Page 23 of Steal My Heart
I take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. “We wouldn’t want to embarrass a former Olympian, now would we?”
Chapter Seven
Angelo
“Organized criminals: this message is for you. Your reign of terror in this city ends as soon as I’m sworn mayor.The rot starts at the top, so be prepared for a thorough house cleaning. Police department. DA’s office. Codes enforcement. Corruption and public service are two things that will no longer go together. Not on my watch.”
Closing the livestream, I get Mr. Bennett on the phone. “What the fuck was that press statement, Mr. Bennett?” I’m practically foaming at the mouth.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve been informed that because you didn’t respond to the mayor’s ‘reasonable’ offer, he’s declaring war on your family.”
“Tell him if that’s how he wants to play it.” I end the call so hard that I nearly crack my phone screen.
“His untimely death won’t go unnoticed,” Maks warns, knowing where my mind went. “Not saying it can’t be done, but if that’s what you decide, there has to be zero margin for error.”
Having learned from my brother’s debacle, I now have a fed from the NOLA field office on my payroll, but I fear that still wouldn’t be enough to sweep a sensational story like this under the rug. “Bring me dirt on Morrissey. He’s not the only one who can run a blackmail racket.”
“I’m trying, boss.” Maks rubs the back of his neck. “But he must’ve scrubbed his history. So far, I haven’t found any skeletons in his closet.”
I catch myself opening the security feed, yet again, to see what my little pickpocket is up to.
My little pickpocket.
“I know a way to find those skeletons.”
It’s nearly midnight by the time I return to the weekend house, and I find Al asleep on the couch. Her bodyguard notified me earlier of her arrival. No doubt a member of the household staff tipped her off about my houseguest, and because my sister’s a nosy little shit, here she is.
A blanket’s draped over the back of the couch, and I unfold it and cover her up before taking off in search of Remi.
Glowing eyes greet me in the kitchen, and I flip on the light to find the “jungle cat” seated on the countertop. She is an exotic-looking thing, with her pointy ears and golden coat with black spots. “I’m Angelo. You must be Nola.” Why I’m speaking to a cat, God only knows.
She rises to all fours, a low warning of a hiss directed my way.
“Chances are I deserve that, but you’ll have to be more specific. Where’s your human?”
The cat gives me another hiss before hopping down and sauntering out of the room like she owns the place.
Flipping off the light, I round the corner but stop short; there’s a light shining through the bottom of the music room’s door.
Another exotic creature who acts like she owns the place.
Quietly reaching the door, I open it, and all the blood drains from my face. A melancholy, jazzy rendition of Mama’s favorite song,Fly Me to the Stars.
My gun in hand, I sneak up behind Remi and press the barrel to her temple.
Her fingers stumble, hitting the wrong notes—the harsh sounds reverberating throughout the room.
“Who sent you?” I slide onto the bench next to her, digging the barrel into her temple.
“Nobody.” She gulps.
“You’re working with Fabien.” The thought nearly pushes me over the edge into madness.
“No,” she breathes. “I told you, I work alone.”
“How did you know?” I demand.
“Know what?” Remi whimpers.
