Hard As Stone (Beautiful Betrayal Book 1) Read Free Page B

your mother will live there as well. It is her rightful home, is it not? Agree to the terms of this deal and it’s all yours.”
    Santo’s adept read of my tells must be managed.PanCorp and their phony public bond auctions are still going strong, bilking townships out of billions and the Feds are clueless. Another Irish mob gimmick has suckered the feds. Regardless of what my uncle asserts, history has repeated itself. Even if it hadn’t, I’m not ready to forget.
    Years ago, it was my father’s brokerage house family that had historically acted as the middleman in those deals. I’ve never argued that my dad was a straight shooter. His mistake was believing his wife’s mob in-laws wouldn’t connect the dots. Mortal mistake and, in effect, put my dad dead center between thieving Titans. Not a great place to be during a squeeze, especially when The Saint had the Bratva and cartels on his side.
    My uncle was hardly on hiatus. Evidentially, from the names mentioned, he’s been busy over the years. Learning English and honing his game theory . Anyone who believed the rumors that The Saint had sold his interests to the families in power and had closed up shop are about to be rudely awakened.
    Just goes to show you can’t trust a liar. A sin I’m guilty of and a textbook example of being shortsighted as I’d worked to uncover the disturbing facts surrounding my father’s death. Not that I had to search high and low for trouble. Trouble always seems to find me. A reason why I maintain an open mind and tuck-n-roll whenever advantageous.
    “I accept.” Overtly, there’s no plausible way to refute my uncle’s offer. I hold out my hand, which he immediately clasps.
    “My sister will be pleased to return home,” Santo says knowingly.
    Yes, I imagine he’s already informed my mother of the part he would’ve expected her to play had I made the mistake of declining.
    “This calls for a drink,” the judge announces.
    This calls for a recalibration. The new play I’ll put into spin will slingshot me into the catbird seat. A cold-blooded tactic. With a target on my back, I’ll take aim. Two birds. One stone.
     

Chapter 2
    Phoenix. Silver. O’Malley~ Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot
     
     
    Six years later.
    I CLIMB OUT from behind the wheel of my Fiat. Brand-spanking new and bait. A graduation gift from my grandparents. In the rear window, I see my reflection and note my blond hair could use a trim. My gaunt skin some sun. But something had to give. Kicking ass at Boston College taught me a lesson in upping my game. As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, I’ll need those lessons in my upcoming court battle. Armed with the facts, I’m headed into a civilized debate where the truth is a matter of opinion and revenge is served with sophisticated precision.
    “Should we wait for Simon?” I ask Brooke about her newest pal-with-benefits.
    “Umm…isn’t he right behind us?” She stoops to gather up the contents of her purse that must’ve toppled out when I nailed the newly installed speed bump.
    Nary a complaint from Brooke. She’s my longtime friend and all about options. I hoist the bags of Indian take-out from the backseat, giving a quick survey of the neighborhood. Slanting sideways, I peer down the street, admiring the median and flowering magnolia trees in full bloom.
    “Negative,” I report, not seeing Simon or his Benz.” A silver bullet-shaped SLS AMG that could leave me in the dust, but apparently didn’t.
    Her cell chimes and without glancing at the screen, she states, “That’s my boy.” Brooke’s petite and trim and mega confident. My grandfather refers to her as ‘the redhead fireball.’
    “He was behind us but somehow didn’t make the last intersection.” I think that’s when I noticed him MIA. “How’d the hunk get lost?”
    “Multitasking while driving. He’s an animal between the sheets, but could get lost in a box. Without a limo and driver, Simon is hopeless.” Brooke answers her