Pay Back (The Ferrari Family Book 3)

by Hazel Parker

  “Enough!” Layla snapped. “Brett, get the fuck out of here and go to work. I’ll deal with you later.”

  The two of us glared at each other as Brett finished his wine, let out a loud “ahh,” and then walked away. As soon as he had shut the door, Layla forcefully sat me down in the chair, standing over me.

  “Look, I know you are with me, and I appreciate the support,” Layla said. “But as much of an asshole as my brother just acted, he is right in one regard. My family has resources. I don’t know that we have the kind of resources he’s talking about, but we can protect ourselves. I’m more concerned about us than I am about you defending me.”

  I bit my lip. I appreciated the tough talk, but she didn’t understand. My trouble with Gio would be mine alone so long as no one else got involved. Yes, he had said some terrible things about her, and yes, it was apparent that there seemed to be some history with the Ferraris and the Nimicos. But right now?

  It was just a business deal of dubious ethics between Gio Nimico and Pierre Perocheau. It did not need to go beyond that.

  “The more people who know about this and speak, the more trouble comes,” I said. “Keep Brett out of this. Keep your family out of this. Let me handle it.”

  Layla bit her lip.

  “If it’s the same people that helped Brett and Nick…”

  Then it may really no longer just be my battle.

  As I sat in that chair, looking up at Layla, I understood then for the first time that it was one thing if her family hated me because of something that happened five years ago. Even if they never forgave me for what happened, my focus was on Layla, not the Ferraris. I could handle that.

  But if me entering her orbit meant that violence and threats followed, was that really a world I could handle? Was that really something I wanted to dip my toe into? I wanted to believe that I could just have Layla as I’d had in France, but…

  Reality was intruding in.

  And for the first time since we had made up last Friday, I began to have questions about if reality was we weren’t going to last.

  Chapter 19: Layla

  I might have been the only person who ever walked the Earth who thought, after seeing her lover and her brother nearly come to blows, it was a good idea to then take him to the Ferrari Estate to meet the remainder of my family.

  It was going to happen at some point, of course, but Pierre had said something that had cautiously warmed my heart, something that I didn’t even think he had meant to say on purpose. He had said he was “scheduled to” return to France on Sunday, not that he would. It was perhaps a casual slip that he was not actually thinking about returning, that he was thinking of remaining here.

  Of course, such optimism had left a five-year wound before, so I did my best not to indulge the thought too much. But I also could not pretend the thought was not there in the first place; there was a real excitement and hope there.

  When we got to the house, my brother Nick was the first to answer the door, explaining Grandpa Alf was taking a nap and that the parents were doing household chores. He and Pierre shook hands, and the two certainly hit it off much better than Brett and Pierre had. Nick did not hug him or welcome him to the family, but not insulting him or getting into an argument was already better. He said he could not stay for the meeting due to the playoff chase and the need to focus, but as it was, I figured he wasn’t the one that was most needed.

  Of course, given the way his wife’s ex had been murdered, it probably was fair to say he had some involvement, but to what degree...it was just as likely a disturbing coincidence.

  And then my father arrived.

  “You must be Pierre Perocheau,” he said.

  “I am. Mister Ferrari, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  I had always seen Pierre at his most charming and his most seductive, but now he effectively put on the airs of a gentleman and a nobleman, someone who could be trusted with the most formal and important of questions.

  “Good to meet you as well, Pierre. How did you and Layla meet?”

  I did my best to let my smile be the only expression I showed and prayed my face did not turn red.

  “We met a few years ago when she came to France for work and recently reconnected,” he said.

  “I see,” my father said, sounding more than a little suspicious. “And what would you call this reconnection?”

  Oh, God. Of all the people I thought I’d have the first awkward “we haven’t really defined what we are” dance, I never, ever imagined it would be with my father. Brett or Nick or one of my few girlfriends outside of work, maybe, but my father? Talk about morbidly embarrassing and awful.

  “A deep one, sir,” Pierre said. “One that is growing and evolving and caring.”

  I supposed that was about as good as we were going to get, and to Pierre’s credit, he answered the question with far more aplomb than I could handle. But it was still unsettling to know that even after all this time, we still were not any closer than when he had walked into my hotel room last Friday night to making anything formal or official. Maybe we didn’t really need to, but that five-year wound had only just now gotten its band-aid; it had not exactly healed underneath it yet.

  “Well, as long as you treat my daughter with the respect that she deserves, then you are welcome,” he said, a line that vaguely sounded like a threat but was just neutral enough to not be this way. “Have you met anyone else in the family?”

  “All her brothers.”

  My father chuckled.

  “Well, I don’t think that’s quite true, but I’m sure you have met Nick and Brett.”

  Dad, stop being harsh on Leo. You know that’s part of why he hates coming over.

  “In any case, I heard what happened with you in Vegas. Brett requested that we gather everyone in the family, and since you’re here, maybe you can share your side of the story.”

  “Whatever makes the family informed,” he said as the sound of the front door opening behind us came.

  I turned around. I saw one person I expected, and one I most certainly did not.

  Brett appearing, with his scowl, was not a surprise.

