But if anything could be a reminder of what I need to be doing right now, it’s the bullet holes I see in that car. I can’t be here.
I cast one yearning look across the road. His head jerks up, and suddenly he’s aiming narrowed eyes in my direction.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
I duck my head, too afraid to move away suddenly in case it calls attention to me. I sink my hands into my jacket pockets and focus on the paving of the sidewalk.
Please don’t see me…please…
Chapter 6
Mateo Ricci
Standing at the entrance to Raoul’s apartment building, it takes me a moment to gather my wits. Sixty stories high, glass and chrome, it’s a monolith. And it belongs the just one man.
Fuck. The kid has done more than well for himself.
I’ve always known that Caraldi money was not to be sneezed at. But this… This is billionaire bullshit.
As the men rush to encircle me, I pause for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed by a strange feeling of being watched.
I look around and see nothing more than a couple of stray pedestrians. There’s not a lot in this area, aside from a few upmarket boutiques, some cafes, and a tech shop or two. Things that make the world go round for the idle rich. I shrug off the prickling sensation that has the tiny hairs standing on the back of my neck.
Pull yourself together, Ricci!
Though who could blame me for being paranoid? The bullet-pocked Karlmann is a testament to the reality of the threat against me. Dozens of indentations mar the black surface of its paintwork. The side window where I’d been sitting is a web of shattered glass. There are actually slugs embedded in the three-inch panel that had been the only shield between me and certain death.
“Mr. Ricci?” one of the bodyguards from the building says quietly. I look back at him, shaking the feeling away, and let them guide me into the building.
Five minutes later, I’m buzzed through several security checks to reach Raoul’s penthouse; the place is a mess. There are glasses everywhere. Empty bottles and discarded clothing are strewn about the floor. I see the man himself, lounging in a hot tub out on a balcony beyond vast glass doors that overlook Manhattan. He’s smoking a cigar and drinking Hennessey straight out of the bottle.
Well, at least he hasn’t let all the power go to his head.
“Hey, geezer!” he calls me, waving a wet hand. “Come on in. Water’s fine.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass,” I mutter. There’s a half-naked blonde at a bar that extends the length of the balcony I’ve made my way out to. Aside from the bar area, there’s a deck that appears to be a dancefloor, surrounded by giant couches and tables. He’s turned the rooftop area into some sort of adult playground.
Why am I not surprised?
I pull a seat up to the side of the tub and flop into it. The blonde sashays past and picks her way up the wet stairs before sinking into the bubbling water, holding a glass and a full bottle of Crystal. No amount of money on earth would coax me into that damn tub. I’d get pregnant. Or the clap.
Raoul has the cigar between his teeth, oblivious to the woman pressed against his side. I keep my eyes on his, avoiding the fact that her tits are bobbing above water level.
“Little early for it, isn’t it?” I say, eyeing the bottle. He glances down at it and shrugs…
“Not early if you been partying through the night.” He takes another pull. “I hear you fucked up Dario’s car.” White teeth flash, and I roll my eyes at him. “I bet he’s gonna be pissed.”
As if in answer to his name, Dario’s voice rings out from within the apartment.
“Raoul, quit fucking around and get your head in the game.” He steps onto the patio, dressed in tailored black suit pants and a crisp white dress shirt. The two couldn’t appear more different if they tried. “Jesus. If Nikki saw any of this crap, she’d lose her shit.”
“What for, you big pussy? You walked out the moment the girls arrived.”
“That’s because I’m about to get married, you ass! I wasn’t going to hang around this sin bin when you had naked bimbos falling around all over the place,” Dario shoots back. “Pardon me, ma’am,” he says to the blonde with a level of politeness that almost has me doing a doubletake.
“I still think you’re a pussy. Much like your brother over here.”
“Screw you, Raoul. Dario’s right. Quit fucking around.” I’m supposed to be here to discuss our next steps. I’m starting to reconsider my newfound respect for the asshole.
