He dived for the cellphone vibrating across his coffee table, and knocked over an empty glass. Didn’t stop to grab it, because there was probably only one more ring before voicemail kicked in, and Gio was on call.
The screen told him it was Elise.
His gaze shot to the clock above his flat-screen; 9:37. It was unusual for his sister to call him so late, even if she was working into the night at the casino. “Hey,” was hurried, after the swipe of his thumb.
There was a pause, then a heavy sound, as if she sighed. “Nico.”
He sat taller.
Like most people in his world, she never called him by his given name.
“Lise, what’s wrong?” The cop in him wouldn’t let him freak, but Gio swallowed when she failed, again, to answer before taking another breath.
“It’s Dad.”
He frowned. Instinct told him to bark that Antonio Giovanni could go to hell, but she’d only get more upset, and something was obviously wrong already.
She’d never been down with his ghosting routine on the fam.
He cleared his throat. “What happened?” he made himself ask.
His sister sniffled as if she was crying, or trying hard not to, and suddenly he wanted to shoot something.
“He collapsed in his office. We called 9-1-1, but—” Elise had to stop stifle a sob, and he cursed.
“But what?” Gio glanced at the police radio next to the glass he’d tipped over. The green light indicated it was on, but the volume was low. If he’d had it turned up, he might’ve heard the dispatcher sending the brigade to The Giovanni.
He must’ve dozed off on the couch after stuffing his face with pizza he’d have to run off in the morning.
“He was unconscious when the paramedics got here. We thought it was a heart attack or stroke, but it’s not.” Again, his younger sister pushed words through tears.
“What’s wrong with him?” At least he’d managed to sound like he gave a shit.
He didn’t—mostly.
Elise took a big gulp of air in his ear. “Pancreatic cancer. The doctor said he was diagnosed months ago. Months ago, Gio. Dad’s been hiding it.”
“Son of a bitch.”
She was sobbing in earnest now, and he wanted to punch their old man for putting her through this.
His give-a-damn wasn’t totally broken where their father was concerned, after all.
Most days, it was.
“He…he hasn’t agreed to any treatment. He won’t discuss it with me.”
“Of course, he won’t.” Gio shook his head and rolled his eyes to his ceiling. His bastard of a father had to be a fucking tough guy.
Nothing could ever touch Big Tony Giovanni.
The old man certainly wasn’t about to show weakness in front of his only daughter. His father believed girls shouldn’t worry about things like that. They should get married, and let their husbands think for them, have a few babies dangling from arms and hips.
Elise complained about the diatribe all the time. She’d hit twenty-eight on her last birthday and hadn’t done either yet. She’d excelled at numbers instead. Ran several departments at the casino, including the main accounting hub.
Ol’ Pops bitched about it frequently, but for some reason he’d never stopped her. Maybe Big Tony wasn’t completely stupid after all.
“Where are you now?” Gio asked, trying to sound as calm as he could.
“The hospital.”
“Where’re Dom and Sam?” Their brothers had better be there to support Elise, or he would kick their asses.
“Sam’s in with him now. I stepped out to call you.”
“Where’s Dom?”
She sighed. “Not answering his phone.”
Gio snorted.
Not a shocker.
The brother between Elise and Sam had middle-child syndrome, even at twenty-six.
“Hope he didn’t get picked up.”
“Me too, Dad doesn’t need additional stress right now.”
“Don’t worry about it. If he did, I’ll take care of it.”
His sister didn’t comment.
He’d had many phone calls from a street cop to save his brother’s ass, and the last time, when Dom had been stopped for drunk driving, Gio had told the sergeant to arrest him. His brother was too old to be fucking up like he was, and needed a lesson.
Oddly enough, it was one thing their dad agreed with him on. But he’d still bailed his ne’er-do-well third child out of jail the next morning, and sic’d their vast legal team on Vegas PD.
Like the boys in blue had actually done anything wrong. He should’ve paid them to rough Dom up a bit. Maybe it’d be a deterrent to the back of another police car. Then again, maybe real time behind bars was the only thing that’d do the trick.
Dad would never let that happen. He’d bail Dom out no matter how many times it took.
That was the thing about Big Tony; he’d say one thing and do another.
Hypocritical bastard.
Dom had been pissed he hadn’t rescued him, but Daddy had come galloping in on the white horse, and Gio would eventually work things out with his brother; always did. The guy was still a touch irked with him, no matter a few months had passed.
Things with Dad—not so much.
Guess being a womanizing drunk was okay, but being a cop landed one in black-sheep territory, and Big Tony didn’t speak to that son.
But hey, at least their baggage was mutual.
“Gio.”
He cringed. His nickname had been so serious, no trace of tears making it shake.
He wouldn’t like whatever she was about to say, but he made himself ask anyway. “What?”
