Legally Yours (Spitfire Book 1)

by Nicole French

  When we stopped to pick up some of Dad’s favorite challah from a bakery on Coney Island Avenue, David ended up parking the car across the street from Nick’s bar. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had too much angry energy built up after the hospital visit. I decided to pop in to see if the barman had delivered my message. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wait until Monday to talk to the guy who had beaten my father senseless.

  “I’ll be right back,” I called through the backseat window to Brandon, who looked suspiciously up from his phone call.

  “What?” he mouthed, but I just tossed the bread on the seat and took off across the street as soon as the next car passed.

  Considering it was only a few hours into the afternoon, Nick’s wasn’t technically open, but I knew the curmudgeonly bar owner would get there early to prepare for sound check and do inventory or whatever else was needed to open a bar. The narrow space seemed even darker than usual in contrast with the bright sunshine outside.

  “Nick?” I called as my eyes adjusted just enough to make out the shape of his lumbering form behind the bar, where he was refilling bowls of nuts.

  He looked up with surprise. “Hey, kid, what are you doing here?”

  “I just came to drop off a message for Victor,” I said as I approached. I didn’t need to use his last name; Nick would know exactly who I was talking about.

  “Ah, well, actually, funny you should say that…” Nick nodded his square-shaped head in the direction of the stage area, where a small card table had been set up and was surrounded by four men in cheap slacks and button-down shirts. I recognized the one closest to us immediately: Victor Messina.

  “What’s he doing here?” I whispered. Was this where Dad had run up his debts? I doubted his trouble was really stirred up at a horse track.

  Nick shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “It’s a free country, Skylar, and the bar’s open.”

  I looked suspiciously back at the table, which was littered with glasses of liquor and lit cigars. I frowned at Nick. Normally it was illegal to smoke inside public establishments in New York, but these guys didn’t seem to think there was any problem.

  “I heard my name. What can I help you with, honey?”

  Messina strode up to where I stood and gave me a head-to-toe look that made me want to jump into a shower. His stumpy form was a walking cliché for a small-time gangster: short and stocky with slicked black hair, meaty hands, and a paunch that pressed the restraints of the buttons of his thin blue shirt. He grinned lasciviously, revealing a mouth full of crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.

  “You look familiar, doll,” he said. “Do I know you, sweetheart?”

  It took everything I had not to roll my eyes. This guy thought he was Lucky Luciano.

  “She’s Danny’s kid,” Nick put in quietly before skittering to the other side of the bar to busy himself stacking glassware.

  Messina looked at me up and down again, this time a bit more critically. “That’s where I know you. You got the face. Them freckles like his. Guys, you see them freckles?” He looked back to where his cohorts chuckled back at him, but when he turned, his eyes hardened. “You wearing a wire, cutie?”

  I sighed, then unbuttoned the top two buttoned of my shirt and spread it across my chest so he could see clearly that there was no listening device attached to me.

  Messina eyed my modest cleavage appreciatively. I clapped my shirt closed, and his belly jiggled when he chuckled again.

  “Pants too,” he said as he beckoned with a few beefy fingers.

  I grimaced and unzipped my jeans to reveal the top of my underwear.

  “Lace, huh? We got fancy girl here,” Messina leered.

  “Everything okay?”

  I whirled around to find Brandon striding quickly down the long tunnel of the bar front. His eyes flicked angrily down to my undone pants, which I quickly refastened.

  “Fine,” I told him, giving him my best “get the hell out of here” look I could muster. “You can wait for me outside. We’re just finishing up.”

  Brandon ignored me and moved smoothly around several bar stools to come stand next to me. Reluctantly, I turned back to Messina, who was watching the two of us with obvious suspicion, an expression mirrored by the trio of goons sitting behind him.

  “Who’s your friend, Red?” Messina asked in a not particularly welcoming voice.

  The sound of the familiar moniker made me want to smack his doughy face, but I did my best to ignore the impulse. “No one. Just a friend come to help me out with my dad.”

  Inwardly I cursed myself for the way my voiced cracked at the mention of my father’s condition. The men behind Messina snickered to each other, and I wondered sickeningly which one of them was responsible for Dad’s condition. Had only one of them beaten him nearly senseless, or had they taken turns targeting his various body parts?

  “Skylar’s a friend of mine,” Brandon reiterated. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d help her out since her family had an accident.”

  I didn’t miss the intensification of his accent as he spoke. I wondered briefly if the sudden change was on purpose. He showed no signs of anger or frustration—only the slight emphasis on the word accident.

  “Boston, eh?” Messina asked. “South side?”

  Brandon’s jaw locked, his body assuming an eerily still pose. “Dorchester.”

  He set a hand casually the bar top around my back, his body language communicating me as his clear territory. I didn’t hate it.

  Messina raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Born and raised?”

  Brandon nodded again. “Near Fields Corner. You know anyone up there?” By this point his accent was so thick the words “near”, “corner”, and “there” sounded like didn’t include the letter ‘r’: “ne-ah”, “cah-nah”, and “they-ah”.

  “Yeah, yeah, I got a few acquaintances,” Messina said.

