Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. “You can’t–”
“Benedict! Where have you been? The ceremony’s about to start!” Barbara King–or Babs, as the society column calls her–comes rushing around the corner then stops short when she sees me. One look at her husband, and she realizes things are not right. “Who are you? What's going on?”
I give her a shark tooth grin. “I’m the guy who’s come to kill you, Babs.”
She sways on her feet, color draining from her face.
“Catch her before she faints,” I tell her asswipe husband.
Benedict’s reflexes are slow, but he does manage to grab his wife’s elbow before she topples.
“Benedict,” she sobs. “What’s happening? What did you do?” She searches his face.
He stares back at her, his expression conveying his dismay. His regret. The horror of what’s about to happen. “The money I lost in the Shellingham deal, Babs. It was borrowed.” He glances at me.
Babs turns a slow, terrified gaze on me. “From the mafia?” she croaks.
“That’s right, doll,” I say. “And the Yacht King missed his window to make it right with Don Beretta. So it’s not going to be the happily-ever-after you had planned for your beautiful Dahlia today.”
Just saying the girl’s name makes my upper lip curl with disgust. The girl I shouldn’t have touched all those years ago.
But this is the day I finally get my revenge.
Make the Yacht King and his precious debutante pay.
He doesn’t remember me. Why would he? I was just the guy he pinned as the blue-collar brute in a monkey suit at his daughter’s coming out ball. Probably one of a thousand guys whose lives he’s ruined.
“Wait! Isn’t there anything we can do?” Babs begs. “The yachts? Benedict, give him the inventory! It must be worth a fortune!”
I fold my arms across my chest to show I’m listening. I didn’t actually come here to kill them, not that I won’t if I have to. But dead bodies don’t make the don rich, so I’m really here to take everything the Yacht King owns.
Including his prize daughter.
Except she’s not for the don.
She’s for me.
Benedict darts a nervous look at his wife. “Y-yes. I can give you the inventory. Forty-five yachts in various stages of build.”
Forty-five yachts that have all been purchased already. The once-wealthy ship-builder is up to his ears in debt. But sure, the don would take the inventory and leave Benedict to answer to his other creditors.
That’s what he sent me here to do.
I want more, though.
I didn’t come here for a piece of his pie.
I came to take his whole world.
To demolish this worm of a man.
The don won’t be happy, but I’ll fix that later. I will run the business for him and give him the proceeds. Make him rich with a legitimate business. Besides, once I explain to him the significant advantages to having our own sea vessels out on the water for smuggling arms and other contraband, he will crown me Prince of the Beretta family.
I say nothing.
“Take the houses. The cars! Anything!” Babs begs. “Please, just tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”
Ah. That’s exactly the opening I was looking for.
“I’ll take the business. King Yacht Company.”
Benedict looks like he’s going to be sick, but his wife exclaims, “Yes!” almost before the words are out of my mouth. I take a sheaf of folded papers from the inner pocket of my tuxedo jacket.
“Sign over everything you own to me,” I command.
“Do it!” Babs exclaims.
“Fine. Give me a pen,” Benedict snaps.
I wait until he’s signed every line before I deliver the final blow. “This almost takes care of your debt.”
Babs goes bug-eyed. “What else do you want?” Her voice is practically a screech.
“I’ll take your daughter.”
That statement makes them both freeze. They stare at me with obvious horror.
“Wh-what do-oo you mean our daughter?” Babs’ chin wobbles.
I spread my hands. “You planned a wedding. The event of the season. We’ll make it official. Your daughter marries me today to seal the deal. That way, it will all make sense. The business was turned over to your new son-in-law.”
“No!” Babs is horrified.
Benedict staggers to the right and clutches at his chest.
“I’ll keep her safe so long as you maintain your end of the bargain.”
Now Benedict understands me. There will be no going to the police. No trying to reverse this deal. No using his connections with Senator Reese or his limp-dick mayor son to bring down the Beretta crime family.
No, he must marry into La Famiglia if he wants to live and if he wants me to treat his daughter like the shining pearl he and Babs believe the spoiled socialite to be.
He gives a jerky nod. “Okay.”
“What?” Babs crumples, her knees giving way again. Her husband has to hold her up. “You can’t,” she croaks. “Benedict…the wedding.”
“My wedding,” I say. “My wedding to the girl you once told me I wasn’t worthy of. Not even to lick the shit off her designer heels.” I lift my brows at Benedict. I envisioned this moment every day I was in prison on trumped-up charges put there by this man. “Do you remember that?”