Page 55 of Captive Bride: Armani
Candi’s brother smiles cockily. He’s clearly feeling more confident since I engaged with his attempts at conversation. So far, so good.
“Got my hands bloody for Giordano. He paid good. He’d probably put a word in for me since I went above and beyond getting rid of the, uh, evidence.” He wags his brows, as if I need any more of a hint. “He’s a small fish, though. I want to go bigger. Make some serious cash.”
“That doesn’t happen as a freelancer,” I tell him. “You’re expendable. The money comes with steady work, once you pledge in. You know that, don’t you?”
“Well, then, pledge me in.”
“I don’t need a soldier right now.”
“Come on, man. I thought that’s what we were doing. I’m giving you my fucking resume.”
Tipping my glass, I drain the melted ice. “It’s not an impressive resume.”
He rolls his eyes and thinks. “Okay, so Guilette paid me to chase down a couple bad debts. I messed them up real good and got what they owed. I took in a shipment for—”
He pauses. I give him a bored look, like he couldn’t possibly say anything to shock me when I’ve heard it all before. Which I have.
“Cocaine, man. The good stuff, too,” he says.
He hesitates again, clearly not wanting to tell me who he’s been running drugs for. I shrug and then turn toward the house, as if I’m about to walk away.
“Bruno,” he says, his voice hushed. “He picks up freelancers to move shipments for him and he pays good. He pays real good.”
Fucking idiot. Does this kid have any idea what these families would do to him if they knew he’d just blabbed? He’s just put a wild card in my back pocket. A bit of ammo I can use against Bruno, should the need arise.
The less interested I seem, the more he babbles, getting deeper into the details of the shady jobs he and his brothers have pulled off. Turns out, not one of the Gallagher boys is clean. But as the minutes pass, I get increasingly irritated at the banal drivel. I’m not even sure where the kid’s exaggeration ends and the truth starts. Either way, I make a big deal out of checking my watch and telling him it’s time to collect Candi and head home.
“You sure you don’t need more?” he asks, looking uncertain.
“I’ve heard enough.”
“So, you think you might be able to use me, or—”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Pulling open the screen door to cut off whatever is about to come out of his mouth next, I cross the kitchen to stand behind Candi, who’s just finishing packing up the leftovers, and slip an arm around her waist. She looks over her shoulder at her brother and then to me.
“Another scotch, perhaps?”
I’d like the whole bottle. “No, we should get going.”
The tension in her shoulders eases with relief. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We make quick work of saying goodbye to her parents, who don’t seem to notice or care that she’s practically running out the door. Her brothers give us head nods, except for the youngest, who shoots me a significant gaze that I coolly return. I get the feeling another family dinner won’t be on the books anytime soon. Once we’re in the car, Candi turns to me.
“What did my brother want? I saw him corner you in the yard. Was he being awful?”
“It was fine. He was mostly talking about himself.”
She sighs. “Oh, no. He was going on about his high school football career, right? Did he tell you he could have been in the NFL if he didn’t tear his ACL senior year?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone with him. I’m sure he got on your every last nerve.”
“It’s fine,” I repeat. “I have brothers too, remember? No big deal.”
I give her hand a reassuring squeeze and then put the car in drive. Her brother is a blowhard, but he was useful to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had a subtle interrogation go quite that well. Too bad I hadn’t had the chance to suss out the rest of her idiotic siblings.
