Pay Back (The Ferrari Family Book 3)

by Hazel Parker

  There were so many red flags going up that it might as well have been the Red Sea. Gio was…

  Well, had I known he’d be like this, I never would have taken this meeting.

  And for better or for worse, I strongly suspected that Layla was not going to be kept in the dark about what had happened this afternoon.

  Chapter 15: Layla

  “What the fuck?”

  Brett’s reaction was perhaps understandable in calmer times, but after what I had seen, I didn’t have time for it.

  “Brett, I’ll ask you again. Who the fuck did you interact with for Chelsea?”

  “I...you’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

  “No!” I snapped. “Why the fuck would I? Don’t forget, I’m also getting shit from Grandpa about finding a spouse. I haven’t forgotten how much shit you got for being single almost all the way up until you turned thirty.”

  Brett sighed.

  “I swear on my life that the only person I spoke to was Uncle Nick,” he said. “I flew out there, I discussed things with him, and that was it. He said that he would speak to some people, but he kept me out of the loop on it. Wouldn’t say anything else about it. Probably for the best; I think he wanted to make sure I didn’t get entangled. Why? Are you safe?”

  I sighed.

  “I think so, but I...OK, let me back up,” I said. “Pierre and I just flew into Las Vegas since he has a meeting and—”

  “You didn’t back up far enough,” Brett said. “Who is Pierre?”

  Oh, shit. I never did tell Brett or anyone else in the family.

  “Do you know why I always hated going to France? Why I would almost kill you if you brought it up?”

  “I figured it was just how we operated,” Brett said. “That we’d tease each other but you needed something to counter me getting upset about not having a spouse yet.”

  “What? Don’t be stupid. No, five years ago, Pierre and I…”

  I didn’t feel like telling the whole story. I’d have to explain myself and explain why Pierre and I were now trotting across the globe, and that wasn’t the point of this phone call.

  “We met, we had a little fling, but then we had a falling out. We recently made up, though, and he happened to be having a business meeting in Las Vegas, and so—”

  “So you decided to go with him and stay with him and do work remotely? Must have been one hell of a makeup session!”

  I blushed red as Brett chuckled on the other end of the line. It was to the good fortune of his life that he wasn’t in front of me to strangle.

  “Seriously, though, Layla, what happened? If this is someone you are with right now, then I need to know. I can’t let any stupid asshole get you in trouble.”

  I supposed it was only fair that if I knew the true way in which Chelsea and Brett had met a few years ago, it was only fair that Brett knew the truth about Pierre. And so, as much as I could while walking under the Vegas sun, I recounted the story of how Pierre had spent a weekend at my hotel room, left me without warning, broken my heart and burned me for all this time, but had recently come around and proved himself a changed man. It went without saying I didn’t tell Brett about our sexual lives, but it didn’t take much reading between the lines to understand that had played a big part in it.

  “And in any case, the point is not who Pierre is or what we are,” I said, my face feeling hotter than the volcano just north of here by Treasure Island. “The point is that I went with him to show him where Rao’s was, the Italian restaurant inside Caesars Palace. The three guys who met him were shady as fuck, and they even knew me. They said they knew all of us, Brett. I don’t...It felt bad. Like I was being tangled up somehow.”

  “That’s kind of fucked up,” Brett said. “I swear to you, Layla, I don’t know anything about it. Maybe Uncle Nick would, though. But I really only spoke to him and no one else.”

  I bit my lip. I believed Brett. As much as we teased and prodded each other, we were siblings, and we did have each other’s best interests at heart. But still…

  “You are coming back to the Bay Area at some point, right?”

  “Of course, I didn’t decide to marry Pierre and move to France.”

  “I mean, hey, French men, they’re the ideal of romanticism and—”

  “Brett.”

  He knew well enough when he needed to shut the hell up and focus on the task at hand.

