“And your girlfriend, too?”
My phone vibrated again, but I ignored it. The fact that he mentioned Emory had my fists clenching. I knew how to fight with fists and was used to a verbal sparring match with my dad, but that was over inconsequential shit, not Emory. I wanted to beat the shit out of him, kill him with my bare hands—that’s how much I hated him, but this was a casino. There were cameras everywhere, and he knew it. This was his sanctuary and he was safe.
If I made her out to be something important, he’d pick at the very idea of her like a scab. So I shrugged it off. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh? She wasn’t any good between the sheets?”
My eyes narrowed, but I kept my cool. Barely. “If you want to fuck with me, fine, but let’s leave everyone else out of it.”
His cell rang. Neither of us would have noticed it in the loud casino noise if it hadn’t vibrated across the small table beside his drink.
He picked it up and glanced at the screen. I swear his skin paled beneath the fake tan.
My cell vibrated once more but I just watched my dad. He actually looked…afraid.
“Answer your phone,” he said, without looking up from the screen of his.
I sighed, pulling mine from my pocket. “Green.”
“Hello, Gray, this is Angelo Casale. I believe you’ve met my son and grandson. I apologize for reaching out to your father while you’re visiting, but you wouldn’t answer your phone.”
What the fuck? Angelo Casale had Dad’s number and texted him. What the hell did the message say because it looked as if my dad just pissed himself. Besides that, how the hell did Casale know I was with my dad right now? I looked around. There were people all around, but too self-involved to be interested in either my father or me. It was a casino; there were cameras everywhere. How far was this man’s reach? Did I really want to know?
“What can I do for you?”
“I’ve spoken with Emory and invited both of you to dinner tonight at Casale’s. She’s accepted and will bring two friends. I believe they are spending the day together. Very smart of you to keep her protected.”
I was trying to keep up. I knew about Casale’s dealings, for it was more than just lasagna. From the way my dad was reacting, he knew about them, too.
“If she’s accepted, then it will be my pleasure,” I replied. I didn’t want to say Emory’s name in front of my dad, so I kept it neutral. I didn’t want him to know anything more about her.
“Good. Please ask your father if he would like to join you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I had no interest, ever, in eating dinner with my dad, but Casale had a reason for it. “Angelo Casale wants to know if you want to join me for dinner tonight at his restaurant.”
Dad turned to look up at me and he swallowed. This was the first time—ever—I had seen him weak and vulnerable. He cleared his throat. “Please offer him my thanks, but I will be staying in Atlantic City through the weekend.”
“He offers his regrets,” I told Casale.
“Hmm, yes, I figured as much. I assume your meeting is over, so you should easily be back in time to get your girl. I’ll see you at seven.”
I put the phone away and put my hands on my hips, waiting to see if my dad was going to say anything else. I saw him sitting there, shoulders slumped, skin orange and pale all at the same time, for what he was. An old, pathetic man. He might be a powerful businessman, but he had nothing on me. Nothing. I could deal with whatever shit he tossed my way, but it seemed I had an ally with Angelo Casale. I had no idea what he had on my dad, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about my dad at all.
“We’re done here,” I said, my voice hard. “We’re done, period. Leave me the fuck alone and you stay away from Emory. You forget she even exists. I’d be happy to beat the shit out of you and I’m sure Casale would be more than happy to hide your body.” I leaned forward so he could hear me clearly over the din of the casino. “You think I care what you do? I don’t think about you at all.”
I shook my head and looked at my dad one last time. I wasn’t trying to remember, I was trying to forget.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GRAY
I got caught in traffic on the Delaware Memorial Bridge, some semi jackknifed and brought the highway to a standstill, so I had to meet Emory, Christy and Paul at the restaurant. I’d spent the extra two hours in the car thinking about Casale’s hold on my dad and the reason for the dinner.
Mr. Casale himself met me by the hostess stand. I shook his hand and he clapped me on the shoulder. “I trust you had a good visit with your father?”
“I didn’t realize you two were friends,” I countered.
He offered a small shrug. Very Italian. “Friends? Absolutely not. We have…an understanding. While he will still be your father, I am sure he will not offer you too much trouble.