  They were clearly talking obliquely about the crime syndicate in Boston, and I found myself staring at Brandon in a daze. He hadn’t mentioned those kinds of connections before—was he faking it?

  “Yeah, I went to school with Mickey Caldero and Jimmy Foster,” Brandon was saying. “We used to run together before they got locked.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Messina asked, his eyebrows rising in clear recognition. His thick frame relaxed at the names, and I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The pissing contest was officially over. “How’re they doing? Jimmy’s still in the joint, ain’t he?”

  “They both are.”

  They launched into a short conversation about the various times they’d both had with Brandon’s old friends, getting into enough detail that it appeared that Messina had completely forgotten to ask Brandon’s name, particularly after Brandon bought him another drink.

  “I suppose we should get back to business,” Messina said reluctantly as Nick poured two hefty fingers of bourbon into his glass. “You all right with that, sweetheart? I’m happy to have my associates escort your tall friend here to give us some privacy.”

  The way he said the word “privacy” made my spine clench, and I could feel Brandon stiffen while his fingertips suddenly pressed white on the bar top. There was no way he was leaving unless he was unconscious.

  “Um, no, he can stay,” I managed.

  Messina shook his head slightly in disappointment, then leaned heavily on the each of the bar. “If you say so. Honey, I’m sure you know that your father’s in quite a bit of trouble.”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes, I know. I’d like to pay his debt.”

  Messina raised one caterpillar-shaped brow. “All of it? Do you know how much he owes?”

  I nodded. “Whatever it is, I can manage it.”

  “Well, I tell you what, gorgeous, since I like you and your friend here, I’ll make you a deal. If you can get me twenty-five percent of the two-hundred K your dad owes me by Monday, you can have until the end of the month to give me the rest.”

  I swallowed, my tongue suddenly t
hick in my throat. Dad’s reaction in the hospital made me think it was a lot, but I wasn’t expecting that much. It would take every penny in what remained in my trust to make the first payment, and Bubbe would probably have to take out a second mortgage for the rest. But there was nothing to be done about it. If we didn’t pay, Dad would have his other hand ruined, or worse.

  “Okay,” I breathed, willing myself to sound more steady than I was.

  “Skylar—” Brandon murmured behind me.

  “It’s fine,” I said a little louder, looking straight at Messina. I pulled out from my purse the checkbook I’d brought with me for this exact purpose and started scribbling numbers before I was interrupted.

  “That’s very cute, sweetheart, but I’m gonna require cash.”

  I gulped, trying to keep my expression even. Of course. How stupid. Slowly I put my checkbook back into my purse and looked up. “Should I leave it here?”

  Before he could answer, a paper bag I hadn’t realized Brandon carrying slammed on the bar in between me and Messina.

  “That’s half,” Brandon uttered casually, the only sign of his tension a ticking muscle in his jaw as Messina pulled out ten thick stacks of hundred-dollar-bills.

  “Lucky you got a friend who knows something about how these things work, sweetheart,” Messina remarked as he picked up the stacks and thumbed through them appreciatively before shoving them back into the bag and tossing it to his associates. “Count it,” he barked.

  “Where did you get that?” I muttered into Brandon’s ear behind me.

  “I came prepared,” he whispered back. Messina turned back to us, this time with renewed interest in Brandon.

  “Danny knows where to deliver the rest of the money,” Messina said as he perused the tower of tension standing behind me. “He’s done it plenty of other times.”

  I bit back a reply as I watched the men count the stiff bills. So this had been going on for a lot longer than I’d thought.

  “And gorgeous, it goes without saying, but if I even smell of a whiff of the cops…”

  “You won’t,” I sharply, forcing myself to meet Messina’s eye. “And you’ll get your money.”

  “Excellent. Can I get you a drink to celebrate our business together?” Messina leered at me, his portly face twisting in a complete perversion of a smile.

  Brandon’s hand slipped off the bar and around my waist, pulling me tightly to his side. “No, we’ve got some things to do,” he said tightly. I nodded my agreement, and Messina shrugged.

  “All right, then, sweetheart,” he said as he looked over his shoulder to check on his lackeys’ progress. One of them gave a nod, and Messina looked back to me and winked. “I’ll see you in a month.”

  At that, Brandon practically dragged me out of the bar, barely allowing me to wave briefly at Nick before we plowed back into the afternoon sun. He said nothing, just kept my hand locked in his until we were back inside the plush interior of the car.

  “Go,” he barked at David, who immediately started the engine and pulled away while Brandon checked over my shoulder to make sure we hadn’t been followed out of the club. I slumped into my seat as my heart sank. Now he was involved in this mess, and it definitely wouldn’t be good if Messina or his nameless henchmen caught wind of Brandon’s money.

  After we had turned the block, Brandon finally looked to me, eyes blazing.

  “What the fuck were you were doing in there?” he spat. “That was really fuckin’ stupid, Skylar.” His accent was even more pronounced now than it was in the bar. This time I didn’t think it was on purpose.

  I gaped. “Are you serious? Says the man who was carrying a hundred grand as walking around money!”

  He looked up, his blue eyes blazing mad. “I knew what I was doin’. You have no idea what those kinds of people are capable of!”

