Tony

 

I knew exactly what my father was doing, having Evie stay here and telling her about her father. He was trying to get an in. She might not see it, but I knew how my father was. He might look after family, in the loosest sense of the term, but it wasn't always out of a sense of benevolence.

 

That being said ...Evie was staying. And I wasn't going to tell her anything that was going to have her leaving me because she couldn't trust my father or some shit like that. She was agreeing willingly to stay here—to raise our child—under the stipulation that she would have to contribute something to the running of the business.

 

Honestly, I took it as a step to keeping her here and keeping her here for good.

 

I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me. I wanted her body. I wanted her. There wasn't a scenario that would go through my head that didn't involve her just never leaving. I wasn't about to let her go—wasn’t about to give her up. I wouldn't give her a reason to leave.

 

I blew smoke out my car window while I sat and waited for the light to turn green, thinking about how she had felt the last time I'd fucked her—tight and warm. But then she'd just gotten up and left. She'd wanted it, but it hadn't happened again in the last two days. My father—generous bastard that he was—had set her up in one of the guest bedrooms in my wing instead of in my room, where she belonged. He claimed that it was to preserve her independence. Bullshit. He wanted to play the good guy.

 

I shook my head and tossed my cigarette out of my car window. What a crock of shit, honestly. I sped up when the light turned green. I had other things to think about right now anyway.

 

We'd gotten intel that the boys from the night I took Evie had been taken out of the hospital and released to police custody. They hadn't been killed—or worse—but Rick Brown's goons were trying to get them on charges, just to say that they had some of my men. I told that fucker not to fuck with me. But that's what blackmail was for, and I was good at that.

 

I parked in front of the station, zipping in there like I owned the place—and hell, maybe one day I would. I had a file in my hand, full of everything that I needed to make this all go smoothly. One of them came out the front as I walked up, his eyes going wide. He looked like a rookie.

 

"Hey you can't—"

 

"Back up, boy, I'm here on business and I'm not afraid to clock you."

 

With that, I pushed myself inside.

 

The city police department was a real swanky place. They were loaded on tax-payer money, not to mention pay offs from the politicians, judges, and other 'public servants' who kept their pockets well-lined and their tables fatly stocked. It was a corrupt world, but hey, what were you to do? I strode to the front desk, and the cop sitting there eyed me suspiciously.

 

"Esposito."

 

"Cunningham."

 

"The fuck are you doing here, boy?"

 

"Pretty rude words to say. I come here politely and without backup," I said, tilting my head. "Where the fuck is your boss? I need to talk to him. We got business." I held up the file folder in my hand. Cunningham frowned.

 

"We don't have any business with you, Esposito. Get the fuck outta here. Especially after that shit you and your boys pulled the other night—"

 

"Cunningham!" A booming voice echoed through the police station. I looked toward the back, where the office door to the chief was propped open. Marshal. I smirked and walked over.

 

"Hey, you can't—"

 

"Cunningham, shut the hell up and finish doing your paperwork," Marshal ordered.

 

I followed Marshal into his office. Despite the fact that Marshal was getting his pockets lined as much as his boys, he at the very least knew how to deal good business. He had done a few deals for my father back in the day when they were still the young bucks around town, and he continued to do those favors in order to keep balance—police, the politicians, and the mafia. It was a trifecta of fucked-up shit, but for it to work, we had to work together. At least in some small capacity.

 

I sat myself down, setting the file on the desk. Marshal didn't pick it up.

 

"I was wondering when you'd come down for your boys."

 

"You were expecting me?"

 

"I knew when Rick decided to pull our strings to try and bust you that we'd probably end up seeing your face here in some capacity. Mostly, I'm surprised it took you so long. What's your price today, Esposito? I don't got all day."

 

See, this was why I liked Marshal. He may have been a blue, but he was Goddam practical.

 

I opened up the file. The first picture was Cunningham. He had a girl with her skirt hiked up over her ass, legs spread, and his cock buried in her pussy. The next showed the girl's face.

 

"Christ. Is that—"

 

"Mayor Callahan's seventeen-year-old daughter? Yep."

