September 11, 1944
Angelo has connections everywhere. Many professionals are on his payroll, including the police force, politicians, and more CEOs than I can count.
One of those people is a powerful banker, Lenny Giordani.
He’s currently staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. If I weren’t a composed man, I’d smash my fist into his face hard enough for the design of my ring to imprint on the inside of his cheek.
“Let me get this right: You want to pay off the remainder of John Parsons’s mortgage? Do you realize how much money that is?” Lenny asks, staring at me incredulously.
“What gave you the impression I was an idiot?” I growl.
“Four thousand dollars, Ronaldo,” he repeats for the third time.
“I’m half-blind, Lenny, not half-deaf,” I snap, growing impatient.
Angelo pays me more than enough to cover the cost, and Lenny knows that. It’s not a matter of being able to afford it; it’s a matter of why I’d spend that type of money on someone like John.
Lenny finally takes the hint and drops his gaze to the check lying on his desk already written out for the remaining amount owed on Parsons Manor. “You must really love this house,” he mutters.
Only the one who inhabits it.
I keep that dangerous thought to myself. I know better than to reveal my weakness. It’s bad enough Paulie knows, and I dread the day Angelo finds out.
The fewer people who know about Genevieve, the better. It’s safer. For both of us.
Sighing, Lenny picks up the check and shakes his head.
“All right, I’ll get it squared away.”
“Thank you,” I clip, standing from the chair seated in front of his desk. Then I toss a few bills onto the cherrywood, covering my fee for his services.
Without a backward glance, I leave his office, feeling a small weight lift from my shoulders. Parsons Manor is paid off, and I’ve already settled John’s past-due balances on the utility bills he neglected to pay.
As far as legitimate companies are concerned, he’s paid up.
As far as I’m concerned, he owes me now.
And it’s his wife I intend to collect.
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