  “Actually, I do,” I retorted. “It is my dad who’s laid up in a fucking hospital, not yours. In case you forgot, this isn’t the first time he’s gotten in trouble!” I laughed, a shrill, harsh bark that seemed to echo around us. “I didn’t want to drag you into this mess, Brandon,” I said, “but apparently you seem dead set on it. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with Victor fucking Messina.”

  In the front seat, David’s eyes flickered back to mine in the rearview mirror before turning forward again.

  Brandon pressed his lips together, considering. “How many other times?”

  I crossed my arms and slumped further into my seat. I hated that I even had to tell him any of this. “Twice before. Once when I was in high school. It wasn’t a huge debt, but it was enough that we had to sell most of Bubbe’s jewelry and take a chunk out of my college fund to make good on it. The last time was during my first year of law school, and I also paid that off from my school fund.”

  I didn’t mention those were only the times we’d had to deal with Messina—I wasn’t even counting the other petty debts Dad had run up around the neighborhood when I was just a kid, usually after one of the times my mom would leave. Those, thankfully, hadn’t been too life-altering, even if it caused some shady characters to show up on our doorstep every so often.

  “And do you really think paying these shit heads off helps?” Brandon asked incredulously. “Who do you think it is that gets him back to the tables and track?”

  “You don’t know that,” I said weakly.

  “I know how people like this work, and so do you. Your dad’s a target, Skylar.”

  “And now so are you!” I exploded, rubbing my fingers over the bridge of my nose. This entire situation was giving me a massive headache. “You think I don’t know he’s a fucking cockroach? That piece of shit and people like him have been making my family miserable my entire life. But until I can get my dad out of this goddamn city, paying him off is the best I can do!”

  We sat in silence for a few moments as David pulled up in front of the house. Brandon sighed.

  “Where are you going to get that kind of money?” he asked quietly.

  I looked down where my hands were now clasped in my lap. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I still have some left in the fund my mother gave me for school. I was hoping to gift it to my dad for his retirement, but obviously it’s needed now. I’ll pay you back the other half once I start working this fall.”

  I didn’t mention the fact that we’d still have to take a loan against the value of the house. It wouldn’t be as much as I thought, but it would still have to be done.

  Brandon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll pay it,” he said. “And we’ll get your dad the hell out of New York and into rehab before he ends up back in the hospital.”

  “He won’t go,” I said with a vehement shake of my head. “I’ve tried that. I begged him to come to Boston with me. But he won’t budge. He’s got four years left before he makes pension. His band is here, and my grandmother would rather kill herself than leave her house. She’s lived here her whole life—I bet I could count on one hand the number of times she’s even left the Five Boroughs.”

  Brandon opened his mouth to argue, but I held up a hand.

  “Besides, it’s like you said, he’s a target,” I continued. “You know how these people work. You did a decent job of convincing him that you probably got that money the same way he gets his, but if Victor Messina ever gets even a hint of who you really are…you better believe he’ll ask for a lot more than just my dad’s debt.”

  A simple Google search would do him in; I thought again how lucky he was that Messina hadn’t asked for his name, or even seen his car. The idea of those thugs showing up at Brandon’s posh townhouse, threatening him or doing worse…suddenly I saw Brandon in a hospital bed. The thought made my blood run cold.

  The pulled to a stop. Brandon said nothing, just stared out the window at the shabby brown house Bubbe had lived in since she’d gotten married. She’d had my father in that house. She’d raised me in that house. I knew my family; they’d never leave.

  “All right,
” he said at last with a lot more conviction than I knew he felt. He reached out and grasped my hand, pulling me closer so he could run his thumbs over the ridges of my knuckles. “But I’ll still give you the money for it.”

  The hell you will, I thought. “It’s really fine—”

  “No, Skylar.” His tone was quiet, but final. He ignored my glare, opened the door, and slipped out of the car before I could respond. He walked a few steps toward the rusty metal gate and waited for me there.

  After a few more moments, I followed him, allowing David to drive the car away to a safer parking location while we walked up to the house for dinner. Brandon could have his way for now, but there was no way in hell I was going to let him pay off this debt.

  He waited next to me on the porch while I fished out my keys. Before unlocking the door, I turned and looked up to his sober face.

  “You can go if you want,” I said quietly.

  His handsome features screwed into a confused frown. “What? Why would I do that?”

  “I know you’re upset with me.” I offered with a weak shrug. I wasn’t going to change my mind, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see his side of things.

  He nodded his head from side to side as if weighing my statement. “You must be crazy if you think I would leave you alone after today. After that.”

  “I am not crazy!” I wanted to shout, but had to settled for an emphatic whisper, knowing Bubbe was likely lurking around the windows. “And nothing is going to happen. You heard him; I have until the end of the month. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, but baby, I’m not.”

  The tenderness of his words cut the argument right out of my mouth, and I stood there, my lips hanging slightly open as I processed his words.

  “What do you mean?”

  Skylar, I l—” Brandon cut himself off with a quick chew of his bottom lip. “Red, if something happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself. And if I’m stuck at that hotel or on the way back to Boston wondering if you’re okay, well, I’ll be the crazy one then, all right?”