“Just give the invoice to Zoe and we’ll take care of it. It couldn’t be anywhere near the price of flying in the models from Milan. Actually, hang on.” He pressed a button on his desk phone. “Zoe, can you come in here?”
“Yes, Mr. Neville. I’ll be right in.” Zoe was at the door seconds later, and did a double take when she caught sight of Sophia. “Good morning, Mr. Salvatore. Hello, miss,” she greeted us politely. “You look a lot like your sister.”
“I do.”
She remembered that her boss had called her in here for a reason, and focused on him again. “What can I do for you, Mr. Neville?”
“You have Paige…” he looked over at Sophia. “What’s your last name again?”
“Bianchi.”
“Right. Zoe, you’re meeting with Paige Bianchi, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Great. What’s the position?”
“It’s a temp assignment. She’ll work directly with me, sir. Remember you wanted me to sort out all the legacy databases that the strategic planning senior teams were still using? There were about thirty different desktop applications, and not everyone has moved to the central system that head office implemented last fall.”
“Right. How long do you think you’ll need her?”
“Three weeks. A month, maybe.”
“Remind me to have a chat with her in a couple of weeks. And have her do a few hours of job shadowing with you, and with Alice in Contracts. Carter mentioned they might be looking for a few junior staff. And I’ve been trying to get you to try out a position in marketing for months, but you insist on sticking around as my EA to take care of me. Now may be the time for you to give it a shot, don’t you think?”
“Sure, sir. I appreciate that you remembered.”
“Oh, and I just hired Sophia here for the retreat coming up. Take care of the invoice when she submits it, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Great, thanks… and Zoe?”
“Yes, Mr. Neville?”
“Please, drop the formalities. You’re making me nervous as hell. Leave that for when the smug old uptight board members come down to see me.”
Her face softened, and the tall, slender woman relaxed, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “I will, Vic.”
“Perfect. That’s all for now.”
I got to my feet after Zoe left. “Sounds like my work is done here, and then some.”
“It is, but do me a favor and get your kid brother off my back.”
“Franko phoned you already?”
“And he called Jeff too, asking about getting him into Club Privé.”
“Christ. I’ve got to put him on a leash. He and his college friends can’t handle that place.”
Victor shook his head. “More like that place can’t handle them.”
“You’re probably right. Let’s just hope Jeff can hold them off. That guy’s a sucker for seeing people crash and burn. He might just take them there anyway, just for kicks.”
“You really believe Gavin’s people will let them in at all?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know their rules. If Jeff vouches for them, anything’s possible. They’re adults where the law is concerned. The staff just can’t serve them drinks. Anyway, I’ll get going now. Nice seeing you, Sophia. Looking forward to the retreat. Maybe you can bring your sister along for—”
Victor pointed to his office door. “Get the hell out of my office, you bastard. Leave my new employee out of your goddamn philandering,” he joked.
“Later, bud.”
He put his hand on his phone handset, ready to make a call. “Sophia, nice to see you again. You two can see yourselves out. I have to join a teleconference that started ten minutes ago.”
“See you, Vic.” Sophia got up and followed me to the door. She stuck out her closed hand in my direction for a fist bump as we walked out into the waiting area. “Thanks for doing me a solid…and Paige too.”
“Anytime. Put in a good word with her for me too.”
“Sorry, what?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re…into Paige?”
“What if I am?”
“Good grief, no. Bad idea. Really bad idea. You’d swallow her whole and spit her out for lunch before she knows what hit her. Plus…no. Just no. Look, we’re twins, but Paige is nothing like me, all right?”
“Yeah. I figured that.”
“No, I mean, she’s special…she’s…what’s the best way to put this? Paige is…fragile. She had a really hard time after our parents passed. Plus you would fuck her up and I’d be left holding the bag. Plus…let’s just say she’s not available.”
“She has a boyfriend?”
“Not exactly. Hey, I appreciate what you did back there with Victor for her, but—”
“But what?”
She folded her arms across her chest and craned her neck up to study my face. “God, Angelo, don’t you have enough women chasing after you already?”
“Take a good look at me, Sophia. I’m a catch. Of course they all want a piece of me. And from time to time, I do them the honor of giving them a taste. Are you trying to tell me I can’t choose who I want?”
She eyed me up and down, then brazenly tucked her hand into the top pocket of my suit and pulled out my pocket square. “I’ll show you something. Do you see this, the way this handkerchief is clean and neatly folded, all square and symmetrical? That’s Paige.” She opened the pocket square, dropped it to the floor, stepped on it with her winter boots a few times, then she bent over to pick it up. “See it now? That’s the women you’re used to.” She held it up close to my face. “If you turn Paige into this, I’ll be the one getting down and dirty with my father’s old mob crew, and it’ll be your head on a spike.”
My phone rang with my father’s ringtone just then. “Hang on,” I told her, taking his call. “Hi Pops.”
“Can you meet me at the house, son?”
“Atlantic Beach?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I told him. My father was not one for long phone calls to begin with, but when he got to the point without so much as a good morning greeting, it had to be something big.