  “Sorry,” he said. He almost never said that. It showed he was listening. “I was just going to say, come home when you can. It will be OK. No one in this family is going to let anything happen to any of its own or any friends of the family. It’ll be OK, I promise. If I have to pull everyone in for help, then...that’s what I’ll do.”

  Brett didn’t speak seriously very often, so hearing him be so assuring was exactly what I needed. I crossed past the Bellagio as the fountains went off, and it felt like the kind of serene scene I needed after this. Maybe things would be all right.

  “Let me ask this, and don’t kill me, I don’t know this Pierre guy,” he said. “But did he give any indication that he knew what he was walking into? Was there anything that suggested to you he knew what was going on?”

  “Not at all. I think he was as put off by everything as I was,” I said. “He told me he had potential business with some big shot and he needed to be in Las Vegas, but that was the extent of it. Maybe I should ask him more, but he’s not an unethical or bad guy.”

  “What kind of potential business?”

  “Oh, well…”

  I was going to say wines, but that was a lie. I mean, I knew he was in the wine industry, sure, but whether or not he had come to Vegas for that was something beyond me. It might have made sense to explain how the man, Gio or whatever, knew my family, but I figured Pierre would have had a better idea of what he was walking into if that was the case.

  “I don’t actually know.”

  “Sis!”

  “I know!” I said, groaning. “But I don’t think it’s anything bad. I just didn’t ask. I know he’s in the wine industry, owns a few brands, but I think he’s not like us. He’s more of an investor type of deal.”

  I could hear Brett sighing on the other end of the line.

  “Do I need to kick some French ass?” he said with a half-serious chuckle. “Did you get yourself wrapped up in something you shouldn’t have? Do you need me to come rescue you? Say you’ll see me soon if you want me to fly out.”

  “Stop it, Brett,” I said, but even I could chuckle a bit. “I promise you he’s a good guy, I just don’t know more about him.”

  “A good guy you had a falling out with five years ago because he left you out to dry without saying a word?”

  OK, ouch.

  But wouldn’t you say the same thing if your brother went back to an ex of his from five years ago?

  Let’s face it, he only can go by what he knows. And what he knows of Pierre is not exactly good. I haven’t been kind in my words about France in the past few years, that much is for sure.

  “Look, sis, I’m not saying that he’s a bad guy and that you’re an idiot or any of that,” he said as I entered Cosmopolitan and made my way toward the front desk. “But I am saying that sometimes, you tend to get swept up in the heat of the moment. I did it when I was single. It’s great when the heat of the moment doesn’t have stakes, but right now, I’m worried that you might be blinded by the whole situation.”

  I couldn’t fault Brett, but all the same, I hadn’t called him for a lecture about my romantic life.

  “You got nothing to worry about,” I said. “And if you do, you’ll find out at the end of the week, because he’s coming home with me.”

  “Oh, shit, it’s that serious already!” Brett said with a laugh. “Well, in that case, I cannot wait to meet the French gentleman. I always imagined that you would wind up with a Frenchman. Fire meets fire.”

  “Behave yourself,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  Brett laughed on the other end of the
line.

  “Seriously, though, if at any point while you two are in Vegas you run into trouble, you call Uncle Nick and me,” he said. “I know we treat Uncle Nick as the black sheep of the family, but he’s still part of the flock, if you will.”

  “I understand. Listen, I’m at the hotel. But I appreciate it.”

  “Before you go, sis,” he said, “please let me know if you need help. I think you, me, Nick, and even Leo all know that there’s more to this family than dad or Grandpa let on. Not saying there’s some conspiracy, but...I think if we need help, we can find it.”

  I appreciated it even if Brett hadn’t provided me any new information, couldn’t provide me any new information. Actually, he had told me something without saying a word—he’d told me that my generation of Ferraris didn’t know nearly as much as we probably could have about the Ferrari family history.

