to come in this morning. “Listen, honey, I’ve got to go?—”
“So, is that a yes?” Sasha asks.
I hear footsteps stomping up toward the door. Here we go. “Yes, it is. Make sure you text me when you’re at her house, though. All right?”
“Yes, sir. Love you.”
