by Meghan March
I love when he flirts and plays. He’s boyishly wicked, and I eat it up every time.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I dare you, but first brace yourself. Half the guest list isn’t even here yet.” As soon as he finishes speaking, his entire body stiffens and he straightens to his full height.
“What? What’s wrong?” I follow his gaze to the entrance of the restaurant where a dark-haired man and a stunning brunette walk in the door. Every head in the room turns, as if on a swivel, to stare at them.
“Creighton and Holly are here.”
Creighton Karas and Holly Wix. Cannon’s former best friend and boss, who fired him once he found out that Cannon was really working for Dom and reporting back to him on all Creighton’s actions. Oh, and current half brother, since they’re both illegitimate sons of Dom—by different women.
I place my palm on his flat stomach and lean in. “Are you okay?”
Cannon’s chin lifts as the other man’s attention zeroes in on him. A silent conversation passes between them, one I can only imagine comes from half a lifetime of knowing each other well.
With what seems like Herculean effort, Cannon tears his attention away and looks down at me. “What?”
“Do you need me to run interference? So you don’t have to deal with him?”
His face contemplative, Cannon seems to consider his response for longer than normal. “If Crey wants to talk to me, he will. Nothing and no one can stop that man from getting what he wants.”
From the tone and respect in his voice, I would be willing to bet that Cannon wants to reconcile with Creighton, and badly. A lot of pent-up emotion is running through him, and for his sake, I wish we weren’t in such a public place.
“Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. All you have to do is tell me.” It’s the least I can do for the long nights he’s stayed up with me, digging through my father’s last investigation so we can bring it to a close.
Cannon leans down to brush a kiss across my lips. “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”
His answer is good enough for me, and I give him a smile that I hope fuels him through the night. “All right then. Do you want to mingle?”
“Cannon! It’s been years, kid! How the hell are you?”
We both turn to face a man I now recognize from a picture in the file. Benny Romano. His tanned skin is lined with wrinkles, like he’s spent his entire life outside without sunscreen.
“Benny, it’s been too damn long. You’re looking good.” Cannon turns to hug the man and slap his back, which I’m thinking is pretty standard based on everything going on around me.
“When did you get older, kid? You’re making me think I’m old, and I don’t believe in that shit.” He laughs, and it turns into a hacking and coughing fit. “Dammit. Excuse me.”
“You’re not old, Benny. You’ll never be old.”
“Damn right, because you’re only as young as the women you feel.” His gray eyes swing to me. “And speaking of which, who is this fox? I’d love to steal her right off your arm.”
He holds out his hand, and instinctively, I take it.
“Sweetheart, you’re a vision for sore, sore eyes. Why’re you hanging out with this riffraff?”
I don’t know if it’s his navy-blue Hawaiian shirt or his gregarious personality, but I smile and laugh. “Maybe I like riffraff. I picked him out myself.”
His eyes seem to twinkle. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Because we’re all a little dangerous, baby.”
Hearing the word dangerous has my eyes firing at Cannon’s to briefly enjoy our inside joke. “Perfect, because I happen to love danger, Benny.”
“Ha! I bet you do, doll.” He wheezes through a chuckle. “I bet you do.”
“Benny . . . tell me you’re not rolling in from Florida to steal Cannon’s girl. He fought hard for her, snagged her right out from beneath my nose.”
Dom’s low, rough voice pierces my levity, and I school my body not to stiffen. Benny releases my palm and turns to offer the mob boss his hand.
“Dominic. Seventy don’t look half bad on you.” Benny lifts the glass dangling from his free hand. “Cheers to making it beyond an early grave. It’s good to see you, my friend.”
“We’ll let you two catch up,” Cannon says, guiding me away from them. “We’ll find you later, Benny. I’d love to hear more about where you got that shirt.”
“Smartass kids these days. Should’ve beaten you more when I babysat,” Benny jokes with a lift of his chin.
