Page 66 of Daddy's Ring
"I need you to come somewhere with me tomorrow night." The interruption is deliberate, cutting off whatever manipulative speech she's prepared. "Family business. Poker game at The Brass Lion."
She blinks, clearly thrown by the change in subject. "You want me there?"
"It'll look better if you come." I force something approximating politeness into my tone. "Show unity and all that."
Her smile brightens, becomes genuine in a way that makes my stomach turn. She actually thinks this means something, thinks I'm finally giving in to whatever future she's imagined.
"Of course." She reaches for my arm and I let her, even though touching her makes my skin crawl. "What time?"
"Eight. Dress nice." I pull away, already moving toward the stairs. "I have work to do."
I lock myself in the bedroom I've been using since the wedding and pull out my phone. It's still off. When I turn it on, there are no new messages from Zola.
I type out a text anyway.
Declan:I need you to know that everything I told you was true. I'm going to fix this. Please give me a chance to explain once I do.
I stare at it for a long time before deleting it unsent.
Tomorrow. I'll fix this tomorrow, and then I'll find a way to make her listen.
The Brass Lionsits on the edge of South Philly, a restaurant that caters to a very specific clientele. The front is all exposed brick and dim lighting, tables filled with couples and small groups sharing expensive wine. The back is where real business happens.
Stellan's already there when Bianca and I arrive. He's at the bar nursing a scotch, and he gives me a subtle nod as we pass. The private room is through a door past the kitchens, down a hallway that smells like garlic and money.
The poker table is set up in the center, cards and chips already arranged. Dorian's there—tall, good-looking in that polished way that probably works on most women. He stiffens slightly when he sees me, then covers it with an easy smile.
"Wolfe." He stands, extends a hand.
I take it, grip just hard enough to make a point. "Vale."
Bianca's father arrives ten minutes later—Frank Morelli, thick around the middle with silver hair and cold eyes that miss nothing. He embraces his daughter, shakes my hand with careful neutrality.
"Declan. Good to see you."
"Frank." I gesture to the table. "Shall we?"
Stellan arranged the seating perfectly. Me between him and Frank, Dorian directly across where I can watch his face. Bianca settles beside her father, still smiling like this is some kind of social event rather than an execution.
Two of Stellan's guys fill out the rest of the seats—Jamie and Vincent, both loyal, both smart enough to know when to keep their mouths shut.
The first few hands are quiet, everyone feeling each other out. I let Dorian win twice, watch him relax incrementally as the whiskey flows and the conversation stays light.
Then I start pushing.
"How's collections going, Vale?" I ask, casual as I study my cards.
He shrugs. "Fine. Nothing exciting."
"Must keep you busy though." I glance up, catch his eyes. "Out late most nights?"
Something flickers across his face—uncertainty, maybe caution. "Sometimes. You know how it is."
"I do." I fold, lean back in my chair. "Though I'm usually working on legitimate business. Not... extracurricular activities."
The temperature in the room drops several degrees. Frank glances between us, eyes narrowing. Bianca's smile falters.
"Not sure what you mean." Dorian tries for confused but lands closer to nervous.
