I didn’t know whether I believed him, but I also knew damn well that working for him would pay a shitload better than working the night shift at the XpressMart. I could give my dad a better life, and right now that was what mattered.
After that we hashed out the details of exactly how much I figured I needed. Pietro gave me the name of someone he knew at Harbor Homes who he said could give me a good deal on some cosmetically damaged properties, as well as the name of a guy who he promised would offer cost pricing on cars for me and my dad. After that he called Ms. Dane back in to have paperwork drawn up, and within half an hour I had a copy of the papers in my hand, and a confirmation that the entire sum would be transferred into my account as soon as the banks opened for business Monday morning.
Pietro stood and moved to the desk, opened a drawer and removed an envelope, then returned to me and held it out. “This isn’t part of the loan,” he said. “Use this to get some necessities—clothing and such. And don’t argue. I’m making small contributions to many of those affected by the flooding.”
He was crazy if he thought I was going to argue over a cash gift. Any pride that might have had me doing so had been destroyed along with my house. But when I peered into the envelope I still felt a jolt of surprise at the sight of what looked like about two grand.
Glancing up, I cocked an eyebrow at Pietro. “I’ll consider this retroactive pay for any assistance I’ve given you over the past week.”
His lips twitched. “Fair enough. But please don’t expect to always be paid at that rate.”
And with that he escorted me to the door, gave me a light kiss on the cheek, and sent me on my way to begin rebuilding my life.
Chapter 27
“You sure this is a good idea?” my dad muttered. He peered into the oven at the fancy hors d’oeuvres which I’d carefully selected from the frozen food aisle of the local warehouse store.
“Nope!” I replied cheerfully. I dumped a bag of chips into a large bowl and set it on the table with the various other foodstuffs. “But I figure we might as well let people see the place while it’s still kinda decent, and then we never have to let anyone in ever again.”>“And don’t worry,” he said as he served himself. “I’ll wash the pan before your dad gets up.”
Laughing, I dug into the “zombelet” with gusto. As I ate, Marcus pushed the newspaper toward me.
“Y’all hit the front page,” he told me.
I peered at the headline over my plate. Riot Halts Filming on Movie Set. Tucking into my brains and eggs, I skimmed the article. No known reason for the fight that broke out between several of the zombie extras. Numerous injuries reported, several arrests. Filming to resume today.
I read to the end. No mention of a death, so apparently Saberton had taken care of the body of the guy Philip killed. I wondered if they would take care of any footage that was shot as well.
“Sucks for the extras who were arrested,” I said with a slight grimace. “None of it was their fault.”
Marcus gave a nod of agreement. “Uncle Pietro will probably take care of that. It’s in everyone’s best interest for this to die down as quickly as possible.”
I finished my breakfast, then jumped into the shower to clean up for my meeting with Pietro. When I got out, Marcus produced jeans, underwear and a couple of shirts that I’d left at his place ages ago, which saved me from meeting Pietro while wearing the same donated clothing I’d worn the day before.
I made sure there was non-brain food available for my dad and, at ten a.m., a black Mercedes pulled into the driveway. The driver wasn’t Brian, so I obediently sat in the back when he held that door open for me and, apart from a few polite pleasantries, rode in silence to Pietro’s house.
To my surprise it wasn’t the same house Marcus and I had gone to months ago for the barbecue but instead a very nice lakefront house only about ten minutes from Tucker Point. Even though it wasn’t secluded in the sense of being far from other properties, it was surrounded on the non-lake sides by a couple of acres of woods, which added a strong feeling of privacy. Pietro was rolling in it, no doubt about that. No telling what he had for resources if he really was hundreds of years old.
We pulled up in front of the house, and I managed to remember to wait for the driver to come around and open the door for me instead of barreling out on my own. I even followed politely as he went up to the house and rang the doorbell for me, though to my relief he stood back once he did so. Apparently I was allowed to speak and act for myself now that the hard part had been done.
I listened to the frogs’ chorus from the lake as I tried to go over what I had to say to Pietro. Dread twisted my gut. I knew damn well Pietro held all the cards, but I needed to make sure I didn’t sell myself out completely.
A tall brunette answered the door, slim and stylish, wearing dark maroon slacks and a conservative white silk blouse, with her hair in a soft updo. She gave me a warm smile. “Ms. Crawford, I’m Alicia Dane, Mr. Ivanov’s personal assistant. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Personal assistant? Yeesh, definitely out of my depth here. I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on for Ms. Dane, reminding myself that I’d survived kidnapping, firefight, and zombie mayhem, so there was no need to be intimidated by the insistent reminders of Pietro’s wealth and power.
Yeah, right.
I managed to respond with a polite greeting and then allowed Ms. Dane to escort me to a room with a huge antique-looking desk, a couple of big wingback chairs, and one wall lined with shelves of old books. A huge window commanded a stunning view of the lake, and French doors led out onto a broad deck.
Pietro sat in one of the wingbacks by the window and stood as I entered. “Angel, good morning.”
“Hi,” I said. “Sorry to bother you.”
“You’re not,” he assured me, then looked past me to Ms. Dane. “That will be all for now, thank you.”
She nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind her. Pietro gestured to the other wingback chair.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.