Pay Off: Accidental Marriage Mafia Romance (The Ferrari Family Book 5) Page 4

  I scowled at the woman, who still did not look at me. I suppose if anyone had experience handling rich assholes like myself, it was someone working at a five-star hotel and casino in Las Vegas, but fuck. I stepped to the side and pulled out my phone, scrolling through my options.

  The first name that popped up was my uncle, Gio Nimico. A friendly, if not boisterous and ruthless man, I knew full well that he had some ties to organized crime that “officially” did not exist. Gio never boasted about it, but when I confronted him one day with my suspicions at sixteen years old, he pulled me to the side and told me what the deal was—as much as he could, at least. I understood both that it was my place to only know what I needed to know and that what I needed to know was if I ever needed my ass saved in a situation, Uncle Gio could pull some strings.

  The only time I could ever recall him failing was with the death of my father, his brother. And even that had not been a total loss. He always said there’d be a time and place for him to exact his revenge.

  But pissed as I was at Megan, I didn’t need a criminal incident on my hands. She wasn’t violent or dangerous, just fucking stupid and an annoying thorn in my side. I needed her less to have her ass kicked and more to have her ass woken up about what needed to be done.

  I called my lawyer.

  “Brad, how can I help you?”

  The lawyer, named Nick Ricci, was about Uncle Gio’s age, maybe a little bit younger, and worked just outside of Summerlin, a wealthy suburb of Las Vegas. Nick was a guy who had absolutely no room in his life for pleasantries, and I respected the shit out of that. If I called, it wasn’t to ask him if he wanted his In-n-Out fries animal style or not.

  Nick was also someone who had worked with us for so long, he might as well have been family. Though he was prone to sometimes jumping the gun, he always did so with our best interests in mind. Rarely did he go wrong, and when he did, it was rarely so far out that we got upset.

  “I’ve got a fucking problem,” I said. “I got married last night. Drunk and stupid mistake.”

  “Do you have the woman with you?”

  “No.”

  “Shit. Do you know where she is?”

  If I did, I wouldn’t be fucking calling you.

  “Somewhere in the hotel. I think she’s just having a freak-out moment. I don’t think she’s run off.”

  “Get her back with you. That will make things a million times easier. Once that’s done, or the evening has passed with no contact, give me a call.”

  “Got it; thanks, Nick.”

  I hung up. I stared at my phone for a few seconds with a hint of pride. No one fucked with the Nimicos.

  And yet, Megan had with me, and she was seemingly getting away with it. Granted, I was sure in some fucked up way she meant no harm, but it wasn’t exactly like she’d meant to order me vanilla and gotten me chocolate instead. She’d fucking married me.

  I called Megan again. Again, I got no response. I was starting to reconsider if a little Nimico family pressure wouldn’t work best. Not all shakedowns had to end with a body in the trunk of a black car, after all. Some just needed to come to their senses.

  But I was in my fucking thirties, not some teenager who’d been ripped off by a shady car salesman. I needed to handle this myself if I could. I—

  My phone rang.

  But it was not Megan. It was not Nick. It was not even Uncle Gio.

  It was my mother.

  Bad timing, Mom. I answered anyway.

  “What do you need, Mom?”

  “Brad? Are you still in Las Vegas?”

  The tone in her voice had me a bit on edge. I recognized it from far too many occasions—it was the tone she took when she wanted to butter me up but not make it sound obvious. Although I loved my mom, there was always an edge to her that felt like she constantly had to prove things or suck up to me. I had never figured out why, and to some extent, it didn’t really matter.

  Or, more like, you don’t want to find out why.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I…I’m a little short on cash. I was hoping you could swing by the house and drop off some money.”

  Short on cash? This hasn’t happened before.

  Well, then again, she has been saying odd things about how money has become unexpectedly tight recently.

  “Why do you need cash?”

  I could hear her gulping on the other end of the line.

  “I can’t really go into it right now, Brad, but I just need some money to get me through the next little bit.”

  “What the hell?” I said. “Are you in danger?”

  “No, no, heavens no, I am fine, it’s just…I’ve got something that will be sorted out and taken care of soon. I just need some cash to float me in the interim.”

  I knew my mother didn’t have any expensive vices, aside from the occasional indulgence in a steakhouse dinner or a nice dress. She didn’t drink much, she didn’t do drugs, and her luxury indulgences were on dresses worth several hundred dollars, not cars worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. But that didn’t mean that what she said didn’t raise a whole lot of alarm bells.

  “Mom, you need to tell me what the hell is going on,” I said. “Why do you need cash right now? And what is going on? What will be taken care of soon?”

  “I…look, Uncle Gio is taking care of it.”

  Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  If Uncle Gio was taking care of it, as much as I cared for and liked my uncle, that meant the odds that my mom was involved in some sketchy shit had shot through the roof tenfold. This was no longer a concern about my mom’s financial situation. it was now a concern about her life situation in general.

  “You’re really not going to tell me more, are you, Mom?”

