Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“I hate to say it,” Armando said, “but I’m going to be too full for brunch after this.”
“I’m going to be too drunk,” Dante muttered, as he topped off our glasses.
Bunny returned a few moments later. His usual smile was replaced with a worried expression, and he said, “Someone wants to speak to you, Sal.”
He stepped aside, and a distinguished-looking man in a three-piece suit entered the kitchen. He was probably in his late thirties, with slicked back hair and a tidy mustache, and he was followed by two huge men dressed in black. My first thought was that they must be this man’s bodyguards. My second was that something was very wrong with whatever was happening here.
“Ah, Mr. di Pietro, here you are,” he said with a smile. He had a refined British accent, the kind that made everything he said seem smooth and civilized. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Cavendish.”
I stood up and asked, “Do I know you?”
“No, we’ve never had the pleasure. However, I believe you’re familiar with my employer, Philip Ashcroft.”
That name felt like a punch to the gut. I stepped around Armando’s barstool, putting myself between him and this man.
It took Dante a moment to register what was happening, maybe because he’d had a lot to drink. He leapt to his feet, knocking over his barstool, which hit the floor with a clatter. At that, the men in black pulled two handguns apiece from inside their jackets and pointed them at Dante and me.
Armando’s breath caught, and I reached back to try to reassure him. Meanwhile, Bunny threw his arms around Nana and moved her off to the side, putting himself between her and the men while she yelled, “What the fuck is going on? Who are those dickheads with guns in my kitchen?”
Cavendish raised his hands in a placating gesture and said, “Now, now. Let’s all take a breath, shall we? There’s no need to get ourselves worked up.”
“How did you find me?” My voice sounded like gravel.
The man smiled. “We got your name from your uncle, Flavio Bianchi. Just FYI, he’s not a very good person. He threw you under the bus minutes after we found him, in an effort to save himself. We traced you to New York, but then you pulled an impressive disappearing act. We might not have found you if Mr. Dombruso here hadn’t started poking around and asking questions about my employer. Once we looked into him and found out you were related, we put this house and his under surveillance, figuring you’d show up eventually. And voila, here you are.”
“Did you kill my uncle?”
He was still smiling, his tone light and conversational, as if we were old friends. “No, of course not. What would that accomplish? Instead, we punished him by taking away the only thing that mattered to him—his money. After we drained his bank accounts, we cut him loose. He’s probably out there trying to find a new scam as we speak. If he’s successful and actually rebuilds his fortune, that too will be confiscated.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed they’d let him live, but I had more urgent concerns. “What do you want from me?”
“Mr. Ashcroft has a business proposition for you. I’ll be happy to tell you all about it once we arrive at the airport.”
Before I could respond, Nana shrieked, “He’s not going anywhere with you, you fucking low rent Bond villain wannabe!” She grabbed a vegetable peeler and tried to lunge at Cavendish, which caused two of the guns to swivel in her direction. Fortunately, Bunny had a strong hold on her. He picked her up and moved her farther away while she kicked and fought and cussed a blue streak.
I had to get these men out of here before they hurt someone, so I said, “Okay. Let’s go,” and started to head for the door.
But then, to my absolute horror, Cavendish turned to Armando and said, “You’re coming too, mate.”
Fear shot down my spine as I growled, “He’s not a part of this!”
“But he is, Mr. di Pietro. He’s what’s known as leverage, in case you start to feel uncooperative.” I wanted to punch the smile off Cavendish’s face.
When I glanced at Armando his eyes were huge and he was frozen in place, like a mouse that was trying to avoid a bird of prey. I turned back to Cavendish and tried to lie. “He’s no one to me. I barely know him.”
Cavendish sighed and pulled a phone from his jacket pocket. “We both know that’s not true, Mr. di Pietro.” He tapped the screen a couple of times before turning it toward me. A video of Armando and myself was playing, which sent a shiver down my spine. It had been taken maybe half an hour ago, when we were hugging and kissing out on the sidewalk.