Chapter Twelve – Nixon

"You fucking piece of shit!"

I want to grab the rat bastard by his expensive merino wool suit lapels and shake the shit out of him until his corpse falls on my office floor. My fingers itch, and a light sheen of sweat breaks out on my forehead. He's ruined my day before it's even begun.

"Watch it, whelp," the condescending voice says, not even piercing through my anger. "You'll raise your blood pressure. It's not a good look on you."

Dante leans back in his chair and tents his hands as if we're discussing the weather and not the fact that he's just asked Pink Autopsy to break their iron-clad contract with the Armónico. And they've agreed to take a huge financial hit as well as a black mark against their stellar reputation. I wonder what the hell he has hanging over their head to make them do something detrimental to their career. The Mona Lisa isn't a place for a band like them. It will most certainly hurt their street cred.

"What did you do to them, Giovanetti?" I ask, but I already know the answer. Every single person in this world has an Achilles heel, and this bastard has goons to figure out every weak spot just so he can dig his finger in and twist.

"Let's just say that they decided it would be in their best interests to institute a change of venue." He stops his gloating long enough to sweep his gaze around my modern office. I like clean lines and an expensive look. He's gaudy and old-school. From his suits, to his casino, to his pussy. "The Mona Lisa is so much classier than…this."

My lips quiver and I want to hurl insult after insult into his smug face. But truth be told, I'm angry with myself for losing my cool a few seconds ago. When I do that, he gets the upper hand, and he knows it. I inhale a deep breath and struggle to remain calm, winning the battle but not the war.

"Hmm…you do realize they're in breach of contract, so we'll be taking legal action."

He chuckles, and for a second, I think he's going to wink at me. Such a blatant act of disrespect might serve as the beginning of my complete undoing. But he doesn't, and I'm granted a momentary reprieve. He just continues to laugh in my face. "You can try, but you won't be able to get an injunction before the concert date. You know how the Vegas court calendar is, all plugged up with hookers, vagrants, and junkies. It's tough to even get a spot on the docket in Clark County."

Because you have every judge in your back pocket, you disgusting piece of shit.

"Does their manager know there's a six figure fine for deliberate breach of contract? No legal action needed to collect that."

Dante just stares at me and smirks. "He doesn't give a shit because I'm paying the fine out of my own pocket. You're such a dipshit, you didn't know what you had in the palm of your hand. I'm charging two-hundred bucks a seat and even more for the VIP section. You undervalued them. I won't make your careless mistakes."

I remain silent. He's just trying to bait me, and I refuse to nibble this time. "Well, you're welcome to them. I don't want to do business with a band that can't keep their commitments. No matter how popular they are, word will get around that they're in breach of contract. The only party looking bad in that situation is Pink Autopsy."

Troy pops his head inside, probably to make sure Dante's still breathing. I nod at him, and he walks in and stops a few feet in front of the mafia kingpin, looking the man up and down. "Good morning, Mr. Giovanetti, how's business over at the Mona Lisa?"

Dante glances at Troy but dismisses him like he's an annoying fly buzzing around his head but not landing. "Business is booming."

"I heard you caught some card counter at your high limit blackjack table." To anyone on the outside looking in, Troy appears to be making polite conversation, but I know better. No casino owner likes to be taken for a ride by a cheater and Dante's no different. He stiffens, and I can almost see the steam coming from his bristling body.

Troy one, Dante a big, fat goose egg.

"Yes, well, we caught him before he could do much damage."

Troy coughs into his hand, and I see him trying to cover up a chuckle. "Really? I heard he was into you for almost a hundred thousand before your pit boss shut him down. Maybe you need to replace your eye in the sky."

Dante's eyes narrow, and we've probably pushed him too far, but it's just too much fun to mess with him. I back off. In the split second I let down my guard for a laugh at Dante's expense, I forgot that it's the win at the end I really want. My strategy is to take the entire war and not just the occasional battle, since my dad's fucking legacy is on the line. I'll shoot the contract to my brother in NYC and see if I can't get something going right out of the gate to shake it all down. Dante seems to forget that my brother's one of the best lawyers in The Big Apple. I've been trying to drag Reagan's ass home for years, but he's attached to the lifestyle.

"My employees are loyal and competent. I wonder if you can say the same." He says it like he knows something I don't, and it pisses me off before I can stop it. I'm so sick of his gaslighting and game playing I could puke, but I take it. For now. Dante's slippery, and in order to take him down for good, I'll grow Velcro all over my body if needed.

I take a deep breath.

"Yes, well, I'm sure they are." I spear Troy with a look to tell him to stop with the baiting and toying if only for today. He hates Dante as much as I do. My dad was like a second father to Troy, and an all-around great man to everyone he knew. He wasn't a weak man. But Dante taking and taking and taking, weakened him to the point he felt he could no longer go on. For that, Dante will pay with everything he holds dear, or I'll die trying.

"You're resourceful, whelp. I'm sure you've got an ace up your sleeve to replace Pink Autopsy. Of course, they'll be second class and second best, but you'll figure it out, so you won't have to cancel. How are you going to do it?" He actually looks as if I might answer his fucking question.

He's so fucking done, a voice whispers in my mind, tempting me to reach across my desk and throat punch him.

