Pregnant.
A physical impossibility and thank God I know that so I could call her on her shit. The last thing I need is to be in the web of a woman I actually cared about, breathing nothing but her lies. I should have learned with Violet.
My cell vibrates on the table. I never use the ringer; the noise annoys the fuck out of me. I look at the display and frown. I stare at the wall I share with Rory. Whatever I discuss, I sure as hell don’t want her to hear it.
“Yo,” I answer, picking up and immediately walking towards the kitchen—which is physically the farthest room from Rory’s side of the duplex.
“You didn’t tell me your men were having shit-fits trying to find you,” Marcum murmurs into the phone. I suppose this is his version of hello. I pull out a chair and think about what he said and find I don’t really know how to answer, so I just ignore it.
“You got news for me?”
“Why is it you sounded a hell of a lot more at ease in our last convo, brother?”
“Can’t imagine,” I lie.
“Right.”
“You got news or not, Marcum?” I ask, starting to get irritated and not about to get into a heart to heart about the lies Rory gave me.
“Your boys are tearing up the Tennessee dirt looking for you.”
“They won’t find me in Tennessee,” I confirmed something Marcum already knew.
“Crusher would rest easier if I tell him you’re good,” he says and I remain silent. “Okay, then,” Marcum says, reading my silence correctly. “First things first,” he starts and I prepare myself. I’ve found when Vicki is involved it’s best to be prepared.
“Let me have it,” I tell him, when he remains silent longer than I figure is necessary.
“Dick-shriveler doesn’t have a big trail to follow. She doesn’t live smart and she’s throwing cash around like it’s candy.”
“Definitely has a backer,” I confirm.
“Oh, that’s for fuck-sure. We’re talking the woman just dropped fifty-k at a fucking home store in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Now, I got a woman and I got a special one. My girl, she doesn’t like shopping much. She does like home stores and she does love furniture. I gave her the all clear on buying whatever she wanted….”
“Marcum—” I grumble, wondering if Rory was out of the shower yet and hating myself for thinking it.
“I had delivery trucks coming to this fucking place for days, Mijo. Fucking days.”
“Your point?”
“Toi spent three-grand, Brother. Three-grand that I didn’t mind her spending because it made her happy and it bought me a lot of head—which made me happy.”
“Christ,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Toi’s got a mouth so sweet it could make a man weep,” Marcum says way too fucking happy.
“Don’t need to hear that shit,” I grumble.
“Don’t care. I just needed to brag and count my blessings. Now back to the dick-shriveler. Once a month the bitch has money put into her account to the tune of one hundred thousand.”
“My men turned up deposits, though not quite that big.”
“That shit was buried so deep that it would have never seen the light of day. This bitch has five fucking accounts and the one where the biggest deposit is settled? It’s not in her name, Mijo.”
“Whose name is it in?”
“Your boy’s,” he says and those words hit me like a fucking ton of bricks.
“Christ. Any luck tracing the deposits?”
“Off shore account. It’s going to take some time. Wanted to give you this preliminary so you could prepare.”
“Not necessary,” I tell him, and it’s not. I already know whoever Vicki has conned into helping her has a fucking bankroll behind him. I just need to know who it is so I can fucking kill the son of a bitch.
“You need to watch your back,” he tells me.
“Thanks, Dad. Anything else?”
“That’s the other small bit of bad news,” he says and I can hear the regret in his voice. “Rory McDaniels is a ghost brother.”
“What?” I ask, and I find I can’t pretend to be calm at all.
“She does not exist.”
“But I’ve seen her papers. I was there when she was granted a protection order for fuck’s sake!”
“Fake papers, good ones. Traced them back to the same man who was going to make Max’s for me once upon a time.”
“Jesus. I’m like a magnet for lying cunts,” I growl.
“Not sure what she’s hiding man, but I do know my boy’s talents are not cheap so your girl has money.”
“You got a name for me?”
“She paid cash, didn’t give the boy shit when it came to her personal stuff.”
“How did she hire him?”
“That’s where it becomes interesting. Vino sent her to him.”
“Fuck me. Vino as in Vino Machelli?”
“That’d be the one.”
“Jesus,” I growl.
Vino Machelli was the head of one of the biggest crime families on the East coast. They had their fingers in so many pots you’d get dizzy trying to check on them all. They also had a strong hold in Italy and Vino himself was known for being so evil he made Charles Manson look like a fucking choir boy.