  “I can’t, I’m sorry,” she said. “But I promise no one’s life is in danger, no one is being threatened, and it will be taken care of shortly. I’m just dealing with a little mess in the short term.”

  “That’s a hell of a thing to say considering Uncle Gio is involved.”

  My mother sighed.

  “I know, I know, sweetie. Just trust me on this, OK?”

  I thought about it for a second. I really, really did not feel good about this. It didn’t help matters at all that I had my rational side of me fucked over by what was still going on.

  But it was my mother.

  “OK, I—”

  My phone dinged to alert me I had another call.

  It was Megan. She was finally calling me back.

  “I’ll help you get the money, Mom, I promise,” I said before I hung up on her as she asked for me to get it to her as soon as possible.

  I was going to get my mother the money. That wasn’t an issue. I had too much of it, and on top of that, I’d already been serving as the family breadwinner for several years now. I fucking hated that that was my role—and I was convinced it was a big reason why she and I didn’t get along as well as we could—but I’d get it to her.

  Still, for Uncle Gio to be involved was a bad fucking sign. It told me that my mother was hiding something. And as much as I’d ripped on my mother before about not sharing the truth with me, I knew that the more I did that, the less inclined she was. Sometimes, the audacity of my words did not work in my favor.

  I looked down at my phone. The call from Megan had ended, but I called her right back. I was going to break a nearby slot machine if she didn’t answer my callback.

  “Brad.”

  She answered without warmth in her voice. In fact, I dared to say she sounded too relaxed, too confident in her voice, like what had happened last night was no big deal.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  I scoffed. How the hell could I not worry about where my fucking wife was?

  “Let’s meet now. I want to propose something to you.”

  Well, this was going to be just fucking great.

  At least she couldn’t commit me to anything.

  It was
n’t like there was anything worse than getting drunkenly married.

  That was, I sure fucking hoped.

  Chapter 6: Megan

  “You want to meet now,” Brad said dryly, “after the way that you just up and left me at breakfast? What, do you suddenly want us to be happily ever after now? You want us to have that Disney ending?”

  “I—Brad, calm down.”

  Sure, a part of me wanted to believe there was that kind of hope at the end of the rope. But more than that, I saw an opportunity for us to take a first step that could mutually benefit us. There was no reason to think about what would happen in five decades when we didn’t even know what the next five days would look like.

  But I’d be lying if I said that that wasn’t a factor for me.

  “Let’s meet and discuss in person.”

  “Come to my room.”

  “Where—"

  “Room 2215, at the Wynn. If you need help getting up, call me.”

  He hung up without saying another word. I stared at my phone. We’re fighting already. How appropriate.

  I walked through the Encore and the Wynn, ignoring the casinos rousing to life chip by chip, drink by drink. I made it to the elevators that led to the top floor. Though normally patrolled and guarded, perhaps because it was not even eleven a.m. yet, the casino only had one person, and they looked straight ahead, nothing more than security theatre. I got on the elevator, made a joke about how I drunkenly left my key card somewhere, and had someone nice enough press floor twenty-two for me.

  When the doors opened, I took a step off and followed the arrows for room 2215. I got to the front door, raised my hand, and hesitated for a moment. Looking at Brad could make me feel a certain way. I had to do everything that I could to combat that feeling, lest I lose the whole reason for walking up there in the first place.

  I knocked. I could hear Brad’s angry footsteps. I took a breath.

  And when he opened the door, he was clothed. I supposed that was a good thing. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to have had something with him sober. So I don’t feel totally ridiculous.

  But even with him wearing the same clothing that he had to breakfast, he still looked ferocious. Hungry. Angry—but the kind of anger that would compel him into action. Those eyes were the eyes I had fallen for the first time I’d ever seen him, and I always imagined that him invigorated would be so hot and—

  Hey, focus.

  “You came,” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “I told you I had a proposal to make. I wasn’t joking.”

  “Well, here’s hoping you aren’t,” he said. “This better be fucking good.”

  He led me to a chair at the far end of the room. I sat down. He sat at the edge of the bed, his hands folded, his torso hunched forward. I sighed.

  “OK, so, you own Nimico Waste Services in New York City, right?”

  “What is this, a biography?”

  “Just hear me out, please.”

  Brad leaned back, looked around like he was about to stand up in disgust, but then finally turned his attention back to me.

  “And you know that my father owns Adams Waste.”

  “My biggest competitor in the area; how can I not know that?” he said.

  He never let it emerge in full, but I swore I could see a sly grin almost forming on his face. If I were generous, it was because he could see where this was going and was warming up to it. If I were honest, it was because it was a power play to fuck the daughter of your biggest rival, and he wasn’t afraid to gloat about it.

  “Well, perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but since we’re married, there should be no secrets, right?” I said with a chuckle he did not reply to in kind. “My father has a deal with me to become CEO someday.”

  “Gotta love nepotism.”

  I did my best to ignore that remark. I wanted to believe Brad said it ironically, seeing as how he had inherited his company, but he could have just as easily been saying it viciously.