19
Cannon
I guide Memphis away from Benny and Dom as the restaurant fills to capacity. Andre’s is your typical old-school Italian joint in the city, complete with red-and-white gingham tablecloths, brass fixtures, candles in little red glasses, and the scent of fresh basil and tomato sauce hanging in the air.
Dom’s been coming here as long as I’ve been alive, as far as I know. He used to bring my mom here every Wednesday for lunch or dinner, and they’d sit in the back corner booth, where Dom did plenty of business—but never on Wednesdays. Wednesdays were always sacred for him.
I remember coming here with my mom as a kid too. But we always sat in the front, away from any mob business. It was her way of making sure Dom saw me, trying to get him to take an interest in me.
It worked too. When she passed, he inherited me like a bad debt. But I never lived with him. No, none of his illegitimate children were allowed into his home because of how his wife would react.
Yes, that’s right. Dom had four secret bastard children, with four different women, while married to the same one the entire time. And his wife never once got pregnant before she died.
Karma’s a bitch.
“Who’s that woman staring at us?” Memphis asks, and I drag myself out of my trip down memory lane’s back alley to follow her subtle stare across the room to the woman who isn’t subtle about her staring at all.
Greer Karas. Or rather, Greer Westman. “That’s Creighton’s sister,” I tell her, meeting Greer’s gaze and giving her a subtle nod. “And no, she and I aren’t related at all. Technically, she’s Creighton’s half sister. The other half.”
Memphis tips her chin up at me, and her contacts slip to reveal a flash of aqua as she blinks. “Wait. What?”
I squeeze her hip and guide her toward the bar so she can replace her melted and only half-finished drink. “I should’ve given you a rundown on the twisted family tree before we came. Dom has four kids. We’re all half siblings, even if we didn’t all know it for most of our lives. Creighton and I are a few months apart. Cav is younger. He’s Greer’s husband, and you’ve definitely seen him before. He’s a Hollywood hotshot now.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Cav. Like Cavanaugh Westman? How the hell didn’t I know he was Dom’s kid?” she whispers, and I’m thankful for the conversations and effusive greetings going on all around us, because Memphis’s whisper might qualify as borderline yelling in her shock.
“Because there aren’t any records you could dig up in your investigation. Not for any of us, except maybe Eden. She’s the youngest by a lot. Dom was probably more a dad to her than anyone.”
Quickly, Memphis slips that mask she’s so damn good at using over her shocked face. “Okay, okay. I did find an Eden. And then Creighton. And you. But not a famous Hollywood actor.” Her head swivels as I place an order with the bartender for both of us.
“He’ll be near Greer, if you’re looking to get a glimpse of the superstar.”
Memphis’s gaze swings right back to me, and it’s with a healthy dose of side-eye. “I’ve interviewed plenty of celebrities. I’m not going to be starstruck. I just want to get a look at him in person to see if there’s any resemblance between you two.”
“Riiight,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “He’s married. So, of course that’s it.”
Memphis reaches out to grip the knot of my tie. “Listen up, Danger. I’m only hot for you. Got it? Not some stuntman t
urned Hollywood heartthrob.”
A throat clears behind us, followed by a giggle. “Good to know I don’t have any competition for my husband.”
Immediately, I lift my gaze to collide with Greer’s. “It’s been a while. You still hate me?” I ask, knowing her answer could go either way.
Back in the day, I was ordered to intervene in Greer’s life when she and Cav were getting involved. It was an odd situation, considering I was taking Creighton’s and Dom’s orders at the same time, and Cav was ignoring everyone’s. Not that Cav had answered to Dom in years.
I envied Cav and the freedom that his stardom afforded him. It just put him further out of Dom’s reach and sliced most, and then all, of the strings tying him to our negligent father.
Growing up, Cav and I barely knew of each other’s existence. He definitely didn’t know I was Dom’s bastard too. I can only assume Creighton has told Holly, Greer, and Cav by now.
Of course, I never let it out myself.
“Oh, shut up. I don’t hate you, Cannon,” Greer says, her gaze locked on mine. “We do miss you, though. Crey especially, even if he won’t tell you himself. You two have to bury the hatchet, and preferably soon and not in each other’s chest.”
