Page 21 of Mason

Mason

“Anthony Giambelli’s daughter is missing.”

Dad delivers the news with a puff of smoke. He sits at his desk, his eyes shadowed in deep circles while his third cigar of the morning smolders between his fingers.

Grady’s brows furrow as he sits beside me in one of the leather-wrapped office chairs. “Anna?”

Dad takes another draw and pulls his cigar from his lips, releasing a larger plume of white as he looks between us. “No. The younger one. Neither of you know anything about this, right?”

Grady frowns, his chest puffing out with offense. “Why? Is the motherfucker trying to blame his whore of a daughter on us now? She’s probably getting banged out by one of his guys.”

Dad shakes his head, shifting his gaze to me. “She disappeared from Down Under last night. Coincidentally, the club’s camera system was compromised, and no one saw a thing.”

I cross my arms, playing along. “At Down Under? That place is Italian. There’s no fucking way that’s true. Giambelli’s got them all in his pocket.”

I still don’t know how the fuck Dixon pulled off the grab, but the man does things no one can. He’s the underworld’s own Santa Claus that delivers bloody gifts and permanent silence.

“She was out with a friend when she went missing. According to the rumor mill, Giambelli’s got her and her fuck buddy right now trying to get answers. Do either of you know an Oscar?”

Oscar. It doesn’t ring a bell.

Grady shifts in his seat, agitated. Like me, he hates when Dad drags shit out rather than just saying it outright. “I don’t think so.”

“What’s it to us? Is he one of ours?” I don’t like this surprise update at all. Dixon hadn’t mentioned the girl was out with one of our kind. That throws extra horse shit on top of the already-heaping cart of trouble he parked in our hideout.

Dad shakes his head slowly, still studying us like we’re lying.

Technically, I am, but I know Grady doesn’t give two fucks about Giambelli’s girl. The only ones that concern him are ones immediately available to fuck. The one I have chained up is more than off his radar. She’s in another universe.

“So, is he trying to pin that on us?” I ask, irritated that he isn’t giving us more information. This isn’t a fucking game. “Isn’t it enough that we have to bury our brother? Does he really think we’d go clubbing or give two fucks about his kid?”

“Eye for an eye,” Dad says with a shrug. “At least that’s what I think he’s figuring. I didn’t accuse the man of being smart or even logical. Someone shits across town and he claims it’s on his lawn half the time.”

I meet his eyes, the blue beacons glassy with whiskey. “Do you think it’s related to what happened to Spencer?”

Dad snorts, coughing on a laugh. “Enough with the conspiracy theories, Mason. For fuck’s sake, stay off the internet.”

Grady grins but offers a supportive pat on my shoulder. “Come on, Dad. He might have a point. What are the chances they both happen in the same day and aren’t connected?”

Dad tosses his cigar down, missing the ashtray and sending the smoldering nub rolling across his desk. “Exactly. What if one of my fuckhead sons took matters into his own hands without having all the facts first?”

I grab the cigar and stick it in the ashtray before it catches his desk on fire. He’s such a drunken screw up. It’s a wonder we haven’t been wiped off the face of the earth yet with him leading us. “You know damn well I was out running the streets like a dog all night. I wasn’t anywhere near fucking Down Under.”

While he was drinking his fucking liver away with Grady, I was out trying to save our crew, but he’d never see it that way. He would’ve let the hit happen and not batted an eyelash if the girl died. He’s only ever concerned with his immediate needs. Impulsive. Short-sighted.

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t hire someone,” Dad snarls, slamming his fist on the desk.

“Look, if you want to fucking accuse me of something, do it, Thomas.” I don’t care about formalities. It’s only the three of us in here, and if the drunk bastard wants to hit me for disrespecting him, he’ll have to haul his sloppy ass out of his chair to do it.

Dad grumbles under his breath before reaching for his tumbler.

“What was that?” I push, moving to my feet. Grady’s hand clenches my elbow, but I brush it off just as quickly.

“You know the right person to pull off a job like that,” Dad says pointedly, clearly referring to Dixon. “There’s not a fucking trace of her.”

I lean over his desk to invade his personal space. If he wants to act like a fucking kid, I’ll treat him like one. “I didn’t kill her or pay anyone to do it.”

“Well, someone fucking took her,” he barks, scooting his chair back and earning a few inches of precious space.

---