by K. Webster
Finally, the doors open, depositing us onto the 80th floor. The savory scents of perfectly seared beef and garlic hanging in the air has my stomach grumbling. I’d give up any five-star meal, though, to have canned hamburger slop with Ash.
I try not to think about her making that bizarre shit in my kitchen the next time, but the thoughts barge in anyway. Barefoot and a messy bun piled on top of her head. A sassy grin and moving about as though my space belongs to her. It’s a dangerous thought—one I haven’t been keen on entertaining until now.
Things are changing.
I’m beginning to accept that Ash is a formidable opponent.
She plays my game better than me.
As tempting as it is to dwell on thoughts of the girl who stormed into my world leaving a trail of Starburst wrappers, pink feathers, and a whole lot of fucking attitude, I need to focus.
I have Morellis to shame.
The maître d’ greets us and ushers us through the busy restaurant to an eight-top table in the all-glass floor-to-ceiling-windowed corner. It’s set for six place settings. Anthony is seated beside one head of the table, a thick file of paperwork sitting on the tabletop in front of him. The goons and my two men flank the windows on either side, remaining nearby in case they’re needed, but out of earshot for our business dealings.
I take a seat at the head of the table beside Anthony and Perry sits next to me. Leo takes the other end with their attorney between him and Anthony. Lucian sits to the right on Perry’s side of the table.
All present and accounted for.
“Gentlemen,” their attorney says, cutting right to the chase, “I’ll be representing Mr. Leo Morelli this evening. I understand there is the sale of a property to discuss.”
I give him a nod of my head. “That property belongs to me now.”
Perry’s foot nudges mine, probably reminding me not to goad them. I move my foot away because it’s going to take a lot more than Perry’s kicking to keep me from fucking with the Morellis when I have their undivided attention.
A waiter comes by to take our drink order, momentarily pausing our game. As soon as the waiter leaves, I nod at Anthony.
“Mr. Constantine wishes to make this as painless as possible. He’s offering to purchase the Baldridge building back at the original thirty-eight-point-five-million-dollar sales price. I’ve pre-written the contract.” He untucks the papers from his folder and hands them to Evan beside him. “It’s fairly cut and dry as you’ll see.”
Leo scoffs but Lucian’s hard gaze cuts off whatever refute he might have been ready to throw out. That lasts all of three seconds.
“Forty,” Leo throws back, leaning forward and turning his head my way. “Take it or leave it.”
I relax in my chair, studying Leo for a long beat. “No.”
“You’re lucky, Mr. Morelli,” Anthony says, “that he’s not asking to shave down the price any considering everything you’ve done.”
The Morelli lawyer shakes his head at Leo to stop him from speaking. “Leo Morelli doesn’t concede that he’s reneged on the original deal. This offer of sale is merely the Morellis entertaining the Constantines.”
Anthony pulls out more documentation. “These text records between Mr. Morelli and Miss Elliott are indicative of Mr. Morelli’s efforts to threaten, harass, and blackmail the young woman when it was explicitly detailed in the original agreement that if this were to happen, Mr. Morelli would immediately sell the building back to my client.”
“You can’t prove it was me,” Leo says, his voice bored, ignoring the efforts of his attorney to keep him quiet. He doesn’t even glance at the papers. “That’s not my phone number.”
“Sworn testimony by Miss Elliott that you took her phone when you came into her home is but one piece of evidence,” Anthony says in a bored tone. “However, we also have records from the phone company that pings the location of her stolen phone to that of your residence, Mr. Morelli. Furthermore, we have video documentation from a few nights ago at the former Edge Steakhouse that you were the one using the stolen phone to threaten Miss Elliott.”
I smirk at Leo, waiting for him to argue. His jaw works as he attempts to contain his rage. Fucking hothead always flies off the handle and loses his temper.
Anthony continues, “When Miss Elliott failed to give Mr. Morelli information on my client—”
“You have no proof of this,” their lawyer says.
