His lips twist in a cold almost-smile. “The police won’t move against me.”
“The FBI will,” I say, desperate to believe my own words.
“Miss West, your father can’t take me down without incriminating himself as well.” He smirks. “I don’t see him voluntarily destroying his own life, throwing away everything — his family, his company, his fortune — and spending his final days in a federal prison just to take me down. Do you?”
No. No, I do not.
I don’t respond, though I have a feeling my silence is answer enough for him.
“You know it, I know it, Milo knows it. And yet, he won’t pay me. So you see my problem.” He lays his hands flat on the desk. “He’s not an easy man to deal with, your father.”
My throat is too dry to respond so I just nod my head, feeling somewhat dazed.
“Any suggestions for me?” he asks, amused.
I cough to clear my throat. “You could let me go.”
He laughs, at that. A real, genuine laugh.
“You seem like a nice girl, Miss West.” He sits back in his chair. “It’s a shame I’ll have to kill you, if your father doesn’t pay me.”
Frack.
“So, that’s a no on the hair braiding, then?” I ask.
“If I ever had a daughter, I’d have wanted her to be like you,” he says, surprising me. “Brave. Perhaps too reckless, but brave.”
“It’s not too late.” I shrug. “You could do it.”
“So I can suffer the same fate I’ve inflicted on your father?” He shakes his head. “When you have as many enemies as I do, Miss West, you can’t have a family. Any child of mine would be a target from the moment it took its first breath.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it.
Something like surprise flashes in his light blue eyes. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“I’m not exactly in a position to lie.” I shrug. “And yeah. No family, no one to trust… it sounds lonely. I know what that’s like, and I’m sorry for anyone who feels that way. Even if they’re a mobster crime lord who’s killed a zillion people.”
“I haven’t killed a zillion people.” His mouth twitches. “Only a hundred or so. And most of them deserved it.”
A chill zips down my spine at his casual tone.
Great, Phoebe. Just great. Sympathize with the psycho mob boss who readily admits to murder.
“Um,” I say intelligently. “What about the ones who didn’t?”
His eyes get distant. “I try not to think about those.”
“Does it work?”
“Most of the time.”
I stare at him. “I don’t believe you.”
His gaze moves to mine. “Smart girl.”
***
Cormack comes in, calls Mac out into the hallway, and for a while, I’m left in the office alone. I hear the click of the lock turn over, so I know I can’t get out. There’s nothing I can use as a weapon. The desk surface is empty. There’s not even a damn pen. Every drawer is locked tight.
I sigh.
Honestly, being kidnapped is a lot more waiting around than I’d have imagined before all this mafia drama went down — if you’re not waiting to be killed, you’re waiting to be rescued or waiting to get a chance to go to the bathroom… Always waiting. This time is even more boring than the last, but at least I’m not tied to a chair.
It’s the little things.
I run my finger along the pointed edges of the sun necklace Nate gave me as my mind turns over thoughts of him and Parker and Boo. I pray to god they’re all still alive.
If I listen hard, I can almost make out the conversation in the hallway. I creep to my feet and ease toward the door, pressing my ear flat against the wood so I can hear better.
Cormack’s voice is rising with anger, a stark contrast to the measured tones of his boss. Straining, I catch fragments every few seconds.
…West…
…may have flipped on us…
…FBI…
…get you out of here…
…take care of her…