Fifteen minutes later, Nico Valducci strolls in the front door of the restaurant along with two more henchmen. All three of them are dressed in tailored suits, but a quick look tells me they aren’t the same quality Sebastian and I are wearing. Another look tells me that Valducci is even more aware of that fact than I am. Good. As long as he understands where the power really lies in this meeting, things will go fine.
“Gentlemen, welcome,” he tells me, all smiles and effusive charm while the two men with him just stare at us stonily. “Vito, you didn’t get our friends any refreshments?” He addresses the question to the man in the white T-shirt, who just shrugs.
“They didn’t want anything, Mr. Valducci.”
“Nonsense. At least get them some coffee.” He turns back to us. “Unless you’d like something stronger.”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.” Sebastian answers this time and his tone is almost polite.
Nico’s eyes narrow—okay, it was a big almost—but he doesn’t call him on it as he settles himself across the table from us. The two men behind him sit down on either side of him.
Sebastian is eyeing one of the men—he’s the youngest guy in the room and he also happens to look a lot like Valducci himself. His son, I surmise as, internally, I curse luck, fate and the fucking universe. How the hell am I supposed to keep Sebastian cool if the man who nearly beat his woman to death is seated across the table from us? There’s not enough calm in the universe for that.
Not that I’d blame him. It’s been weeks and my hands still bear the last of the bruises from the fight I had with Brandon when I found out what he’d done to Chloe.
Except we can’t afford that right now, not when everything we want to do is riding on this meeting. I catch his eye, give him a very subtle warning look. He nods just as subtly, but his hands are clenched into fists.
Keep your eye on the endgame, I will him silently. I only hope the message is received.
While we’re waiting for the coffee, Valducci keeps up a steady patter of small talk that neither Sebastian nor I are the least bit interested in. But where Sebastian isn’t willing to engage at all at this point, I take one for the team and talk about what shows I’ve seen while in Vegas, what my favorite hotel is, and finally, the weather. Admittedly, I don’t have much to add besides Vegas in August is hot, but no one can say I haven’t at least made an effort to keep up my end of the conversation.
The coffee finally shows up, and I take the offered cup though I have no intention of drinking anything this man gives me. Sebastian, of course, refuses the mug Valducci holds out to him. I grit my teeth and pray that this doesn’t turn into the clusterfuck it has the potential to be.
Valducci doctors his own coffee—cream and sugar—before leaning back in his chair and saying, “So, you wanted this meeting, Sebastian. What can I help you gentlemen with?”
Because I’m suddenly afraid Sebastian is going to tell Nico exactly how he can help us—largely by shoving his head up his own ass—I jump in. “It’s come to my attention that my brother owes you some money.”
I don’t identify Brandon, but then I don’t have to. I don’t think it’s vanity to say that I’m pretty sure half of Valducci’s interest in my brother is his connection to me. The other half is his connection to the United States Congress.
“I’ve given him a pass on those debts. We’re square.”
“As long as he uses his influence as a member of the House of Representatives to help you out from time to time.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Brandon’s father and I go way back. I have no problem doing a favor for the son of a friend.”
“Well, now you’re going to do a favor for the stepson of a friend,” I tell him, pulling my phone out of my suit jacket. “You’re going to tell me how much he owes you. I’m going to add that amount to every penny you and your shell corporations have donated to his campaign. Then I’m going to add thirty percent for your trouble and wire you that amount . You, in turn, are going to take that check.”
“And why exactly am I going to do that?” he asks. He looks amused, but I can see the interest—and the avarice—in his eyes.
“Because it’s in your best interest to do it. It’s financially advantageous and it’s good business to do it. Besides, whatever Brandon can do for you now—or in the future—I can undo a hundredfold. I make a powerful ally but a deadly enemy.”
Valducci stiffens at the implied threat, but he doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he reaches for his coffee. Takes a sip. And studies me for several long seconds. “I thought you had better things to do than to go around cleaning up your little brother’s messes. Empires to run, lives to save, a new wife to fuck. How is Chloe, anyway?”
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to knock his teeth down his throat just for saying her name. Sebastian shifts in his chair, like he’s getting ready to grab me if I do slip the tight leash I’m keeping on myself, but he doesn’t need to worry. There’s no way I’m going to let this prick see that he’s upset me.
“Now it’s twenty-five percent,” I tell him coolly. “Mention my wife’s name again and it will be twenty. She’s not a threat you get to use against me, ever.”
“Or what?” His voice never wavers, his face never changes, but there’s an uneasiness in his eyes that tells me Valducci is taking this meeting very, very seriously.
“Or I will make it my li
fe’s mission to burn you. My brother might be trying to get himself elected to Congress, but I have a lot of friends already there. I have friends in the higher ranks of the FBI, friends in ATF, friends who are investigative journalists. They’re all good enough friends that they’d do me a favor for free if I asked them to. Then again, you get what you pay for and I can pay a lot to get what I want.”
My not-so-veiled threat hangs in the air as I pull up my bank account on my phone. “Now, let’s try this again. Exactly how much does Brandon owe you?”
“Twelve million.”
The number is inflated—according to my PI, it’s more like ten million—but I decide to let the extra two million go. It’s not that big a price to pay, really, if it will get me what I want. Still, I give him a look to let him know that I know he’s lying, even as I arrange for fourteen million dollars to be transferred to the bank account number just scribbled on a napkin.