  I hung up after some pleasantries and farewells, checked in to the hotel, and rode it up to the top floor. We had a sweet penthouse hotel room overlooking the Bellagio fountains, the kind of weekday Vegas trip that should have been perfect.

  But Brett wasn’t wrong about one thing. The fact that I didn’t even know what kind of business Pierre had come here for told me that as great as the sex was, as fiery as the passion was, I needed to start doing some work on our foundations. I needed to start thinking about how we could better understand each other beyond how well we pleased each other.

  Because if I wanted to know what our future held, I first needed to know what our present held. And if I didn’t know what Pierre’s present was like, the only real type of future we had was short-lived.

  Chapter 16: Pierre

  I had never felt so glad to have a meeting end.

  I also had never felt so paranoid in my life as I began the relatively short walk back from Rao’s to the Cosmopolitan. Gio had left me feeling like I had been let in on a plot that no one else in the world knew about, that no one else was privy to—and the result was that if I didn’t commit, I would have to pay some sort of price. And until then, I’d have someone constantly watching me to see if I slipped up, to see if the truth got revealed to someone else.

  As it was, from the moment I left Rao’s, I was looking over my shoulder, constantly checking to see if someone was following me or even watching me. I had never been the naivest person, but this was approaching levels of delusion as to how “important” I considered that conversation to be. If a mother walking to an afternoon spa day spent more than a few seconds behind me, my mind would wander. If I saw someone standing outside, on the bridge that connected Caesars and Bellagio, on a cell phone with sunglasses, I assumed that they were talking to Gio and watching me the whole way.

  It was a bit ridiculous, but the whole thing was ridiculous. I was supposed to come down for fun with Layla and business, not for fun with Layla and a sudden joining with a crime boss.

  Maybe I was just too in my head. Maybe I was the one stereotyping now. Maybe Gio was just an investor who didn’t know any better.

  But that wasn’t what my gut said, and my gut was more trustworthy than my brain was. My brain, after all, had been the one to say I wasn’t ready for Layla and her desire for me five years ago, even when my gut said she could turn out to be something special.

  I managed to get to the Cosmopolitan without incident, though by the time I got inside the cool, air-conditioned building, I was drenched in sweat, and not just because of the desert heat. Although it was even more crowded in this casino than it had been on the streets, I somehow felt more at ease in here; there were too many cameras and too many people watching for anything too bad to happen. So long as I could get on an elevator by myself, I figured I’d avoided the worst.

  And luckily, that’s exactly what happened. Layla had already texted me the room number, and when I made sure I could get on an elevator ride on my own, I hopped on, pressed the proper floor, and rode up, breathing a sigh of relief.

  This, right here, was why I kept my hands clean. A little extra profit wasn’t worth the sudden paranoia, the sudden streak of fear that something bad was going to happen. What was I going to do, buy two yachts instead of just one?

  The elevator doors opened, and the door to the hotel room was already propped open. I pressed it open to see Layla, still with the same clothes that she had worn on the airplane, sitting on a couch overlooking the Bellagio, sipping on some wine.

  “I see that you have already kicked back for the day and entered into a state of relaxation,” I said. “It is something that I hope I have an invitation to partake in.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Just don’t fall asleep on me too quickly. I have some questions.”

  Well, so much for that. But all the same, interrogation at the hands of Layla was a far more appealing outcome than having to sit and listen to Gio’s half-threats, half-offers. At least with Layla, I knew the end goal was something joyful and exuberant.

  I grabbed myself a glass of wine—noting that Layla had procured a bottle of Ferrari, perhaps from somewhere inside of the casino—and sat across from her, our feet touching. I played with her feet a little bit, and she giggled. That was a good sign, for if she was in such a bad mood that some playfulness could not relax her, then maybe Gio was a better alternative.

  “So what the hell was that back there?” she said.

  I sighed. I was about to break Gio’s request, but, well, to be frank, fuck Gio.

