He’s not even all that massive, not nearly as tall or broad as Flint. Or as handsome.
Though I’m sure he thinks he is. He’s vain and arrogant. His trim frame and neatly pressed clothes say appearance means a lot to him. The black slacks and white shirt are expensive, too, and so are those ridiculous glittering chains around his neck.
It’s like he’s a flashback to some bad eighties film.
God. I never thought I’d die by a freaking trope.
Letting out another disgusting laugh, Cornaro straightens, taking a few steps away from us.
I turn to Ray. My stomach revolts at the red circle on his forehead. It’s already blistering.
He’s so battered, so beaten, he’s hardly recognizable. I squeeze his hand.
He shakes his head. There’s true sorrow in his eyes, the same message over and over bleeding out of him.
I’m sorry, Val.
“If you know what’s good for you, Ms. Gerard, you’ll be kind to this freak.” His eyes grow dark as he spits back what I called him. “If you want a chance to say goodbye to your boyfriend one last time.” With a dark chortle, he adds, “And your dear family.”
Clamping my back teeth together, I will myself not to react. Not visibly.
On the inside, I’m shaking, crying, falling to pieces.
“Did your brother ever tell you what happened?” he asks. “Why he’s left me no choice but this nasty scorched earth approach?”
I don’t move a muscle.
“She doesn’t know anything,” Ray snarls. “Leave her the fuck alone. It’s me you want.”
I swallow a sob, horrified at how Ray, weak and hurt, keeps trying to protect me.
“Bah, I’ve had you for ages, you little worm,” Cornaro says. “Had you in my pocket for years. Just like Stanley. I paid him well to let me transport my cargo on his fleet, but after one missing ship blown to pieces by a competitor and that one little incident in Bali, he got wind that perhaps all of my dealings weren’t kosher. He thought he’d pull out of our partnership.”
Partnership? He couldn’t be the man my father partnered with. That’s impossible.
Cornaro’s glare falls on Ray again. “Dear old dad, however, wasn’t as stupid as his worming son. Stanley knew the art of compromise and knew how to talk to me, man to man.”
I lean forward, trying to put myself between the mob boss and my brother.
Ray can’t take much more punishment.
“Your father knew the pecking order and who wired money to his Swiss bank account.” Cornaro stabs a thumb at his chest, leaving no doubt. “And he didn’t piss all over himself like an infant when a few ships were lost in my little high seas trade war with the boys from Hong Kong. I paid you every dime in damages on top of the insurance you cashed in, and you still cried like a little baby, Rayman. You wouldn’t shut up about your boys and girls lost on those ships, saying they deserved better.”
Ray doesn’t flinch, even as Cornaro snarls, leering down.
“You were never in charge,” Ray says. “Never.”
“Really, now? Is that why I sacrificed a dozen men from my crew protecting your run-down offices? Do you even realize how fast the Black Dragons would’ve garroted your throat and watched you bleed out in your own office with impunity if I hadn’t stepped in to save your ingrate skin?” His lip peels back. “And you still had the nerve to run your mouth, going on and on about those stupid fucking ships.”
“I wanted out, shithead,” Ray growls. “Just wanted to walk away.”
“Of course. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Cornaro says. “Stanley was making noise about getting out again, too, before his end.”
“I wish he’d done it. Turned you in. You’d have seen who was in control then, Captain Hook.” Ray glares, but it’s too much.
He starts coughing into his hand, and when he sinks back, there’s a smear of blood in his palm.
“Are you quite done? How do you think your father died, little man?” Cornaro turns his back, blowing a long trail of smoke to the floor.
My chest nearly convulses.
A painful memory strikes.
“A heart attack.” I pinch my lips together, wishing I hadn’t said that out loud.
Cornaro laughs. “Very good, Ms. Gerard. A massive coronary, at his desk, in his posh office at King Heron Fishing. Roughly thirty seconds after he’d had a nip off the bottle of scotch I’d personally delivered to him, and a letter thanking him for his service, offering him a way out. He took it.”
“Liar!” I snap. “If he’d been poisoned…the autopsy would’ve shown it.”
He walks over leisurely, then grinds out his cigar in the ashtray on the glass table in front of the sofa. “Hardly, my sweet summer child. Coroners are like anybody else. A little grease for the wheels, and they’ll say anything.”
I have a sick sense he’s telling the truth. It’s hard holding back the tears.