“See you then,” he said, and hung up.
I turned my attention back to Sophia. “You’re still a feisty little thing, I see. And damn brave, talking to me like that.”
“It’s no different from how I deal with Dominic.”
Her mention of my brother had me curious. “What business do you have with him?”
“Ask him yourself.” She studied my face. “Wow. You don’t know…”
“Know what?”
“I guess the rumors are true, that your family really is the perfect trifecta of secrecy.”
“Yup,” I said with a smirk. “Because it isn’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble.”
“Exactly.”
“But you can tell me.”
Sophia went stone-faced in a hurry. “I prefer it if Dominic can do the honors. Who am I to mess with the subtleties of the Syndicate?” Her eyes narrowed. “But don’t try to change the subject. I’m dead serious about Paige. You got me, Romeo?”
“Loud and clear. Be nice to Paige. Check.”
“Consider yourself warned.” Sophia tucked the dirty, slush-soaked pocket square back in my suit’s top pocket where she’d found it and walked out the main door ahead of me. We took the elevator down to the lobby in silence as she used her phone.
I was itching to phone Dominic when we parted ways outside the building.
Sophia had dealings with the Syndicate?
These twins just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
Chapter Seven
Angelo
It was a bitch driving to our Atlantic Beach vacation home at this time of day, but I managed to make it there in less than ninety minutes. I walked into the smoking room beside the den on the main floor. My father was in his usual spot near the window that looked out on the ocean
, puffing on a cigar.
“What’s going on, Pops?” I asked, kissing the top of his full head of thick salt-and-pepper hair before I took a seat. “By the way, leaving the gray hair alone really suits you.”
“We Salvatore men look better with age, son,” he joked. He sucked in a long drag of his cigar and looked out the window, forming an ‘o’ with his mouth as he blew out smoke rings. He did that whenever he had a lot on his mind. “I need you to handle this situation with Franko.”
“Me? Don’t you mean Dominic? Security and protection are in his department. I’m still in charge of real estate, aren’t I? Or is that why I’m here?”
“Relax, Angelo. One question at a time. There’s no change to how we’re structured. Dominic will continue to lead asset management and logistics. You’re still with the real estate holdings. Franko will eventually share responsibility for art acquisition with Lia’s guidance until she decides to get married. That’s not the reason I asked you to come by. You’re here about the Grant problem. It’s not a problem yet, but it can be if we don’t do something about it now. You’re right that Dominic would normally handle it, but he’s working on something important for me. I want him to stay focused. Think you can manage?”
I nodded. “I can. Any special advice on how to balance all the interests?”
“The way we always do. Very carefully.”
“That helps.”
“The Grants are one of our most important clients,” he offered, noting the sarcasm in my voice. “But I don’t have to tell you that. Thirty percent of the real estate you manage that aren’t Salvatore-owned is part of the Grant family portfolio.”
“Yes, that I knew. What I don’t know is…well, I haven’t ever had to handle a people problem before. I’ll give Dominic a call.”
“No. Your brother is busy right now. Get the details from Franco on what’s going on, and if you have to, pay the kid’s father an in-person visit.”
“You want me to have a sit-down with Audley Grant?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes.”
“I hear he never leaves Baton Rouge anymore.”
“Which is why you’ll fly down there if you need to.”
“All right. I will.” This level of minutia usually irked my father, so I put the inquiry to rest. “How long are you in town? We should have dinner with Franko this evening.”
“I wish I could, but I’m heading to JFK in an hour. Don’t worry. Your mother and Lia are organizing to get everyone together in Chicago for Easter.”
I cringed. My sister, Lia, and my mother were constantly at odds with each other. I couldn’t imagine the two of them getting very far when it came to collaborating on an event, but this family had a way of surprising me on a regular basis.
“Nice,” I told him.
“Oh, you’d better get upstairs and tell her you’re here.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Ma is here?” With the exception of visits to Italy to see family, my parents rarely traveled anywhere together.
“Yes.”
“And she’s traveling with you when you leave in an hour?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. She felt like a change of pace. We’ll be in Monaco.”
“Oh…okay.” Pops seemed like he was in a sharing mood, so I decided to bring up one more thing. “Hey Pops. You remember Stitch Bianchi?”
“Sure I do. Loyal right to the end…a good man. Headstrong and stubborn as hell, but a class act.” He smirked, and his demeanor turned wistful and reminiscent. “What I wouldn’t give for one of his suits today.”
“Why were he and the Misses offed again?”
“It wasn’t our doing. Had nothing to do with the family.”
“They weren’t…killed?”
“Of course they were killed. Two bullets each to the eye…that was a message job. “Back then we suspected the Irish, but it turned out that wasn’t the case.”
“So who then? And why?”
He rested the cigar in a custom ashtray and looked at me curiously. “What’s behind this walk down memory lane, kid?”
“No real reason. I saw their daughters this morning.”
“How are they?
“Pretty good.”
