Page 138 of Steal My Heart
“I don’t have a key to the lounge’s street entrance, the hotel entrance is closed, and we’re wasting time,” I argue.
Both of us grunt as we drop the couch, and I grab a screwdriver from Sienna’s desk. Climbing onto the couch arm, only then do I realize I’m not tall enough to reach.
“Let me try,” Alessandra says, and I switch out with her.
She’s turning the screwdriver right, and I call to her, “Leftie loosey.”
“What?”
“You have to turn the screwdriver left; you’re tightening the screw.”
“Sorry, I’ve never used a screwdriver before,” she grumbles, and begins turning it left. One pops out, and she gets to work on the rest of the screws.
“Yes!” I say as she lifts the vent cover and hands it to me, where I lean it against the wall. “Flashlight.” I hand it to her.
She moves the beam into the duct. “I don’t know, Remi. It looks really tight?—”
“Nola, no!” I cry, but my cat has already jumped inside the vent.
Chapter Forty-Two
Angelo
“Kirksey, you little weasel.” My brother reaches for his gun, but all the muscle in the room turns their guns on us. Fabien lifts his hands in a surrender motion.
“You asked to borrow a crew, Fabien; you didn’t ask for loyalty.” Kirksey takes a seat on Remi’s new piano bench, and it pisses me right off.
“How the fuck did you get out of prison?” Fabien demands.
“Same way as you. Recalculation of time served.” He presses several keys, and the harsh sound enrages me.
I’m going to cut off every single one of those fingers for daring to touch Remi’s piano.
“You have our attention, Mr. Willis. What is it you want?” I call.
He fixes his smirk on me. “The great Angelo Calvani. Working so damn hard to launder the reputation of the Calvani family. Businessman. Philanthropist. Mr. New Orleans. King of Carnival.”
“I’m not giving autographs at the moment,” I say in a bored tone.
Kirksey laughs. “Fabien, you never mentioned your brother had a sense of humor.”
“News to me,” Fabien mutters.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m expanding my territory, which now includes New Orleans. Angelo, you’re going to sign over the deed to the hotel; so really, you are giving autographs.”
“You want to cosplay me?” Iclickmy tongue. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Kirksey, but an ex pimp such as yourself would be better suited in a brothel than a boardroom.”
Fabien discreetly kicks me under the table.
Kirksey’s eyes flicker with anger, but he hides it with a chuckle. “Fabien, I’m starting to understand why you wanted your brother dead. He is a self-righteous prick.”
“No argument there,” Fabien agrees, and it’s my turn to kick my brother under the table.
Kirksey grabs a cigarette from a pack, lighting it and taking a puff. “Here’s how this plays out. Fabien, you’ll commit the homicide of your brother, and then you’ll kill yourself. The least I can do is let you go out with a little pri?—”
There’s a commotion; the bizarre sound, like tap dancing on a steel drum.
“What the hell?” Kirksey looks up, as do we all.