  But to see Uncle Nick? Looking as haggard as he did, as if he had just gotten off a last-second flight?

  “What the hell are you doing here?” my father said.

  And we’re off to a swimming start.

  “I was called here by your son,” Uncle Nick said. “Given what sounds like happened, I figured the least I could do was come.”

  “The least you could do was stay the hell away,” my father said. “Jesus, Nick, didn’t you remember a damn thing from when you moved to Vegas? How Dad said if you go there, you stay there?”

  “So what, am I just supposed to exile myself forever and pretend no one else exists?”

  And now Pierre is probably wondering what he has gotten himself into.

  “Boys.”

  My grandfather’s voice cut through everyone. Alf Ferrari looked through the room just as, at the same time, my Uncle Frank showed up. I had a feeling that what Brett had done was open Pandora’s Box—he’d probably meant to reel in some resources, but I think he’d reeled in the whole army for something only a couple soldiers was needed for. But now, with all those soldiers in one place, a whole lot of conversation, gossip, and general drama were likely about to go down.

  “Follow me. All of you. Living room.”

  We moved silently, like a general informing his troops to march, into the main living room, where Alf sat on a chair that, with its tall wooden back, very much looked like a simple throne. The rest of us sat on couches. I kept Pierre very close by my side; I knew he’d have no choice but to speak at some point, but I did not want him thinking anything other than that he had my full support.

  And I want to make sure he doesn’t just run the hell away as soon as things get bad.

  After a few seconds in which Alf did not say anything, my father assumed the mantle of leading conversation.

 
“Brett, what’s going on?” he said. “You called this meeting.”

  “Yeah,” Brett said, suddenly sounding very lacking in confidence and conviction. “I think Layla might be in trouble. She and this guy went to Vegas and they ran into some shady characters.”

  My father waited for Brett to say more. When nothing got said, he shrugged.

  “And you called an entire family meeting for this?” he said. “I am glad you care about your sister’s well-being, but she has Pierre and others nearby who can help. And in any case, both of them are here in the Bay Area, and—”

  “Gio is involved, Bill,” Uncle Nick said.

  My father might have tried to hide his reaction, but the instinctive one was very foreboding. He scowled as a darkness overtook his face unlike any I had ever seen before.

  “What the fuck did you get her involved with, Nick?”

  “Me?” Uncle Nick said. “I didn’t do jack. I didn’t even see the two of them while they were in town until the day before their flight, and I’m pretty sure they had already seen him by then!”

  “If I may.”

  Pierre’s voice cut through Nick’s words with the kind of confidence I found impossible to muster. If you had told me I would have had to speak up at a Perocheau family gathering just minutes after meeting everyone, I might have stressed myself out to the point of passing out. Good on Pierre for being willing to speak, but Christ, I wanted to crawl under a rock.

  “I came to Las Vegas in part because I was offered a business deal with this Gio,” he said. “To put it simply, though I knew he was a character, I did not even know it would be him. I was set up to meet with him through an intermediary about a month or so ago. Layla and I discussed it, and I ultimately encouraged her to come with me.”

  That’s not…

  He’s throwing himself under the bus.

  Pierre, you’re either a goddamn idiot or a real saint.

  “When we arrived, he made a remark about how he knew Layla and had a history with her family, you all,” he said. “She did not feel comfortable, nor did I, and she went to check in to the hotel room. But it was unsettling enough, and my interactions with Gio were no better. Nothing happened, but I am now looking for a way out of any potential deal with him.”

  “Don’t blame Pierre for anything,” I said, but it was painfully obvious I lacked the charisma or certainty of Pierre. “He did his job, to find investment opportunities. It was just bad timing.”

  The room went silent for a second. No one said a word at first. A couple of glances were shot my grandfather’s way, but he seemed more content to play this out.

  “Well,” my father finally said. “Sounds like Pierre just got caught up in a shady business deal and he tried a scare tactic on Layla. He can—”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” my Uncle Frank said. “Bill, come on. It’s time they know our past. All of your kids, save Leo, are wrapped up in this. They need to know.”

  Know what? I suddenly was starting to get a very sickening feeling that I did not know my family as well as I thought I had. My father looked like he had seen a ghost. My grandfather was staring at the ground, his face looking as old as I had seen it in a long, long time. Of course, he was an elderly man, but most of the time, even after Grandma’s death, he had at least the vigor of anger pushing him. Now, it looked like the entire foundation of his life had fallen out from under him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

  “Drop the bullshit, Bill,” Uncle Nick said. “You might be able to get away with this if they weren’t here, but even if they weren’t, I mean for fuck’s sake—”

  “Language, Nick,” my grandfather said.

  “For Christ’s sake,” Uncle Nick said with a pause after. “Nick and Brett have children now. Layla has found herself a man she clearly cares deeply about. I don’t know about Leo, but nobody in this family is controlling Leo. So just tell the damn truth.”

  My father looked to Brett and me, looked to his father, and bowed his head.

  “Fuck you, Nick.”

  It was said loudly enough that everyone in the room could hear it, but quietly enough that he could pretend it was just a whisper heard too loudly.

  “Dad?”

  “It’s too late now.”