  “Some dangerous, unfortunate matters,” I said. “To be honest with you, I was confused as I would imagine you are right now. I thought I was going into a meeting to discuss business opportunities to expand upon what I have with a dealer called Polozzi Furniture.”

  There was something on Layla’s face that looked like recognition, but she didn’t say anything, and the look passed so quickly that I might have just mistaken it for a tic of sorts.

  “But then conversation came up about cutting out one of my friends from the business, and the way Gio spoke, I do not believe that he is transporting furniture. I believe that he is transporting something illegal, something like drugs, perhaps.”

  “Jesus,” Layla said, taking a sip of her wine. “I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw those guys. I don’t know if I should be glad or not that they turned out to be as I thought they were.”

  “I am worried, to be honest with you,” I said. “I am worried that if I do not agree to do business with them, they will find ways to exert pressure. I do not think my life is in danger, but…”

  Aside from having told Layla after swearing not to tell anyone.

  “I am certainly now in the grasp of less-than-admirable characters, that is an unfortunate fact. They also wanted to cut out a friend of mine that I do business with—I suspect that my friend figured out what they were up to and would not work with them, so they think they can pressure me with the promise of greater returns to ship for them without him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Layla said. “Did they say anything about me?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, he made some repugnant comments about your body. I told him he needed to stop, but he was dismissive.”

  “Fucking pig,” she said with a sneer. “I asked my brother if he knew anyone in the area. I have an Uncle that might know him, but that’s it. So I don’t know the first thing about this Gio guy.”

  We both sighed. So much for a relaxing Las Vegas trip. So much for my first time in the United States being relaxing and peaceful. So much for so many things.

  “What now?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  “They warned me that I needed to be discreet about what I said, which I took to mean as a warning not to tell anyone,” I said. “I suspect that if they found out I told you about what I think, they would be very upset. Again, I do not think my life or your life is in danger. But…”

  “If they knew me from before…”

  Something in Layla’s head seemed to be turning that I was not yet privy to. I didn’t think she was hidin
g something from me, but I had a suspicion that she would need to figure out some things before she could let me in on them. In any case, the more I thought about it, the more I began to think that I needed to inform my friend, Marco, in Italy about what was going on. He and I had gone back much further than since the beginning of our partnership; if there was anyone I could trust besides Layla, it was him.

  “I need to make a phone call,” I said. “I will return. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

  Layla nodded, wiggled her feet at me, and chuckled lightly as I played back. Neither of us were in a serious laughing mood, but we could at least retain some humor for the moment.

  I shut the door to the bedroom and dialed Marco. On the first ring tone, it occurred to me that it would almost certainly be quite late, at least well past dinner. I didn’t know the exact time difference between Las Vegas and Milan, but at the moment, I couldn’t exactly care.

  “Pierre?” Marco said, surprised to hear me. “What are you calling for at this hour?”

  “Well, forgive me, my friend. I am in Las Vegas and I called you on instinct.”

  “Ah, well, it is not so late that I cannot catch up with an old friend. How are you?”

  “Well, I wish I were better,” I said, looking out the window toward Caesars Palace. No, Gio could not magically hear me from here. But yes, a part of me wondered if my words would eventually circle back to him. “Are you familiar with the name Gio Nimico?”

  A long silence came on the other end of the line. I could hear Marco still breathing, but I could feel the fear as easily as I could feel the phone in my hand.

  “Gio Nimico,” Marco said. “I’ve heard the name. I think I met him once. But it’s strange.”

  “How so?” I said, a little cautious. I trusted Marco to tell me the truth, but how much of the truth was dependent on a lot of variables I did not want to think about.

  “He came by my office a few months ago, I believe,” he said. “He talked about wanting to use me to help me ship their furniture. I told them that I already worked with you and with Polozzi Furniture, and that I wasn’t sure I could have the capacity to do anything with it. He said that he had means to help. I said that there was a lot of work, and he said to not worry about it.”