Page 19 of Savage Empire

He says all of this like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like a phone is a french fry or something even less significant to him. It probably is. The Moretti family hasbillionsof dollars, a smart phone is probably a fraction of a penny to him. A drop in the ocean.

“Remo was on the plane with us,” I say, suspiciously taking the silver iPhone that Yordan passes to me. It has a clear protective case and a shatter-proof screen already installed. “How exactly did he manage this?”

“Who cares?” Yordan chuckles. “This issweet, thank you, Apollo.”

“You’re welcome.”

Oh, so he’s just going to ignore me?

My eye twitches, something that Elio seems to catch.

“Remo’s good with all things technology, hacking included. I told him what we needed and he did it all remotely. He had one of our local guys grab two new phones and give him the serial numbers, IPs and all that shit. It was a piece of cake.”

“So, he can just access our phones whenever he wants?”

“He can access the fucking Pentagon if he wants,” Apollo replies with a scoff. “He won’t snoop through your information. Relax.”

Relax?

I’m going to kill him.

“Remo is a good guy,” Elio adds, glaring at his moody older brother. “He won’t overstep.”

Mollified for now, I drop the skeptical attitude and sigh.

“We’ll pay you back for the phones.”

Apollo’s eyes snap to the rearview mirror, meeting my gaze. “No, you won’t.”

“I don’t need your charity,” I grit out.

Yordan snorts. “I’m totally cool with the charity.”

“Good, because I’m not taking money from either of you.”

You know what? Fine.

“Whatever.” I sniff. “Waste your money for all I care. Spend all of it. Go nuts. I’m done arguing with you.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he replies dryly.

I refuse to engage any farther. He’s going to give me a migraine.

Only fifteen more minutes of awkward silence pass before we arrive at a fresh and modern-looking building. It’s the size of a typical hotel, maybe five to seven stories tall, white as snow, with blacked out windows you can’t see through. It’s sort of boxy and plain, but in a sleek way.

A swift elevator ride takes us to the top floor, and the grumpy Moretti heir leads us to our final destination. During our trip up, I found noticeable cameras all over this building and the hallway we’re currently standing in. I told myself I was going to protest at every turn of this process, and already he’s stumping me. There’s no way I can complain about the safety of this place without him calling bullshit immediately.

“You’ll be staying here for now,” Apollo says, swinging open a secure oak door. He needed to punch in a codeanduse a key to unlock it.

The bastard thinks of everything.

“Holy shit,” Yordan whispers, brushing past me to get a closer look.

I reluctantly step inside and freeze. Everything about this place screams new and expensive. High ceilings, wide open space, dark and polished wood floors, and walls that look freshly painted. There’s moody art decorating several hanging frames, and furniture filling the area like it was customized perfectly for it.

Big, soft couches, solid wood tables, chairs, and more. And the kitchen…Isus Khristos,the kitchen. Shiny stainless steel appliances, endless counter space, stone backsplash, and a spotless gas stove.

“This is all for us?” my brother asks, his lips breaking into a smile bigger than I’ve seen on his face in years.