  “But, it’s conditional. Either he dies, or I get married. And while he’s an old man, he’s not in a hospital bed wasting away. So that leaves the second option.”

  Brad laughed. It was not a sincere laugh.

  “So I’m a glorified vessel for you to become CEO of your dad’s company,” Brad said. “Wonderful. Congratulations. You have the same title as me. There’s just one problem. What the fuck is in it for me?”

  It was hard to describe how you felt when, in the same breath, you were both annoyed at Brad’s attitude and turned on by how little he gave a fuck about how he sounded or seemed.

  “I’ll get to that if you let me.”

  Brad didn’t change expression. I supposed no reaction from him at this point was as close as I would get to a positive reaction.

  “The two of us have no real reason to compete like this. I know you have approached my father about a sale or a merger, and each time, he waves you off.”

  “That’s putting it politely.”

  “Right. If we’re married, and I become CEO, then I would be much more open to that. We could combine operations, explode financially, and run NYC.”

  Brad’s look suggested he was processing what I was saying a little more seriously.

  “You’re speaking my language a little bit better,” he said. “But you mean to tell me that there is no way that you can do this without having a rock on your finger?”

  “What I have with my father is ironclad, and I mean that. He’s got a legal contract.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, standing up and putting his hands on his head. “And I thought my family had some fucked-up shit going on.”

  He never elaborated when he brought up his family, but he’d also never outright denied that there were some strange things going on. I think he liked keeping people off-balance as to what, exactly, was happening.

  “You’re sure that there’s no way that you can do this without that stupid rock on your finger?” he said.

  “There’s no way, Brad,” I said with no enjoyment. “And my father has rules built into the contract. If we divorce while he’s alive, he’ll get my shares and control back.”

  Brad arched an eyebrow, chuckled, and smirked.

  “How the hell is that even legal?” he said. “That is probably the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

  “I don’t know, Brad, and even if it is illegal, he can still tie me up in court for a while, which will be its own expense, and he’ll make my life hell. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want my life to be hell with my parents.”

  That softened him, just a touch. Although Brad and I hadn’t exactly exchanged biographies, I knew he was close with his mother and that his father had died some time ago. I also knew that Brad never said anything beyond that, and he very much preferred to keep it that way.

  “And to be frank, Brad, I don’t want my life to be hell with you. Have you forgotten that we have had something for quite some time? Don’t you want to try this just for us?”

  For a very real moment, I saw something in his eyes. The ferocious business beast, the competitive asshole, the man who demanded he get his way, faded for a moment, replaced by eyes that yearned for something sweet. Those eyes looked to have been hidden for quite some time, and for them to finally break free was like an animal trapped in a zoo sensing freedom for the first time.

  For about half a second, I had a flickering feeling that I might have tapped into something genuine that would make legal or business or practical matters irrelevant, regardless of how they turned out.

  And then the rest of time took over, Brad’s gaze faded, and the ruthless man returned.

  “There is no fucking way,” Brad said. “Just because we had fun together doesn’t mean I’m going to keep this ring. You think I make vows of marriage to every whore I sleep with?”

  “Brad!”

  “We are getting this annulled; that is final.”

  “Brad, don’t you dare call me one of your whores!”


  He stood up and snorted.

  “You are not one of my whores,” he said. “But we are getting this taken care of, and I am not talking about this anymore.”

  No, no, I’m not. We spent years dancing around each other and wondering if we were ever going to make a move, ever going to try and do something. You can’t just quit on me like this!

  “Brad, come on,” I said. “I know you didn’t want to get married. I didn’t either. But now that we’re here, we might as well make the most of it. There’s the business side, yes, but there’s also—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Brad snapped.

  I’d seen him angry before. But this was different. Just as the half-second before had shown his angelic side, this half-second showed me a dark side—and I didn’t mean the kind of guy that would do anything to win.

  I meant the kind of guy that would do anything, anything, to get rid of a problem. And the two were very different and very terrifying.

  “Don’t you fucking dare push me like this, Megan,” he said. “I will do what I have to do.”

  I gulped. I was sure Brad noticed. I was also sure that he did not care—or if he did, he cared that I got the hint.

  “What does that mean?”

  Brad seemed to catch himself because his gaze softened—albeit just from that of a stone-cold monster to that of an angry man. But he did not respond, instead walking out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him, giving no further indication of what he was going to do.

  And in the absence of evidence, with the lack of clarity as to what might happen, I was left to assume the worst.

  And with Brad Nimico’s last name and family, the worst was unspeakable.

  Chapter 7: Brad

  I don’t know why the fuck I said that. Get your shit together, Brad.

  I stormed out of the hotel room, a thousand angry thoughts screaming through my head, nine hundred of which were directed at myself. I ignored the housekeeping staff and the other guests nodding to me. The former I felt a little bit bad about not responding to, but the latter could go fuck off. “Haha, Vegas, huh?” I wanted to smack the shit out of them.