“They must be close to twenty now.”
“More like twenty-four. They were two years behind me in school, if I remember correctly.”
“Time sure flies. So, just another year…” he said absently.
“Another year for what?”
“Nothing that concerns you. Well, it’s nice to know they’re doing well outside the family.”
“How did their folks end up getting burned?”
“Some things are best left in the past, son. All I’ll say is it had nothing to do with the family or Stitch.”
Interesting. Pops basically suggested in not so many words that the hit was intended for Mrs. Bianchi, but I don’t recall ever hearing her name as being involved in any part of the business.
“So—”
“Leave it at that.” The subject had officially been dropped as far as my father was concerned.
“Okay.”
“Go to your mother. She would just love to hear about how those Bianchi girls are doing.”
I got to my feet and headed to the door. “Will do.”
“But don’t upset her with any questions about who offed their folks, got it?”
“I won’t.”
“Thanks. The last thing I need is your Ma all riled up before a long haul flight.”
“Okay, Pops.”
“And Angelo?”
“Yes?”
“The Bianchi twins are hands off.”
“Sorry?”
“You heard me.”
“Yes sir.”
I left the room brimming over with new questions, and Paige was at the center of all of them.
She had a history with the family.
Someone made her mother a target.
Something was going to happen when she and Sophia turned twenty-five.
And she was forbidden.
My father has always been proud to call me his son. As the middle child, I more or less blended into the background because I towed the line, stayed out of trouble, and never gave anyone a reason to agonize over me. My chasing tail all around New York was never an issue, because Dominic was a force to be reckoned with, Lia got the lion share of the attention by virtue of being a spoiled and rebellious little mafia princess, and Franko, well Franko was a wild card. I was the always responsible one. Until now. My father’s announcement about Paige being hands-off was my first cause for questioning, doubt, and potentially going against him.
Paige was forbidden fruit.
And now, all I could think about was taking a bite.
At the coffee shop, I could barely look at anything but her provocative green eyes, her full lips, gorgeous, shiny brown hair, that striking face, and her trim but temptingly shapely figure underneath that hot pink winter coat. My mind summoned an image of my hands peeling off that coat to find her completely naked underneath.
Shit. Why the hell was I entertaining the idea of defying Pops? No way. There were hundreds of other women in Manhattan wanting to break my door down so I could have my way with them. I was free to do as I pleased with any and all of them.
Anyone but Paige.
Except Paige is the one I wanted.
By the time I got to the main staircase to go upstairs, I had also decided I needed to talk to someone who could fill in the blanks about Mrs. Bianchi and what was supposed to happen when Paige and Sophia turned twenty-five.
I was stepping into dangerous territory.
In this organization, knowing too much was never a good thing.
Chapter Eight
Paige
My sister spent the afternoon blowing up my phone with a bunch of text messages. Did Sophia suddenly forget this was my first day on a new temp job? After the sixth message, I told her I would finish up after six p.m. tonight, and she could text me t
o her heart’s content from then on. She didn’t reply, but phoned me instead. I shut off my phone. I needed this job, dammit, and sitting at a cubicle in an open concept section of the office did not offer any privacy to accept a personal call.
It was a small workstation, but more than enough for what I’d be doing. I’d had a chance to take in the floor, including the bank of offices that lined the outer perimeter of the entire level. The dividing walls of the offices were all glass, allowing me to see right through them to each senior staff, manager or director, and to the breathtaking views all around Manhattan. My cubicle was lined up with the other temps, secretaries, entry-level analysts and junior staff. I couldn’t complain. I had a job for at least a few weeks, and maybe something else would come my way by the time this one wrapped up.
A temp could dream.
In the afternoon, Victor Neville stopped by my desk.
Victor Neville.
VP of Strategy.
Of Neville Industries.
The multi-billion dollar conglomerate that held a majority stake in two airplane manufacturing companies, half of the real estate in about one hundred obscure cities across America, two department store chains, and a publishing house. They had a hand in practically every industry, from aeronautics to household manufacturing and retail, and everything in between.
Ahhh!
I noticed him long before he made it to my cubicle, and immediately knew that he had to be one of the higher ups, even if I didn’t already recognize him from his picture on the company website. It was the way he strutted down the wide hallway toward me, confident and poised like he owned the place. Because he actually did—or at least his family owned it, but that was semantics. It was also how the staff all straightened up and stopped whatever they were doing as he passed them at their desks or in the hall, and from the way he gave each one of them a friendly yet formal nod. By the time he was halfway up the hall, I knew exactly who he was.
He stopped at my cubicle, which I wasn’t expecting because he had walked the entire length of the floor without stopping for anyone else.
“Paige? Hi, I’m Victor Neville,” he said, giving me a wide, relaxed grin.
I jumped out of my seat and took his hand. Had I known he was going to talk to me, I would have been more prepared, and I would have definitely stuck my feet back into these murderous stiletto boots.
Club Prive: Un-Leashed (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Bad Boy Crime Family Romance Book 1) Page 3
