Page 38 of Ruthless Lord

Charlie

D ad’s much more composed the next day when he shows up at the trucking depot. He strides into Stefano’s office and frowns at the cramped space before slumping into the only available chair, crossing his legs like he owns the place.

“Let’s get to it then,” he says, tossing a folder onto Stefano’s desk. “That’s everything I have.”

Stefano looks at the paper like it’s going to infect him before sliding it over to me. I sit perched beside him and pick it up, flipping through. There are call logs, receipts, text messages, and emails. But no smoking gun. Nothing that directly implicates my grandfather.

I raise my eyes at my father. “I thought we said we were going to get concrete proof.”

“That’s what I have,” he repeats, waving a hand. “Now it’s yours. Go ahead and convince the Marinos with it, I don’t care. Are we done now?”

I stare at him. I honestly can’t believe this asshole doesn’t get it. Slowly, I lower the folder and drop it onto the desk. “I’m not sure we were clear last night.”

Dad snorts and makes a face. “You were loud and fu—” He glances at Stefano and pales slightly. “You were very clear, Charlie. You want proof that your grandfather’s been playing along this whole time. Well, everything I have, it’s all in that folder. There you are. Prove away.”

“That’s not proof. We don’t give a shit about half-baked text messages.

” I stand up and come around the desk. Stefano looms behind me, not moving, but Dad’s eyes keep flitting back to the big, dangerous killer.

He’s scared and trying to mask it. “You’re not here to drop off a folder. You’re here to get fitted for a wire.”

Dad’s eyes widen. “Wait. A wire?”

“You know, the recording devices? They’re not actual wires anymore. The technology’s gotten a lot better. But the idea’s the same.” I stoop down and tap Dad right on the chest. “You mic up. You talk to Grandfather. You get him to admit everything.”

“And if he catches me? I just waltz out of there?” Dad’s pale now and shaking his head. “Come on, Charlie. This is crazy.”

“I don’t care.” I stand up straight. “Stefano, call in Davide.”

“Who’s Davide?” Dad asks, panicking. “There’s got to be another way. Look closer at those files. There are receipts. Money we paid to contractors. You’re not really asking me to?—”

Davide enters the office. It’s pretty cramped now between two huge mafia guys, my trembling Dad, and myself.

Plus all the toppling piles of paperwork.

“Did someone call for a wire?” He holds up a little box big enough to hold a necklace.

He flips it open and a very small microphone is placed in the center of a velvet cushion.

Add in some precious stones and it’d be pretty chic.

“No way.” Dad shakes his hands in the air. “No way! I’m not wearing that!”

“It’s pretty simple.” Davide explains how to tape it somewhere discreet, like on his lower back or at his hip. “But keep it away from your clothes the best you can. You don’t want feedback.”

I bend down to look Dad in the face. “You want to become the heir, don’t you? You want to run the family? This is your only shot.”

His lips twitch. “But Dad’s crazy. He’s so paranoid, Charlie. His rooms are swept for bugs twice a week. You know that.”

“I know, but you’re a desperate man. And sometimes you’re even clever. If anyone can pull this off, it’ll be you.”

He groans and stares down at the tiny microphone nestled in its plush box. “How’d you end up like this? Honestly, Charlie. I don’t recognize you anymore.”

Anger flares in my chest. I get right in his face, practically snarling like a dog.

“ You made me this way. You and Grandfather and everyone else in our fucked-up family. You made me this way and now you have to fucking live with it . That means no more whining. No more complaining. You do what you’re told or Stefano murders you. I’m done negotiating.”

Dad’s mouth hangs open. I step back, seething. Both Davide and Stefano seem impressed.

“Ah, sorry to interrupt again, but here’s the manual for the microphone.

It has about ten hours of recording time built in, but it needs to be uploaded and charged between uses.

” He tosses Dad a little stack of papers.

He clumsily snags them. “There’s also an earpiece.

It’s tiny and flesh-colored. Just make sure you don’t lose it in your ear canal.

Or do, I don’t care. Good luck to you all.

I’ll be watching as always.” Davide lightly salutes me before leaving again.

“This is crazy,” Dad murmurs before taking a deep breath. “But I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would.”

He gets up and I follow him to the door. Before he goes, I put a hand on his elbow to stop him.