She knows us both well.
“It’s good to see you, Greer. You look happy, despite being here.”
Her smile slips a little, but her ability to hide her thoughts when in public has never been as well-honed as her brother’s. “I didn’t want to come. I didn’t want Cav to come either. But he insisted that it was the right thing to do.” She leans in, conspiratorially. “To be honest, I think he just wanted to rub that Academy Award in Dom’s face.”
A chuckle catches in my throat as she turns to Memphis.
Shit. I should have introduced them, but then again having a date—someone I care about by my side—is all new to me.
Before I can rectify my mistake, they’re doing it for me.
“Hi, I’m Greer. It’s really nice to meet any friend of Cannon’s.” With her smiling introduction, she’s fishing for information. Part of me wishes I could tell her the truth about Memphis, but that’s not possible.
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you—” Memphis begins, but I want there to be no mistaking what she is to me, so I interject.
“Greer, this is Drew, my girlfriend. Drew, this is Greer. I’d call her my little sister, except there’s no blood shared between us.”
“I think there’s plenty of shared blood in this room without you and I being related. Besides, that would be gross.” Greer shifts her gaze from me back to Memphis. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m shocked to see someone finally managed to tie down the uncatchable Cannon Freeman. I swore he’d never get serious with someone.”
“Maybe he was just waiting for the right woman, like we all do.” Cavanaugh Westman steps up behind his wife and wraps an arm around her middle before nodding at me in greeting. “Cannon. It’s been a while.” He holds out a hand and I shake it.
“It has. How are things? Congrats on the Academy Award.” I can see the pride in his eyes, but he won’t brag. It’s not his style.
“Thanks. It was unexpected, which makes it that much better.” And that’s all he’ll say about himself. Instead, he places a kiss to his wife’s temple and asks me, “How are you doing? I heard from a friend you’re managing the Upper Ten for dear old Dad.”
Hearing someone say it out loud—in public—is something I may never get used to.
“Which friend is that?”
Cav’s attention cuts from me to Memphis. “Silas Bohannon. We run in similar circles.”
Greer whips around to look up at her husband. “Silas is here? Is Windsor?” Her gaze darts around the full room, scanning. “I seriously hope that those two get their heads out of their asses eventually and just hook up, for God’s sake.”
“Who’s Windsor?” Memphis asks. This has to be a lot for her to take in, but she’s yet to stumble or falter. She’s unshakable.
Greer is more than happy to fill her in on the gossip. “Windsor Reed. She and Cav were costars in the Casablanca remake.”
“Oh, wow. That Windsor.” Memphis exhales the words with underlying shock. Windsor Reed is Hollywood royalty, and with Silas Bohannon being more of a Hollywood renegade, the two don’t seem to mix at all.
“Windsor’s good people. So is Bo,” Cav says before squeezing his wife. “But Greer isn’t going to meddle and try to bring them together. Are you, babe?”
Greer rolls her eyes, and I’m reminded of her rebellious streak. I wouldn’t put it past her to push until she gets what she wants. The woman is scary smart and tenacious, and with a brother like Creighton Karas, she’s a force to be reckoned with.
“Of course I won’t interfere.” In plain sight, she crosses her fingers and slips them behind her. “Unless I see an opening.”
When Memphis laughs, I smile too.
“Wait until you see the gift that Crey and Cav got together to give Dom. It’s epic. He’s going to lose his mind.”
“What is it?” Memphis asks, but someone jostles me from behind, pushing through the crowd like a bull in a china shop.
Spinning to see who’s being a dick, I’m not surprised in the least to see Enzo with a shitty expression on his face.
“Place is packed. Not that I’m surprised with so many Casso bastards jammed in here.”
Cav stiffens as soon as he sees Enzo, and I wonder how many encounters he had with the douchebag while he was still living in the city. Hopefully, not many.