  Seriously, I have an idea now, but...what the fuck?

  “The Ferraris and the Nimicos used to do ‘business’ in Las Vegas. If you don’t know what ‘business’ is, use your imagination, I’m sure you all have watched enough movies to get a sense of it. Sometime in the early sixties, Alf decided he wanted out, and he made a deal with most of the Nimicos and other members of the Mafia. I don’t know the exact details, and I don’t know that I’ll ever know, but the important thing was that they promised not to bother us if we left Las Vegas and all our business dealings there. Well, most of them promised that.”

  He sighed.

  “Gio was a young man who did not want to see anyone leave. He felt once you were in, you were in for life. His father was the one who ran everything, and he said no, but Gio was a conniving man, someone who wanted to make a name against us. As we started to think about leaving Las Vegas...look, that detail doesn’t matter.”

  Uh, yes it does.

  “What matters is that from time to time, once we got to San Francisco, the Nimicos would call in favors for us, but it was never extreme. It was never a problem. Until my brother decided to return to Las Vegas and get back involved.”

  “Oh, piss off, Bill,” he said. “I’m tired of you acting like the holy one. I went to Vegas and made an honest living. Yeah, so I have friends who are connected to the Nimicos. So what? You don’t see me being critical because of who your friends are.”

  “Yes, because I’m not stupid enough to be friends with anyone who would try to hurt members of my family.”

  The bickering continued. I shot glances at Uncle Frank, who looked annoyed but oddly relieved this was happening; my grandfather, who looked like he knew this day would come eventually; and Brett, who looked shocked that this call for help had led to a fight as ridiculous as this.

  And Pierre, who was caught in the middle of all of this, somehow was still here. I was starting to think of him less as just being a good boyfriend for not leaving and more of a saint for sticking around. This had gone past family drama; I was starting to think my father and Uncle Nick might literally exchange blows soon.

  “I never brought anything into this,” Nick said. “All was good until…”

  “Until what?”

  The two of them went deathly silent. In the corner of my eye, I saw Brett cross his right leg over his left, fold his hands, and turtle up as if he could vanish in the crevices of the couch.

  “I swore not to say anything else.”

  “Oh, that’s just dandy!” my father shouted. “I admit the truth of our backstory, the biggest family secret there is, and yet for some reason, you can’t say why something was supposedly good until something supposedly happens.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe I was trying to protect you from the worst of it?” Nick said. “Did you ever think that while we all know the family backstory, not all of us know what has happened with me? And that maybe that’s a good thing?”

  “Goddamnit, Nick, I swear—and would you put your phone on fucking silent?”

  My grandfather was past the point of telling people to stop swearing. I wasn’t sure that Jesus himself could have come down and prevented the Ferraris from cursing up a storm. Nick pulled out his phone, only for his face to go blank when he saw it.

  “It’s Gio,” he said.

  “Answer it,” my father said. “And make sure it’s on speaker. We all need to hear what’s going on.”

  “Are you going to say anything?”

  “I’m not stupid, Nick. Unlike you.”

  Nick flipped him the middle finger but did as was asked. Thanksgiving and Christmas are going to be a real damn joy this year.

  “Hello, Gio,” Nick said in a vo
ice meant to project authority but instead projected inauthenticity.

  “Nick, my friend, how are you? I hear your beautiful niece is fucking a man I have done business with.”

  Oh. My. God. I put my head in my hands. I did not want to look at anyone, not even see anyone’s reaction. Gio didn’t give two shits about family drama, and if he did, it was to cause more internal turmoil.

  And to have Pierre dragged in…

  Welcome to the family, bud.

  “I don’t understand what that has anything—”

  “Her friend, one Mr. Pierre Perocheau, is taking too long to answer my request, and I am getting very impatient.”

  I could hear Pierre’s nostrils flare, though I was still far too mortified to look at anything other than the darkness formed by my hands covering my face. He said he had until Sunday, right? I swore he said he’d get back. So Gio is just fucking with us then.

  “Your family owes me a favor, Mr. Ferrari, and I am choosing to cash in on that now.”

  “A favor—”

  “So we’re going to play it like that, huh? While I’m on speakerphone?”

  I could feel the room tense to levels so bad, we’d all probably have heart attacks before the end of the call. Gio gave no fucks.

  “I want you to make sure Mr. Perocheau gets back to me within twenty-four hours, and to do so with the answer that I want. Do you understand what I want?”

  “Yes, Gio, I understand—”

  “Oh, and by the way, since I have you on speakerphone, and I assume your whole family is there…”

  There was a sickening glee to his voice that made me want to throw up. I hoped I threw up violently enough that my body just went into shock and didn’t have to deal with anything for the next week.

  “Please tell your nephew that I hope his marriage with his wife, Chelsea Polozzi, is going well. I am sure that the arrangement you and I made is going well so far.”

  And then the line went dead. I barely looked over my hand to see Brett more or less mirroring my image, looking like he would rather swallow a cyanide pill than have to stay in this room any longer. At this point, it felt like we might as well just exhume all our skeletons and throw them in the middle; surely, there couldn’t be any more family secrets more embarrassing than this.