“Maribel Stewart? Your vote?”
“Yes.”
Fuck.
All they needed was one person to vote with them.
I stayed in my seat until everyone but my brother and father cleared out of the room. My brother’s face was so self-righteous, I had the urge to rearrange it for him.
“I don’t know how you sleep at night,” I said.
“I have a ten-thousand-dollar bed fit for a king.” Elliot grinned.
I stood. “I’d rather sleep on the floor and have a clear conscience.”
He fixed his tie and looked up at me. “Fitting, the floor is where you belong.”All worked up after the encounter with my dysfunctional family, I texted Gia to see where she was at.Rush: Where are you?She responded a few seconds later.Gia: At Ellen’s Stardust Diner on Broadway. Having some lunch. They have the best French toast.Rush: I’m heading over there.Since I’d parked my car in a garage for the day, I hopped a cab to the restaurant. The meeting with my father and Elliot was still running through my mind, and I needed to calm the fuck down.
I needed to see Gia.
I knew she’d make me feel better, even though it was frustrating to admit that to myself. Having to curb the urge to smoke in the cab, I rolled down the window and let the cool air hit my face.
I thought about Gia’s conning me into telling her my name. That little witch knew my weakness. She knew my jealousy knew no bounds, and she knew exactly how to manipulate that. That was a dangerous talent.
But damn, it worked.
I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.
She got me.
Well played, Gia. Well played.
The cabbie was looking at me through the rearview mirror. “Something funny?” he asked in a Jamaican accent.
Busted.
“Nah. Just thinking about a woman who makes me a little crazy.”
Nodded in understanding, he said, “Yeah, mon. Don’t they all.”
He dropped me off, and I entered the diner, which was retro-themed with vinyl red booths and neon lights. One of the servers, dressed in a poodle skirt from the fifties, was standing on top of one of the booths singing. She was probably a wannabe Broadway actress.
It didn’t surprise me one bit that Gia had chosen this place. It was eccentric, just like her. What did surprise me was to find her sitting in a booth across from an NYPD officer. Before I could draw the conclusion that she was getting herself in trouble for doing something stupid, I noticed she seemed to be smiling and laughing.
A cop? What the hell?
My fists tightened. A rush of adrenaline hit me until I got closer and realized who it was from the resemblance alone. She had said she was planning to meet her father.
Shit.
Her father.
I felt like a dumbass now. With everything that happened back at Vanderhaus, I became distracted and had totally forgotten she was meeting him. I definitely wouldn’t have come here if I’d remembered she was with her dad.
It was too late to turn back. She spotted me. So did he.
You could have told me, Gia!
She was smiling from ear to ear and waved me over to their booth. Gia seemed completely comfortable with this situation, which was the opposite of how I was feeling right now.
“Hey!” she said.
Placing my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I nodded once. “Hi.”
“This must be Rush,” her father said.
She’d told him about me?
“Yes, Dad. This is Rush.” She turned to me. “Rush, this is my dad, Tony Mirabelli.”
Her father looked like he was in good shape for someone I’d put in his early fifties. They both had the same blue eyes that contrasted their dark hair and olive skin.
I took one hand out of my pocket and extended it. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
His handshake was firm while his eyes fell to the tattoos on my arm. He nudged his head toward the table. “Sit. Join us.”
I looked over at Gia. “I’m thinking maybe I should come back when you’re done with your dad. I don’t want to interrupt. I have a few errands I could run.”
Tony answered for her, “Nonsense. Take a seat.” His tone was not exactly casual. It was more demanding, like sit the fuck down, motherfucker.
I no longer felt that I could get out of this situation, so I conceded and planted myself next to Gia. There was a huge plate of half-eaten French toast in front of her. Her father’s plate was clean.
A waitress came by and placed a menu in front of me. “Can I get you anything?”
I hadn’t eaten all day but didn’t feel like making myself too comfortable here, so I said, “Just coffee. Black.”
My eyes landed on his. Tony was staring at me intently. For some reason, the theme to The Sopranos started playing in my head. Probably the name Tony triggered it. The opening sequence where Tony Soprano is driving over the bridge to Jersey flashed through my mind. That was exactly where I wanted to be—driving over a bridge to Jersey and not staring this man in the face right now.