“You might want to lay off the drinks, Enzo. You’re already looking a little red.” My dig hits its mark, and his flushed face turns crimson. I don’t know if it’s the alcoholism or his blood pressure or just being a shitty human being, but he doesn’t look healthy at all.
He attempts to look down his nose at me, but I’m taller and don’t give a shit.
“I’m getting a drink for Dom. Mind getting out of the fucking way?”
His line is bullshit, because Andre’s owner, Andre Canali, brings all Dom’s drinks to him directly. Dom doesn’t eat or drink anything from this place that isn’t served by that man himself, and he hasn’t in over twenty years. It started out as a gesture of trust, because Andre wanted Dom to feel comfortable here. By serving him the food personally, Andre acknowledged that if anything happened to Dom, his own life would be forfeit. Naturally, over the years they became friends, and the habit stuck.
Which means Enzo’s trying to eavesdrop and doing a crap job at it, just like he does a crap job at everything else.
“Help yourself, Enzo.” I grab our drinks off the bar and step back, leading Memphis away from the bustling area. Greer and Cav follow us.
“I’ve never liked that piece of shit,” Cav says with a sharp glare aimed at the back of Enzo’s head as the man unnecessarily elbows his way forward.
“He can’t really be high up in the organization, can he? The man is just . . . ewww,” Greer adds.
Cav looks down at her. “Probably not the best thing to talk about right here, if you know what I mean.” He meets my eyes next, and it’s proof that old habits die hard. Cav has spent enough time in the family to know that certain subjects never come up in public, and succession planning is one of them.
“So, what is this amazing gift you were talking about?” Memphis changes the subject like a pro, and Greer cranes her neck to look over the crowd toward the door.
“A car. A super-sweet, bomb-ass car. But they’re not here yet. We told them to shoot for after dinner and cake. Given that Banner and Logan are pretty much almost late everywhere they go, I just hope they make it before the place clears out.”
“What kind of car?” I ask, trying to shove down the hint of jealousy that rises inside me. Not only because I’m a collector, and if I had more room I could justify devoting to vehicles I don’t drive often, I’d have a fleet instead of just a few that are my favorites. But also because Creighton and Cav went in on the gift together
without asking me. They have to know I would have thrown some cash at it too.
“A 1964 Ferrari 275 GTB. Fully restored by a master. She’s red and sleek and I’ve only seen pictures, but I’m still fucking jealous,” Cav says.
I scan the room over Cav’s shoulder to find Creighton and his wife, Holly, still besieged with partygoers-turned-fans to the point where they’ve barely made it beyond the entrance to the restaurant. He would insist that they give Dom something one of a kind. That’s just Creighton’s way. Another pang of regret slices into me at the loss of the friendship we’d had for years.
Through the whole duration of which, he never knew I was his brother. The impact of losing that connection seems even bigger now that I have time and perspective.
Dom’s voice rises over the crowd as he calls out Creighton’s name and makes his way over to him, telling everyone to back off and let his son in the door.
His son. The one he claims publicly, while Cav and I are afterthoughts.
I never cared before. My mother schooled me too well. “Always do your best to make Dom happy. That’s all that matters.”
But now I’m a full-grown man, and I’m fucking tired of trying to make someone happy who doesn’t give a damn about me.
“That sounds incredible,” Memphis says from beside me. “I guess it makes sense that he’d be into cars too.”
But her words fall on deaf ears because Greer and Cav are both staring in the same direction I am, watching Dom hug Creighton and clap him on the back like he’s the long-lost son returned, when I know for a fucking fact that they had lunch two weeks ago.
“Well, this is awkward.” Greer curls herself around her husband’s side. “I’m sorry, babe. I don’t know why he’s like that with Crey and no one else.”
“He’s like that with Eden too, thankfully,” Cav says. “Otherwise, Bishop would never let her come back to New York to see him.”
I cut my gaze to my other half brother when he mentions our half sister. “Eden’s really coming? I thought maybe they changed their minds at the last minute and decided to stay in New Orleans. I know Bishop isn’t a fan of the city.”
