Page 77 of Brutal Heir
“Right.”
“Coffee after?” He raises a brow.
“Rain check. Rory’s waiting for me at home…”
A devious grin parts his lips as he regards me. But I lift a hand before he can utter a sound. He walked in on the aftermath of the kiss the other night and though I hadn’t provided any details, he wasn’t stupid either. “Later then, cuz.”
I nod, grateful he doesn’t pry further and move toward the double doors of my father’s office. The receptionist barely glances up. She knows better than to stop me.
The doors are already open when I reach them.
Marco Rossi stands at the window, back straight, suit perfect, one hand curled around a tumbler of something dark and expensive. The skyline of Manhattan sprawls behind him like a kingdom.
“You’re here early,” he says without turning, a grin in his tone. “Haven’t even finished my scotch.”
“It’s noon,Papà.”
He shrugs. “It’s six o’clock in Italy.”
I shut the door behind me. “We’ve got a problem.”
That gets his attention.
He turns slowly, eyes sharpening. “The club?”
I nod once. “The night before last… we found a body.”
“And this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“It’s under control.”
His brow twitches. Just barely. “Who?”
“One of the waitresses. Amber.”
His eyes narrow. He walks to the edge of his desk, fingers tapping once against the mahogany surface. “Cause?”
“Don’t know yet. Vincent found her in the back storage room. No weapon, no witnesses, at least not yet. We’re going through the surveillance now.”
He exhales slowly through his nose. “And the cops?”
“Not involved.”
“Dio, Ale…” He shakes his head, turning away to pace toward the bar cart. “You realize what this means for us? If the press gets a whiff of a dead employee at the Vault, they’ll crucify us. Gemini’s name will be splashed across every headline. Again. Our competitors will circle like sharks.”
“I know.” I rake a hand through my hair, jaw tight. “That’s why I’m here. We’re handling it internally until we figure out what happened, but it wasn’t just some random accident. The way she was positioned… it felt intentional. A message maybe.”
My father pours another two fingers of scotch. No ice this time.
“You think it’s connected to whoever is stealing money from the club?”
I hesitate. “I didn’t. Not at first. But the more I think about it…”
“Too much coincidence,” he finishes, turning back to face me. “We’ve got one employee skimming off the top, another turning up dead. Either someone’s getting sloppy, or you’re right and they’re sending a message.”
My blood runs cold. “A rival?” I’d never considered the stealing was anything but a desperate employee.
“Maybe.” He sips. “Maybe it’s internal. I trust Lawson and Vincent, but not everyone who works for us is loyal. You know how many favors I had to cash in to keep the Vault off the radar after the shooting this summer? If another scandal hits, we’re done. Our licenses. Our permits. Everything.”
