“Better?”
Damon was reading me. He always did have a knack for that.
“Yeah.” I stood, pushed the chair out. “Let’s go do this thing.”
He nodded and rose to his feet, tossed a few bills on the table, and we walked out. Eric waited just outside the building. Once inside, we bypassed the young blonde receptionist and headed toward the large marble staircase.
“Sir, you can’t go—”
I ignored her. We both did. I knew she’d call up to Moriarty anyway.
On the third floor, we were greeted by two men in suits standing outside the large double doors that led to Moriarty’s office.
Damon put his hand on my arm as we approached. Moriarty’s private secretary cleared her throat.
“Don’t let him get to you. He’s going to do whatever he can to get under your skin. Don’t let him, no matter what you hear, understand?”
I thought what he said sounded strange, and I would have questioned it, but the secretary spoke then.
“Mr. Moriarty is expecting you. You can go in.”
“How nice.”
The men opened the doors, and Damon and I headed into his office. Inside, two men sat in large armchairs in one corner and two more flanked his large, mahogany desk. Behind it, Moriarty leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, a stupid grin on his fat face and his fingers steepled.
“What a great pleasure. A visit from not one but two Amado brothers. With matching black eyes. How interesting.”
“Six men. Is that special for us, or you need that much security with all your visitors?” I asked.
“You always did think yourself special, Raphael,” he said, then turned to his men. “Search them.”
Two men patted us down. Moriarty sat forward and rested his elbows on the obnoxiously oversized desk. One of the men announced we were unarmed.
Moriarty nodded and cocked his head to the side. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Your boys tried to run me and my wife off the road.”
He feigned shock.
“Let’s cut the crap, Moriarty.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not getting the house.”
“Someone tried to run you off the road?”
My jaw tightened, and my hands fisted. When I took a step forward, Damon’s hand closed over my shoulder.
“Raphael,” he said. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“Yes, Raphael. Don’t let me get to you.”
“You don’t involve my wife in this, do you understand? She has nothing to do with this.”
“Sadly, she does. She did the moment she said the words “I do.” Ah, young love. I remember those days. Very well, in fact.”
“Cut the crap.”
“You know, once upon a time, your mother, father, and I were very close.”
“Ancient history.” I did know that. My father had gone to school with Moriarty when his parents had moved to Italy. He’d met my mother two years after that, and the three of them were once friends. For a short time at least.
“Still.” He shrugged a shoulder.
“Wait a minute.” I chuckled and looked around the room. I had a feeling the two leather armchairs the men sat on had been moved from the front of his desk so he would keep us standing. “Mind if I sit?” I asked, picking up a smaller, hardback wooden chair and carrying it toward his desk before he could reply. Damon remained standing. “So, is that what all this is about?” I asked. “Is it what it’s always been about?”
His eyes narrowed just a little. I would have missed it if I wasn’t paying attention. Damon wasn’t the only one who could read people.
“My mother?” I continued.
“Raphael,” Damon’s low voice warned from beside me.
Moriarty picked up a pen, and I saw how his knuckles whitened around it. I was right.
“She chose him over you, didn’t she?” I asked.
“Your father met her first. It was never a competition.”
“No? You don’t think I remember your name being tossed around the house when I was growing up?” What I said was true. It was suddenly all coming together. “Let me ask you a question. Did you love her, or did you just want what my father had?”
“That’s enough. Are you here to tell me you have the money you owe me? Because you know if you don’t, there’s one other way.”
“I’m here to tell you it’s not my debt to pay.”
“But, it is. In my book, at least. And you specifically, Raphael, since you’re responsible for your father’s death—self-defense or not. Therefore, you inherited that debt.”
“That is some interesting logic.”
“Once you pay me, I’m off your back. If it wasn’t for the astronomical amount, I’d forgive it. Again.”
Again? “Bullshit. You forgive nothing.”
“You see—”
He rose to his feet and turned so he looked out onto the street as he started to speak. “Your mother tried that too once.”
My hands clenched at my sides at the mere mention of her.
Damon cleared his throat. “Let’s go, Raphael.” He turned to Moriarty, who now faced us. “We’ll figure out a way to get you the money, but it won’t be the house.”