Page 87 of A Favor Owed

“Deirdre.” My dad links his fingers with hers. “Give him a break, honey. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I know,” she says softly. “I just… Brady, are you going back to California?”

“If that’s what it takes, yeah. Whatever she wants.”

My mom isn’t going to let me see how sad that makes her. She smiles and squeezes Connor’s hand.

Siobhan comes strolling back into the room with a fresh bowl of popcorn. “What’s going on?”

“Your brother’s going to try to get you that sister-in-law you want,” says my mom drily.

“Yes!” Siobhan exclaims, pounding her fist in the air and spilling more popcorn as a result. “How exactly are you gonna pull that off, since she hates your guts and all?”

Yeah, there’s that little problem to deal with.

“We’re going to help him,” says my mom.

“Cool. I’m in.”

Uh, okay…

There’s also the other big problem my mom correctly alluded to. But I have an idea about that one.

I go outside on the front porch and dial up Lou. “I need a favor,” I say.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Brady

I’ve never been to a jail, and I hope I’ll never be back. Running into a burning building was a walk in the park compared to going to the Metropolitan Correction Center to visit Angelo Pini. Lou tried to talk me out of it for days before finally capitulating and setting it up.

Now I’m sitting across from Angela’s father, staring at him through thick glass. Even in an orange jumpsuit he looks all business, like he has an important meeting to get to. His eyes are dark and shrewd and cold.

I pick up the phone, and so does he, looking equal parts bored and deadly.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he says.

Okay, yeah, he is so going to kill me, if Angie doesn’t do it first. This was a dumb idea. What the hell am I supposed to say to a murdering mafia don whose daughter ratted him out to save my dad? “I’m a friend of Angelina’s, sir. My name is Brady McDaniels.”

“I know exactly who you are. How about you tell me what it is you want?”

Well…here goes. “I want to marry your daughter, Mr. Pini.”

I have the distinct impression that Angelo Pini isn’t often surprised. He’s surprised now. “I beg your fucking pardon?”

“I love your daughter, sir. I’d like to marry her.”

He stares at me for what feels like a full minute but may be only a few seconds. I have no idea. I’m wondering if he has snipers on call and one will be waiting for me as soon as I exit onto the street.

Then he laughs, and the harsh sound makes me jump out of my skin. “How the hell are you gonna take care of my daughter? You’re a goddamn fireman. She spends half your annual salary in one month.”

“She’s willing to give that up, Mr. Pini. And I have some money. I got a settlement when my dad died. It’ll put us both through law school, buy her a nice house wherever she wants, and get her a ring.”

“He get hit by a bus or something?” He says it with the hint of a smirk.

“He died evacuating people from the World Trade Center, sir.”

Angelo sits up a little straighter. “I’m sorry to hear that. That was a terrible, terrible day.”

---