“Are we talking shakedown here or something more?”
“He needs to go.” I give Antony a hard stare as his eyes widen.
“They just got married,” Antony says. “Nora will flip.”
“Nora needs better taste in men. Maybe this will be a good wake-up call for her. Get him and take him to the warehouse. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“You got it, boss.”
Antony gives me a nod before he closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with my father. I glance up, waiting to hear his opinion of my first official meeting. I’m going to get his feedback whether I want it or not, so best to get it out of the way.
“You suck at this,” he says bluntly.
“I thought it went well.” I grit my teeth as I try not to sound so blatantly defensive.
“You don’t have a fucking clue about running this business.”
“I know, I know.” I fold my arms over my chest, copying his pose, and glare at him. “If only Micha were still alive. He’d be sitting in this chair, and you’d be playing golf on some island instead of staring over my shoulder, waiting for me to fuck something up.”
“Your brother should be in that chair,” Pops says slowly. “Whose fault is that?”
“Are you blaming me?”
“No one else in the room to blame.”
“I didn’t take a hit out on him,” I mutter.
“You haven’t done anything about the people who did, either.”
“Neither did you.”
He stands up straight, hands balled into fists. He takes a step forward, and I brace myself for the impact of his fist, but it doesn’t come. Pops takes a step back, scowling. He stomps over to the drinks cabinet, slowly glides his finger over a whiskey glass but never pours any for himself.
I get up, pointedly grab a glass for myself and pour without offering to do the same for him. Stepping over to the windows, I stare at my own reflection instead of the view of the garden outside. My suit is neat. My black hair is slicked back without a stray hair in sight. My tie is straight. I look an absolute vision of calm and collected, which is nothing like how I feel inside. I walk back to my chair, barely glancing at my father.
Pops laughs hollowly as he shakes his head.
“You blather on about that Ramsay bitch violating the treaty,” he says, “but not a fucking word about her murdering your brother.”
“She denied it, Pops. The whole family did. We’ve got zero evidence that they took out the hit. We can’t even identify the hitman, and it’s not like we haven’t tried. We have every cop in town trying to figure it out, and they have nothing. We can’t start a full-fledged mob war over presumptions. You said that yourself.”
“It was her,” he says, grumbling. “We all know it was.”
“Tearing the city apart without proof won’t get us anywhere.”
“Need to spill some fucking Ramsay blood. Get yourself a hitman—someone we haven’t used before. Maybe that Chicago guy. Take one of them out, but don’t leave a trace.”
“This isn’t Chicago, Pops. It’s Cascade Falls. We aren’t the Capones or the Morettis. This is the middle of nowhere Ohio, and we’re a small-time crime outfit. We do really well for where we are, and unless we want to risk getting involved with the cartels, this is where we’re staying.”
“I had bigger dreams than this,” he mutters.
“You tried moving into the drug trade,” I say, and he flinches at the reminder. “Ramsays already owned it, and you tried anyway. It got ugly, and we had to back off. I’m not going to run the business like that, Dad. We need to strengthen what we got, not try to expand again.”
“Then you’re gonna run our family business into the fucking ground!” he yells. “Micha understood blood for blood! You were always a fucking pussy about it!”
“I will do what has to be done!” I yell back, standing up and facing him. I slam my glass down on the desk, sloshing bourbon onto the fine wood.
A quick knock at the door is followed by Antony peeking his head inside.