“Again, sworn testimony,” Anthony says, “and the text messages are clear that if Miss Elliott wasn’t to produce information regarding my client, Mr. Morelli would leak private sexual photos and videos to the press in an effort to defame both Miss Elliott and Mr. Constantine.”
“This is bullshit,” Leo mutters.
“Then sign the contract,” Anthony clips out, “and the bullshit goes away.”
Leo starts to speak, but I cut him off, my eyes landing on his older brother. “Lucian, teach your brother something, will you? Even Perry here knows there are some battles that aren’t worth fighting. This is one of those that your family will not win. We made an agreement and it was breached. Let’s behave like adults and move this along.” I dart my gaze to Leo, pinning him with a hard stare. “Trust me when I say I will drag this through the courts for as long as I must. I will see to it that every dark secret you Morellis possess is brought into the light.”
“You’re threatening my client?” the Morelli lawyer has the balls to ask.
“I’m simply predicting their future if they don’t play by the agreed-upon rules.”
Our heated battle of wills ends when the waiter returns to pour wine and take food orders. The Morellis order steak, because they’ve been craving a good one for days now. Team Constantine—I’m going to kill Ash for that one day—order, too. The Morellis’ humiliation and acquiescence are satisfying enough, but I’m hungry.
While they’re deciding on side dishes, Anthony passes me his file folder. I pull it toward me and open it. Pictures and documentation sit neatly tucked inside. Ulrich’s information. Interesting and useful. His timing is impeccable as always. I’ll be making sure to give that man a bonus.
Perry leans in to peek at the folder and surprisingly doesn’t give away his thoughts once he sees what’s inside. I flip the folder closed and hand it back to Anthony with a nod of approval to proceed.
“Forty and this goes away,” Leo tries again, once the waiter leaves. “For good. You might be surprised at what you find out if you drag this through court. The Morelli secrets? Sure. You’d get those, but some of them have to do with Constantines.”
Bullshit. It has to be bullshit, right? I flash back to my mother’s urgency to shut this down, that sense that she’s hiding something about Leo Morelli. So much deception all around me. I wouldn’t be a Constantine, though, if I didn’t uncover all of it. Rid the trash, build the empire walls higher, and fuck everyone who doesn’t share our last name.
“Empty promises,” I say, taking a moment to sip my wine. “You’ve proven to be a liar and a bastard.” My gaze lands on Lucian as I set my glass down. “The Beast of Bishop’s Landing, right?”
“Listen here,” Leo growls, living up to his whispered nickname. “You don’t get to come in here and—”
“Enough,” Lucian interrupts. “The way I see it, Constantine is offering a simple solution to a problem that shouldn’t even be one.” Lucian glowers at me from across the table. “As simple as it is, though, I’m inclined to resist. It’s clear you have some sort of attachment to that building.”
“Your resistance would be a waste of your time, energy, and limited funds,” I throw back. “I’m sure my mother also said as much.”
“Is the proposed contract of sale legitimate?” Lucian asks their lawyer.
A nod. “It’s straightforward.”
“As was the original agreement,” Anthony reminds them.
Leo glares at me. Yeah, fucker, you made this difficult, not me.
“Are you really going to give him w
hat he wants?” Leo demands, turning his fiery hot anger on his older brother.
Lucian sighs. “Do you really want all our secrets dragged out in court? Maybe Winston would live to regret that, but so would we.”
A dark look from Leo, but he doesn’t dispute it.
“Mr. Constantine will purchase the building at the original price,” Anthony says, bringing our meeting back on track. “Mr. Morelli, you can go ahead and sign the places indicated with a sticker. This will all be over soon.”
Leo glowers at the document that’s slid toward him. The Morellis always wear their emotions on their sleeves. Leo in particular has a legendary temper. Constantines are known for keeping their emotions beneath impenetrable layers of icy cold indifference. The fact that I’m burning with my own cold rage makes no appearance on my face.
Leo scrawls his name in the designated places. The documents are passed back to me where I take my time to read through the agreement again. Then, I sign in the necessary places. Harold will move the money tomorrow.