 

I flipped to the next picture. It was Cunningham's partner. He didn't have anything as damming as underage pussy in his picture, but he was stuffing his face full of cock in the back of one of the town's most popular gay bars. Now, I didn't have a problem with who people fucked—man and woman or man and man, who gave a shit as long as you were getting some? But I knew a lot of people who would pay good money to use this against the precinct.

 

"You wanna see the third one?"

 

"You'd show me anyway."

 

I flipped to the last picture, this one of a group of Marshal's cops surrounding a couple of young girls. There were a couple other pictures as well. The implications were obvious.

 

"Now, you know, there's a lot we could do with all this," I told him. "For one, even your boys and all your clout can't hide cold, hard black-and-white pictures. Underage pussy ...homosexuality ...gang rape …" I tilted my head. "You know, I know plenty of people who would kill for just one of these photos. My father was pretty adamant, especially about the ones with the girls. He doesn't like seeing little girls hurt. Used."

 

"When do you want your boys released?"

 

I smirked.

 

"Sundown. Return them in good condition." I stood up, straightening out my jacket while Marshal watched me damn near unflinchingly, in that odd way that he always did—like nothing that was going on was actually a bother to him in the grand scheme of things.

 

“Oh, also. You might wanna tell your boys to reign it in a bit. It’s only a matter of time before someone’s family comes to us asking for a favor because they know that’s we’ll carry it out for them without a care. I mean it about the girls.”

 

Marshal nodded, said nothing, and I made my way out.

 

One thing was fixed. Now just a few more things that I needed to settle. I wanted to do something for Evie—maybe bring her back something or maybe take her out somewhere when I got back. What was the protocol for any of this? I had no idea.

 

I was pulling another cigarette out of my jacket when I bumped into someone.

 

Well, what do you fucking know? I found myself practically nose-to-nose with Rick Brown.

 

I smirked at the man.

 

“Governor,” I said. “What a pleasant surprise. And what are you doing here, mingling with the common folk?” We both pushed out the precinct doors, and I was met with flashes of cameras. I ignored them, however. They meant nothing to me, and I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to fuck with him.

 

“Esposito,” he said curtly. He inclined his head to the reporters, though seemed to be disinclined to take any of their pressing, urgent questions. How funny. I continued smirking.

 

“Flustered, Governor?”

 

“Governor! How do you know Tony Esposito? Are you close? Do you have comment on the whereabouts of your daughter and the rumors that she’s been spending time with the mafioso?”

 

“Governor, can you explain to us the kind of charity work that your daughter is supposedly doing?”

 

“Governor, Governor!”

 

I laughed as he declined more comments while we made our way down the police station stairs.

 

“Is this a little too much for you, Governor?” I asked.

 

He scoffed.

 

“There is little that is too much to me; I merely see no point in entertaining gossip, just as I don’t feel like entertaining the childish antics of the city scum.”

 

My jaw clenched.

 

“What did you—”

 

“I’ll make this very clear.” Rick Brown spoke louder here, drawing himself up. “I will not be cowed by you, your father, or the people with whom you associate. Now, boy, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do, namely seeing to it that, eventually, your name is nothing more than a cautionary whisper for little boys and little girls who think it’s cool to play gangster on the weekends. War is for soldiers, boy. I would suggest you remember what you are and what you aren’t in regards to that. As for my daughter,” he turned his attentions to the reporters, who were notetaking and rolling their cameras during his whole little speech. “My daughter is and always will be under my careful watch and protection. She has decided to retain a bit of privacy during this election, which I am respecting. Now. If you’ll excuse me.”

 

I watched, fuming, as Rick Brown walked off and away to his Bentley. The reporters followed him, still rolling their cameras, snap, snap, snapping away pictures, and jotting down notes.

 

“That fucker.”

 

I got in my car, peeling out of there. Son of a bitch … making it out like he was standing up to the mafia or some shit when he was no better than anything that my father and I were. I shook my head. And that shit about Evie always being under his protection and watch. Was that some sort of hint? Was he watching her? Was he planning to try and take her back?

 

I shook my head. Over my dead body. Fuck Rick Brown. His daughter was mine.