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I grab her arms. “You can. Please, don’t do anything rash, Viv.”

She hugs me tight. “I promise I won’t.”

It isn’t until later that evening I realize she hasn’t come down from her room. Viviana has a tendency to sulk, to demand that all eyes be on her—something I absolutelydespise. I know she can twist a man around her finger, make them all scramble for her attention.

I’ll bet the guy Dad wants to marry her off to is old, fat, probably can’t even get a hard-on. There are whispers—some want a fresh virgin to fuck and start a family with, others want the alliances that a marriage brings on the condition they appear united.

And hours later with no sight of her, and Dad now gone, I’m filled with an uneasy sense of foreboding.

She has to be around somewhere. After searching the mansion for twenty minutes, I pass the back garage and frown. Shit. Where is her damn car?

“Oh, man, don’t tell me she went to see Headley…”

I stomp back to her room, panic rising in my chest. Her travel bag is missing. So are her toiletries, her jewelry, and half her clothes. My father, Vincent de Rosa—a powerful New York Don—is going to freak the hell out.

His little prize? His dealmaker?

She’s gone.

FIVE

callahan

The following week,I walk into the Upper East Side gentleman’s club and immediately spot Vincent de Rosa sitting in a big leather chair the color of walnut. He’s one of five owners of the place; the others are businessmen and billionaires who want a place to play that reeks of exclusivity and overpriced drinks.

Still… I shouldn’t judge, I get the appeal. I can’t help but think that while I get the appeal, I’d rather throw my money into ventures that don’t involve whips, chains, and, to be honest, blow jobs—even though, as sure as the Blarney Stone has been kissed too many times, this place offers those, too.

The tastefully and scantily clad server leads us over to his table.

Us being me and Seamus.

“You didn’t need backup.” De Rosa flashes me a mean, condescending smile—a smile that screams prick.

I grit my teeth. I want the deal. I don’t have to like him.

“Seamus isn’t backup.”

“Lunch is on me.” Vincent motions for me to sit.

He wanted to meet on his turf. I insisted on somethingneutral. Yet here we are, on his home ground even though I’m still not giving him any advantage. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what I’ve been through—of where I’ve landed myself or how I’ve clawed and killed my way out of messes. I could call off this deal or demand extra, and I know it. He probably knows it, too. Maybe his asshole attitude is just nerves.

Or maybe he’s hiding something.

“Not here for a meal or to socialize,” I say. Seamus makes the smallest sound and I ignore him. Fucking brothers.

“A drink then, for you both.” Again, the jerkoff gestures for me to sit.

“Not thirsty, but you go ahead.”

The man gestures to the girl and orders, feeling her up as he does so.

“Does your backup want something?”

“Thomson Manuka Smoke single malt.” Seamus grins. The pretentious prick. He could have stayed loyal to me and not drank instead of heading to the ass end of the fucking planet with a top-shelf shot.

She frowns, confused.

“Or a Redbreast, if that’s what you have.” Seamus sounds pleased with himself.