“Stop by my office in the morning,” Anthony says to the Morellis, “to receive your check and to finalize the paperwork.”
Once the signed document is tucked away in Anthony’s folder, I stare down Lucian. “Now, for the other matters of business. First and foremost, let’s talk about the consequences of Leo’s actions when he released those defaming photos and videos.”
“Is this a threat?” the lawyer interjects.
“No,” I say with a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s a conversation. Surely you must know how damaging the release of those private pictures and videos were to the Constantine name.”
“So?” Lucian demands. “The contract is signed. It’s finished.”
Leo gives me a smug look, as if he’s happy I’m forcing the issue. Understanding washes over him long before it does for his attorney. The contract was simple. Incredibly simple. So simple that it doesn’t mention anything about the lawsuits I plan to file for the defamation. A separate issue entirely.
They took my word at face value. At the insinuation that this would all go away with the signing of Leo Morelli’s name. But I’m not done fucking with them.
“Here’s how it’s going to go,” I say, staring down Leo. “You’ll make them go away. Whoever your people are in the media, contact them. Your efforts to squelch the fire your family started will be acknowledged. The lawsuits we have lined up ready to move forward on will remain unfiled. This problem will fade just as quickly as the stories all over the news will.”
Leo, clearly irritated by my demands, bristles. “There will be no photos.”
“See to it that it happens quickly,” I state in a hard tone. “Otherwise, by Monday, we’ll begin proceedings. Ticktock.”
“Is that all?” Lucian demands. “We’re growing tired of your games, Constantine. Get to the fucking point so we can eat in peace.”
I lean back in my chair, bringing my fingertips together and grin. “Settle in, boys, I’m just getting started.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ash
As soon as Winston left, I locked the door behind him, carried my bags upstairs, and began to explore his space since I have permission now. I’d been up here before under the premise of cleaning, but I’d been too nervous to properly snoop. Now I have the access I want.
I take my time checking out the other rooms once I’ve dropped my bags by his bedroom door. Each room is well-decorated. I’m sure he spends a fortune on an interior designer. When money is no option, you can have knickknacks that probably cost more than most people’s homes. I grow bored at looking at the other rooms, saving the best for last.
His room.
It’s dark navy like the rest of his home. High ceilings and massive king-sized bed with charcoal gray bedding. An enormous television hangs on the wall. I bet he wakes up to watch the news in super-size like an old man. Sniggering at my joke, I make my way into his giant bathroom. The clawfoot tub is gorgeous and I imagine us taking a bath together.
Dream on, girl.
At least he has warm towels now. I marvel over the inexpensive towel warmer I bought him off the internet. He’s already installed it. Brat didn’t even say thank you. I unpack my toiletries, making sure to leave all of my makeup and hair stuff on the pristine counter just to make his eye twitch. Satisfied with my presence in the bathroom, I make my way back into his room. His closet is huge and looks like a suit warehouse bigger than my whore apartment. It’s almost comical how many suits Win has. I take great pleasure in pushing a clump of them aside to hang my dresses. He’s going to punish me for this later—when I’m tied and at his mercy on his bed—and I’m going to love every second of it.
Once I’m unpacked, I head back downstairs. I make a pit stop in the dining room to deposit the matching pair of pink bird salt and pepper shakers on the middle of his table. It makes me smile because they stand out like a sore thumb, but I’m pretty confident he won’t move them because despite what he says, he loves our little bird. Just as I walk back into the living room, someone knocks on the front door.
Scout.
Oh, God, I hope not.
My heart nearly hammers out of my chest. I tiptoe over to the door to peek out the hole. The relief that floods through me is brief until dread slams into me.
Nate.
He makes a great show of jangling his keys, his glare on the peephole like he can see me through it. “Let me in, Ash. I know you’re in there.”
I cringe and hold my breath as if he can hear me.
“Fine,” he grumbles, “I’ll use my key and you can explain to Winston why you’re trying to keep me out of his place when he just told me to get my ass up here to make sure you’re not stealing anything.”