Something about the greasy Italian seems off today, even darker and more sinister than normal, but for some crazy reason, I don't feel like that darkness can touch me. My parents are angels watching over me — Reagan, Ford, Carter, and Lincoln, too. Nothing bad will ever touch my family again. Not on my watch.

"I didn't really care for Pink Autopsy anyway," I admit, which is somewhat true from a personal standpoint. From a business aspect, this is a royal pain in my ass. "They were always my second choice. I really should be thanking you. Now you've freed up my time to book an act that will draw even more people to the Armónico."

"Hmm." His hand strokes back and forth on his thigh like some kind of nervous tick. It's the only indication that I've finally gotten to him. He checks his expensive watch and stands. "I've got a lunch meeting, so I'll be leaving now. Good luck finding a new band on such short notice."

"Have a nice day," I call to his retreating back. What I really want to say wouldn't be appropriate for Carol's ears, and I watch my mouth in front of her out of sheer respect. Besides, getting into it with him inside my casino is an exercise in futility and makes me look unprofessional. I need to apply patience because his time will come.

"Piece of shit motherfucker." Troy isn't so forbearing.

"You said it," I say, rifling through some papers on my desk. What I really want to do is take everything on top and sweep it onto the carpet in a fit of rage while Troy stamps his feet and squeals like we've reverted back to our playground days. But I don't.

"Carol," I say, pressing the button on my phone. "Can you get Unique Talent Management on the phone? It's an emergency. See if Chris Stevens is available."

"Sure thing." Her voice crackles, and I can barely hear her. "By the way—"

I let my finger off early, and my head snaps up as the door opens to reveal the visitor that Carol had been trying to announce when I'd rudely cut her off.

"I'll see you later, Troy," I say, dismissing him as I stare at the open doorway.

He turns his head, then looks back at me with censure. I already know what he's thinking, but I don't really give a shit. I glare until he stands up with the muscle in his jaw popping. Actually, I'm grateful to have a steadfast friend that I can be myself around without apologizing. Everyone should have someone in their life like that.

"I'll see you down on the floor." He nods at her as he walks by, and I will him not to brush up against her. I don't want to have to strike my best friend, but the only person who is ever fucking going to lay a hand on her ever again is me.

"Miss Castillo, it's lovely to see you," I say, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk. She hovers by the door for several excruciating seconds. At first, I think she'll flee, but I don't break eye contact, demanding her compliance with just my gaze. After a few long seconds, she finally sinks into the plush chair. I choose to ignore the rudeness, cursing, and anger she showed the night of our dinner. If she doesn't bring it up, neither will I.

"Mr. Caldwell…" Her eyes flutter shut, and I'd give anything to reach across the expanse of my desk and tip her chin up to force her to look at me. I imagine her naked in my bed with her arms pinned above her head, forced to surrender to my every whim while watching me the entire time. Someday. "Why did I see Dante Giovanetti leaving your office?"

I rear back in surprise. Of all the words to leave her lips, those are ones I'd never seen coming.

"What?" How in the hell does she even know his name? My entire body stiffens. I don't want her sweet innocence colored by knowledge of that human piece of shit.

She turns in her chair and points at the door to my office as if the subject of our conversation might reappear for visual verification. "Dante Giovanetti. I saw him getting onto your private elevator? Or was that someone else?"

I roll a mask of calm indifference over my face. "No. You're right. He's a business associate of mine. He was just here to deliver some bad news."

She frowns, and I'd give anything to stroke the creases from her brow. "I hope it wasn't too bad."

"Not at all. One of my headliners had to reschedule, but we'll take care of it today. Mr. Giovanetti was just here to rub my face in it."

"Oh. So you're not friends?" Her tone is hopeful, and I wonder why she would even care. After the way I've behaved — treating her like a trophy to be won and owned — she probably thinks I'm just as bad as my arch enemy. Regret punches me in the gut as I consider that she might think of me residing in a gutter instead of on a pedestal. In that moment, I want her to know the truth. To see the real me, so I rush in to explain.

"No, that evil mafia bastard and I are most definitely not friends. I'm afraid I can't stand the man."

She doesn't respond, only sits there, her fingers twisting in her lap. After she's wrung her hands together a few seconds, she looks at me again. "I'm sorry about the other night. I was rude and inappropriate. It won't happen again."

I don't like the fact that I've made her uncomfortable. She really hasn't done anything to apologize for since I've done nothing but act like an asshat in front of her in a desperate and futile attempt to tamp down the born again lust she’s inspired. "Don't even worry about it. You just continue working with Lincoln, and I'll make sure I stay out of your way. I never meant to upset you. It's just that…"

She chews her bottom lip, and I get a glimpse of her white teeth. I wish she'd smile at me, but it's rare. After what she's already been through in her young life, I'm not surprised. I've been fighting the same demons. The ghosts of the past haunt your dreams and steal your smiles before they can even reach your lips.

"What?" she asks.

"Well, Lincoln is raving about you, and I just wanted to make sure that you stay. You were right about my intentions. They were purely selfish. It's not easy dealing with his disability and he's had three paras this past year. Each time he gets attached and they leave, it breaks his little heart."

Compassion washes over her face before something else takes over. Pure stubbornness. She stands, looking me solidly in the eyes. "I'm not a quitter."