Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Salvatore glanced at the folder Larkin had brought into the stands with him. “What did you find out about his Miami mess?”
“That took some work.”
He asked for that information a month ago, and it never took Larkin this long to dig when needed. But...Salvatore had to know, and the boss didn’t seem very interested in having a conversation about his youngest son, or the private university that expelled him.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
Larkin didn’t reply.
“It is, isn’t it?”
Without a word, Larkin picked up the folder and handed it over. Sal opened the file. It took two-point-five seconds of scanning for him to slam it shut.
“Holy shit.”
“Yep,” Larkin muttered.
Salvatore opened the file again, flipping through to the second page where a few screen caps of a live stream that had been shown for a short while, according to the information included, were pasted. He could not blink enough times to let his mind process the images on the paper.
“He drugged, restrained, and then live streamed the President’s nephew admitting to drugging and date raping freshman on campus during frat parties?”
“It’s wild,” Larkin returned, a bit of pride in his tone. “Can you imagine the balls? The nerve.”
“The President’s nephew?”
“I guess Secret Service showed up to your boss’s mansion lickety -split because they monitor the family’s social media feeds or something. Anyway, they picked up on it quickly enough to keep it out of the press. Somehow.”
“Oh, someone made phone calls for that. You can bet on it.”
“Probably.”
“Now I get why Giorgio was so worked up and didn’t even want to look at the kid. That asshole wouldn’t want to touch any of this with a ten-foot pole, but he already had me across the country on something else so he had to do what he had to do as fast as he could do it,” Salvatore said, closing the file and handing it back to Larkin. “Destroy that, would you?”
“Sure. So, are you going to bring it up to him?”
“Who—Giorgio or Nico?”
“Nico,” Larkin clarified.
“No, he made a choice and apparently, I’m the consequence. He’s lucky they didn’t bring him up on charges for something, but really, then they would need to explain what the President of the United States’ nephew had also been doing.”
“Seriously, you’re not even gonna ask him how he knew the guy was raping girls?”
Salvatore shook his head. “It makes no difference. What do you want me to do, clap him on the back and tell him good job that he made a rapist admit to being a rapist on camera? I’d be more interested in knowing if he regrets doing it, considering what came after.”
Larkin laughed loudly, and it earned them a glance over his shoulder from Nico. He stood, coming their way.
“I can tell you right now,” Larkin replied, also standing to leave, “he doesn’t regret a damn thing.”
Nico came to stand beside Salvatore, asking, “Should I head after Larkin to go back home, or...?”
“Nope.”
“All right. I’ll probably go have a smoke before we head out, then.”
“That’s fine. Are these familiar?” Salvatore lifted the fob, keys, and keychains that he’d kept hidden momentarily. Nico’s face brightened. He reached for the dangling mess, but Salvatore yanked it out of his reach. “Ah, not yet. First, we go over ground rules when you’re back at the estate. Second, you’re only getting the Ducati today. I thought you’d like to drive it.”
Nico sighed, clearly relieved. “Yeah, the Ducati is great.”
“Which key is that?”
Nico pointed to the one without a fob, just a straight key with a black knob. Attached dangled a charm in the shape of the state they currently called home. Salvatore made quick work of removing the key and chain, hanging it over to Nico.
“I expect you’ll—”
“Drive straight to your place, no stopping.”
Salvatore smirked. “Perfect.”
•••
Before long, Salvatore had his Mercedes coup headed in the direction of home. With the smell of In-and-Out filling the vehicle, and Frankie in the passenger seat with a mouthful of hot fudge sundae, he figured now they could chat. What better time than when she couldn’t argue with a mouth full of food?
“Could we talk about a couple things?” he asked.
Frankie’s attention drifted from the cotton candy colored sunset to her father behind the wheel. Around a plastic spoon, she mumbled, “About what?”
“For one, I’m proud of you. You’ve been doing really—”
“Oh, my God, are you leaving already?” she interrupted having swallowed her bite.
“No,” he assured just as fast, glancing her way and then back at the road. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”
Her brow furrowed as she stared into the ice cream. “I can’t remember the last time you were home for more than a month straight.”
“Your sweet sixteen.”
He remembered.
Very well.
“Oh,” Frankie said, looking up again. “Are you going to miss the tourney or something?”
“Barring nothing comes up that isn’t an emergency or whatever, then no. I will be there come hell or high water.”