Flipping off the door, I pretend he can see, and continue to bite my tongue. His fist slams hard on the door and I squeak out in surprise.
“I can hear you in there, dammit.” He continues to shake his keys. “I’m coming in.”
I wait him out.
“I said, I’m coming in,” he grits out.
Unable to hold back, I say, “Then do it already.”
A beat of silence.
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“Too late,” I say sweetly. “You don’t have a key, Nate.”
He jiggles the handle. “Let me in, Ash.”
“Go away,” I yell and then cry out when his fists begin pounding hard on the wood.
Keaton comes flying out of the kitchen area, a scowl on his face. I hold my finger to my lips and mouth, “Nate.” His brows furl together in a way that reminds me so much of Win.
“Jesus Christ let me in,” Nate barks out, desperation in his tone. “Now.”
“Why?” I demand. “So you can snoop around in his things? That’s what you were doing after all, wasn’t it? What were you looking for, Nate? I know all about your scheme.”
I don’t but I can pretend.
“Fuck off,” he bites back. “That’s rich coming from a gold-digging skank. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? What’s the matter? Does my presence impede on your attempt to bleed my best friend dry?”
Keaton’s jaw works furiously but he keeps his mouth shut.
“Does Winston know you’re fucking his baby brother, too?” Nate laughs, cruel and cold.
Keaton’s glare is murderous. He opens his mouth like he’s going to tell Nate off, but I slap my hand over it.
“Keaton’s not here,” I lie. “And Win knows better than to believe that bullshit.”
“He never left when they did. What is it? Did I interrupt a kitchen quickie?”
My blood runs cold and Keaton’s eyes widen. It’s like he can see us. The thought makes me shiver.
“If you’re done threatening me, you should go. I have a busy evening ahead of me contemplating how to get Winston to shower me with all his money. Bye, Nate. I’m calling building security now.”
His hand slaps the door once more and then it’s quiet. I peek out the hole, thank
ful to no longer see him standing there.
I go to open my mouth to say something to Keaton, but he presses a finger to his lips and shakes his head. Slowly, he walks to the edge of the entryway hallway that opens up into the living room and scans the space.
A creepy sense of dread fills me.
Are we being watched?
Keaton seems to think so and I’m not far behind him.
Those times Nate showed up, he made a beeline straight for the bar each time. I lean close and whisper to Keaton that we need to check the bar area. He gives me a clipped nod of understanding.
“Want to get shit-faced and watch a movie?” Keaton asks, his voice loud.
My heart is hammering in my chest. “Yeah, sure.”
“Go turn on a movie in your room. No chick-flick shit. Action. Explosions. Something exciting.” And loud. Noted.
I give him a bright smile as I casually walk into the living room. Then, I make my way into my bedroom. Once I turn on the television, I increase the volume and land it on an obnoxious action movie. Peeking around the corner, I note Keaton’s back as he rummages around to make a drink.
“Need a hand?” I ask, prancing over to him. “I’m not that bad of a bartender.”
We carry on, chattering about nothing of importance as we make our drinks. Both of us are discreetly looking for any cameras or bugs. There’s a plant toward the end of the bar. I glance over at it looking for anything of interest.
“Here you go,” Keaton says, handing me a drink. “This is the good stuff.” He points to an old bottle of liquor at the back of the collection along the wall. “What movie did you choose?”
I notice the tiny black device taped to the side of the bottle. While I chatter about the actors in the movie, I set a dark bottle in front of the bottle with the device on it, blocking its view. We carry on our talking on our way toward the bedroom. Keaton leans in and closes the door. The movie plays a muffled sound while we tiptoe back to the entryway. He takes our drinks, sets them down soundlessly on the table by the door, and quietly turns the lock. It’s understood we need to be silent, so neither of us speak as we sneak out of the apartment. Keaton locks it back and then grabs my elbow, motioning me away from the elevator and toward a stairwell. It’s not until we’re about five flights down and I’m panting, does Keaton speak.