“One more thing. Your mistress, Emily. I want you to fire her. Stop sleeping with her. Make sure she can’t find work anywhere on the East Coast ever again.”

Dad gives me a bemused look. “Really, Charlie? Just because she lied to you?”

“She’s lucky I’m not slitting her throat open. Destroy her for me. That’s part of the deal now.”

Dad sighs. “Fine. I was getting bored of her anyway. Anyone else you want out of the way before we’re through?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He walks off, shaking his head. “I’ll be in touch.”

I watch him go. Stefano joins me, a hand on the small of my back. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s a rat, but he’ll do what he’s told. I dangled the biggest, fattest piece of cheese imaginable, and he’ll go to any lengths to get it.”

“And what about you?” he murmurs, stooping to kiss my neck. “Did that little bit of revenge feel nice?”

I lean against him. Do I really hate Emily that much?

She’s only doing what my dad told her to.

It’s my fault for trusting her so easily.

I should’ve known better, but I was vulnerable and afraid, and she was the only person showing me any kindness at the start of all this.

I needed her. It was a mistake, but what the hell. It worked out in the end.

“Not really,” I admit with a shrug. “But fuck her anyway.”

Dad’s voice comes through scratchy and slightly distant. “How’s that? Better?”

“Good enough,” Stefano murmurs into his microphone. We’re in a van parked about a mile from the Westbrook mansion. “Where are you?”

“In the bathroom near my father’s suite. God, I’m sweating. I never sweat like this. I can’t believe I’m nervous.” The sound of running water and Dad talking to himself.

“Just do what you need to do and get the recording.” I lean up against Stefano, feeling stifled and unhappy. My heart’s beating fast and nerves jangle in my guts. Dad must be even worse right now.

“It’s going to be okay,” Stefano says lightly, not talking into the microphone anymore. “You don’t have to be worried about him.”

“I’m not really. I don’t care if Grandfather has him killed. I just want the plan to work.”

“That’s my girl.” Stefano kisses my hair. “Just hang tight.”

We’re subjected to ten minutes of Dad cursing to himself, peeing, and grumbling in the mirror before he finally leaves the bathroom and heads down the hall to his meeting.

The transmitted audio is surprisingly clear.

I can hear Grandfather’s assistants talking quietly to Dad, and I can even tell who they are based on their voices.

He sounds stressed, but still like himself, as he cracks jokes and blatantly flirts.

Finally, he’s allowed into Grandfather’s inner sanctum.

“You know my schedule, Walter,” Grandfather says, sounding exasperated. That’s how he always talks to Dad, like it’s the most annoying possible event in his day. “What was so urgent you needed to speak with me?”

“I have some concerns.” There’s a rubbing sound, and I’m guessing Dad just sat down.

“And here I was, worrying about what you thought all morning.”

I can almost see the deep frown on Grandfather’s face right now.

“I know, Dad, but please listen. We’ve been tracking the Marino trucks for a while now?—”

“How many times have I told you? We don’t use that name. Not here, not anywhere.”

“Right, but?—”

“You’re too goddamn stupid for your own good. How you’re my son, I’ll never understand. I’m of a mind to get a DNA test.”

“I know, you’ve been saying that my whole life. It doesn’t change the fact that the Marino trucks are all over the place. The data’s been corrupted.”

“Then fix it.” Grandfather lets out a grunt of frustration. “I swear, I have to hold your hand through everything.”

“I need funds. I need people. Your support so far?—”

“My support has been everything. Without me, you’d have curled into a tiny little ball and cried yourself to sleep. Or more likely, you would’ve done something stupid and gotten yourself killed.”

“At least I put Charlie in this position, just like you asked.”

I start back. My eyes go wide. There’s a short silence as Grandfather laughs, and I turn to look at Stefano.

I can’t believe this. From the start, I thought it was Dad who had blackmailed me.

But now I realize it was all another game, games within games. Dad was doing Grandfather’s work. He was maneuvering me from the beginning.

All for this. So Grandfather could use me like he uses everyone.

Stefano’s hand touches my leg and grips, comforting and firm. I blink back tears as Grandfather talks again.

“You’re good for some things, I’ll give you that.

Stupid fucking boy. Now listen to me. I have some new contractors you’ll want to meet.

Good, skilled men. They’ll do what you need them to do, but make sure you follow my plans.

I want the Marino shipping network. I want to know how they bypass the weigh stations and skirt through inspections.

