Miffed that he had to retrieve his own glass, Carlo rose from the chair and headed into the small kitchen. He could not locate any shot glasses but did find two tumblers in the cupboard.
“Don’t suppose you got a lime?” he shouted. Preparing to open the fridge, he noticed a written note stuck to the door with a magnet. His eyes narrowed with curiosity, then he inhaled sharply.
He glanced behind him at Grant, who thankfully was still riveted by the pictures cradled in his hands. Who the hell was Bonnie? He thought her name was Sophie. Setting his jaw with resolve, Carlo determined to look into this. He lifted the magnet and removed the paper, quietly folding it and sneaking it into the pocket of his black pants.
Confidently striding back to the seating area, Carlo set the glasses on the coffee table and opened the bottle, pouring a sizeable amount of tequila into each tumbler.
“Salute!” he announced, holding the glass aloft and inviting Grant to do the same.
Grant put down the photographs and grasped his own tumbler, halfheartedly raising the glass and meeting Carlo’s intense black eyes. “Salute,” he listlessly replied.
“To our brother who was taken from us much too young.” Carlo shook his head, feigning heartfelt grief. “May he find peace in heaven. Cent’anni!”
May you live one hundred years. Grant frowned. Why would anyone want to live one hundred years of this miserable existence? Perhaps if he still had Sophie in his life … He brought the glass to his lips and sipped, feeling fire slide down his throat.
Carlo had knocked back the entire glass. With disdain, he eyed the substantial amount of liquor still present in his cousin’s glass and decided to get down to business. He couldn’t stand to be around this vanilla angel any longer than he had to—Grant might rub off on him or something.
Noticing the fading bruise on Grant’s cheekbone, Carlo inquired, “How’d you get that shiner?”
Grant gazed at the glass in his hand. “The man we just toasted. He and I got in a fight before he died.”
Carlo whistled through his teeth. “That must not have looked too good when the cops showed up to question you.”
“Yeah. Fortunately I’d been to my PO’s that morning, so I had an alibi.”
“Lucky,” Carlo responded, his smile of relief not quite genuine. “I was at my dad’s club,” he quickly added. “So I have an alibi too.”
Grant glanced at him curiously. Why was Carlo volunteering that information?
“Speaking of my parole officer …” Grant suddenly sat up, coming to his senses. “You should go. I can’t associate with known criminals or I’ll be in violation of my parole.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving yet. We got some business to discuss.”
“What kind of business?”
“I’m here to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” Carlo’s black eyes glistened with delight.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“We need you, Grant. The family needs you in the business. Whatever rift you had with your brother will no longer prevent you from taking your rightful place. Logan lost us a lot of money, and it’s your turn to help us get it back.”
“I can’t believe you’re asking this on the day I buried my brother.”
Sneering, Carlo pulled back the lapel of his suit-jacket to reveal a gun in a holster. “This ain’t a request, cugino.”
Grant’s eyes widened, never leaving Carlo’s. “I—I—I’m on parole … for a crime you made me commit.” His voice became stronger. “There’s no way in hell I’m pulling another job for you.” He looked down and scoffed, “Threaten me with whatever you want.”
Carlo gave him a saccharine grin. “Who’s Sophie, Grant?” Suddenly he had his cousin’s attention. “Sophie Taylor?” Carlo tilted his head to the side with feigned na?veté. “The girl who hugged you this afternoon?”
Grant’s heart was pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear himself think. His Bonnie! Carlo knew about his Bonnie! “She’s—she’s nobody. Just a friend of Joe’s—”
“Save your lies for someone less intelligent,” Carlo interrupted. “I know who she is. She’s that shrink who got the cops chasing after Lo. She’s the whore who seduced both brothers. How sweet. So, Lo was banging her too, huh?”
Grant’s eyes flared, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d lunged for his cousin. Carlo was ready for him. Despite his smaller stature, Carlo swiftly dominated, whipping out his weapon and somehow spinning and twisting Grant’s arm around his back. In less than two seconds, he held the weapon flush against the taller man’s temple. A dead quiet spread through the apartment—the only sound their panting.
Grant felt his cousin’s hot breath on his neck. “That bitch turned over a lot of money to the fucking cops,” Carlo hissed. “Our money. And we want it back.”
Grant closed his eyes, feeling the cool metal on his skin.
“But I promise I won’t go after her, if you work for us. You choose, Grant. You choose if she lives or dies.”
It wasn’t a choice at all. Grant had no choice.
“What will it be, cugino?” Carlo prompted, twisting Grant’s arm tighter.
Grant wondered if he was going to throw up. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you and Angelo want. Just please don’t hurt Sophie.”
A satisfied smile spread across Carlo’s face. “That’s what I want to hear. It would be a pity to kill such a beautiful chick.” He released his hold on Grant, and the younger man immediately broke away. But he could not escape the cloyingly sweet scent of Carlo’s aftershave. It was as if his cousin had infiltrated his every pore, seeping into his system, infecting him, owning him, and Grant had the strong urge to take a shower.
Carlo carefully replaced his gun. “You be at the compound by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Grant. We’ll discuss your career opportunities then.”
Grant nodded. If he had to show up at Angelo’s, at least the feds might catch him violating parole again, landing him back in prison and far away from Carlo. But then, gripped by despair, Grant remembered his father awaited him back in Gurnee. And if he was in prison, he couldn’t protect Sophie. Wherever he went, he was trapped by his destructive family. Hopelessness washed over him.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Carlo’s fingertips brushed the folded paper with the address for Bonnie, surely a nickname for this Taylor girl.
“I gotta go,” Carlo announced, not sure if Grant was listening. “I got people to talk to, to um, consult with.”
When Grant finally glanced up, Carlo added, “See you tomorrow, cuz. Don’t be late.”
With that last instruction, Carlo disappeared, letting himself out.
Grant crumpled on the sofa, holding his head. Sophie! Should he warn her? She would be safe with her father’s protection. But what if she returned to live with Kirsten?
He closed his eyes, remembering her soft lips brushing over his eyelids. His Sophie. She was gone to him forever. He would never put her in that kind of danger again. She was much too precious.