I need the details, and I need them soon. ”

There it is. Everything we need. I hug myself tightly, staring grimly out the van back window at a gas station across the street. Hating myself for being a part of this family. Disgusted with the whole lot of them.

“Who the fuck’s this?” More noise from Dad’s end. It sounds like he’s standing up. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“I told you, I hired new contractors. This is Micky.”

A new voice enters the conversation. “Mr. Westbrook, we got a ping on our transmission sweep. There’s a bug in the room.”

“Shit. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry, sir, but it just appeared.”

“What are you talking about? You’re getting bugged?” My dad’s voice is trembling. I hear him bump into something and he curses lightly. “What’s this shit, Dad?”

There’s a long silence. I can almost feel the tension in the room. Stefano lifts the microphone to his lips and whispers one word:

“Run.”

There’s a crash and a scream. Something slams and a girl’s crying.

Dad’s breathing hard, gasping for air. More slamming and crashing, and Stefano’s behind the wheel of the van.

I yelp as he slams the accelerator down and we’re flying through traffic at a reckless pace as Dad shouts viciously on the far end of the recording.

“Need a hand!” he screams, sounding terrified. “Fuck! Fuck!”

“Hold on, we’re coming,” I say into the microphone.

“Fuck, get off me!” Dad grunts in pain. Another person snarls, cursing in what sounds like Dutch. Dad’s gasping and breathing hard again. “Shit, I kicked him in the teeth. Oh, fuck, he ruined my shoes, and shit?—”

Stefano rams the van around a corner. We’re hurtling toward the Westbrook mansion, wildly approaching outer security. “Hold on,” he says grimly.

I buckle myself in. “We’re almost there. Can you get outside?”

“Almost at the front door.” Something bangs and crashes. “Oh, fuck, that was Ming Dynasty.”

“Run, Dad!” I don’t care if he gets killed. But I really do care if they get that recording.

He screams and I hear another bump. This time, a door bangs open, and I hear him cursing, his shoes stumbling over wood.

“Hang on!” Stefano shouts.

The van rams into the outer gate. Sparks crash into the air as the front window spiderwebs, nearly breaking, but the van’s some fancy reinforced ex-military model, and it crashes through. I’m thrown around like a sardine, and it’s only the seatbelt that keeps me from breaking my neck.

“You okay?” Stefano shouts as we hurtle toward the front stoop.

“I’m fine, but Dad—” I’m cut off as Stefano slams on the brakes. The van spins, nearly tipping to the side.

“The door!” Stefano yells.

I reach forward, cursing, and yank it open. Someone hits the side and Dad shoves his way through, bleeding and cursing and writhing. “MOVE,” he yells.

But Stefano’s already driving. Loud pops burst through the morning, and I realize the new security guy is shooting at us. “Get down!” Stefano yells as the van roars to life, flying back down the front walk. “Hold on!”

We hit the remains of the fence again, rumbling over them. Dad gets tossed around like a doll, and I manage to close the side door with a slam. The gunshots fade as Stefano drives us away, taking a series of quick turns before slowing down to a more legal pace.

“Dad,” I say, unbuckling myself. I drop to my knees beside him.

Blood’s covering the front of his shirt. Blood drenches a wound right in his chest. He’s gasping for air, and red bubbles are crackling over his lips.

“Hurts,” he whispers. “Fuck, it hurts.”

“Hold on. Stefano, we need a doctor.”

“Can’t go to a hospital.”

“But maybe you can call your family guy?”

Stefano glances in the rearview. He stares at Dad for a moment before meeting my gaze. “He needs surgery. It’s a risk.”

I take a deep breath. Dad’s going pale. He stares at me, pleading. “Hospital,” he whispers, wheezing. “Can’t breathe.”

I should let him die. Fuck this man and all the hell he put me through. He blackmailed me alongside my grandfather in order to force me to spy for them. It’s all been one long, complicated con job from the start, and I despise them. My own family. A bunch of bastards.

But he’s still my father. In the end, I’m not as heartless as I wish I was.

“Call the doctor,” I tell Stefano. “We’ll try to save him.”

“Thank you,” Dad says, lips pale, eyes wide.

“But I’m taking this.” I reach up his shirt and pluck the recording device from where he’d taped it to his back. “Just in case you die anyway, asshole.”