“I really need you to come home.”
Gian shuffled through the papers he found in every desk drawer, since the three filing cabinets had been a bust.
Nothing.
“Fuck.”
Where could the old man have left it?
Would he even keep something like that here?
God knew Big Tony Giovanni wouldn’t put any info on a computer hard drive or the cloud. He was famous for saying he didn’t trust technology, so even a thumb-drive was out.
Gian had to search for good, old-fashioned sheets of dead trees, likely of the leather-bound variety. Besides, with something has aged as what he sought, it made sense it’d be old school, even considering the man’s allergy to modern-day vices.
Elise nagged her father about working smart, not hard, regarding technology all the time, but it wasn’t like the man would let his daughter tell him what to do.
She was lucky he let her use whatever software she needed for her departments of the casino. All for the better, because it made it easier to cook the books through the computer—not that she knew what Gian had been up to.
The recent overhaul of the whole accounting department had been something he’d driven, and it was him who’d been at Elise’s side to convince the old man it was time to step into the twenty-first century. Had Gian not been involved, the changes would’ve never happened.
It’d been pure luck that the codger had collapsed tonight, and his fiancée had rushed to the hospital with her youngest brother after the ambulance.
He’d finally had time to search the office without a chance of being caught.
The casino president and founder treated his office as an inner sanctum, and rarely let people in, let alone unattended. As close as he’d weaseled to Big Tony, he’d never been alone inside. That leeriness, along with the older man’s conceit, led to Gian’s belief that he’d keep the ledger close. It was an heirloom, a slice of history.
He would find it.
It had to be in this room.
Now, it’d been too long, and Elise had already called. Told him she was going to head back soon, since her father had been sedated and was resting comfortably.
There wasn’t anything else she could do at the hospital that night. She’d been trying hard not to sob through the whole short conversation.
It wasn’t a heart attack or stroke.
Pancreatic cancer.
It was a stroke all right. A stroke of luck for Gian.
Couldn’t have planned it better myself.
He could only hope schmoozing with the son of a bitch over the last nine months had gained what he’d sought—a starring role in Big Tony’s will.
If he hadn’t earned the right on his own, finding the ledger would do the trick. Nothing wrong with a little blackmail, after all.
Boning his hot daughter hadn’t been a chore, but that was about the only thing that hadn’t.
It’d taken months of sweeping her off her feet to slip a ring on her finger, and he had every intention of going through with the wedding.
Old School Italians like Big Tony wouldn’t consider leaving him even a poker chip if he didn’t buy the cow. Not that the old man knew Gian had very much sampled the milk.
Out of all the requirements of his mission as his alias, Marco Fratelli, he couldn’t complain about Elise. He’d actually enjoyed his time with her. She was fiery, smart, gorgeous, and sweet. If he was a different man, he might’ve had a twinge of guilt over hoodwinking her.
She was good in the sack, too. Had kept his interest, so he’d not had to supplement fulfilling his needs with other females. Probably for the better, so he didn’t have to hide cheating.
Her younger brothers were the overprotective sort, and even the made-of-trouble Dominic, who was usually mired in his own affairs, didn’t care for him much, or the lightning fast closeness Gian had gained to their old man.
Salvatore, whom everyone called Sam, was young and naïve, so he wasn’t an issue, yet. During the week, he wasn’t around at the casino much, since he was still in college. He didn’t have many responsibilities around the place, unlike Gian’s fiancée, who ran the accounting departments and headed the middle-management staff over the cashiers.
Her sharpness and involvement had made getting his laundering business up and running a challenge, but he’d weaseled in with her as much as her father, of course.
She fancied herself in love with him, and had trusted him more and more in the numbers game, so he’d gained some control over the dough, too.
There was another brother, Elise’s older sibling. Big Tony’s firstborn, but according to his fiancée, the man and their father didn’t jive.
All for the better, because the oldest Giovanni child was a police detective.
Gian wasn’t afraid of cops, but he didn’t need a dead one on his hands, either, if ‘things’ happened. With the risks he’d taken, something could happen. He was trying to fly under the radar, and murder wasn’t on the menu unless it had to be.
Eventually the man would end up his brother-in-law down the road. Although, he wouldn’t be an issue in Gian’s eventual succession. According to Elise, her older brother had no interest in the casino.
Also in his favor; Big Tony wouldn’t leave everything to his only daughter. He was really conservative, after all, and Elise might be a math genius, but she was still expected to marry and provide heirs that way, not be one herself.
He smiled. From his quick trip to Google, Gian had discovered there wasn’t a high survival rate for pancreatic cancer.
This news was better than taking out a hit on the old man—which he’d considered. Gian’s father might be pissed off, but in the long run, he’d been prepared for the fallout.
With Giovanni funds as his business base, he didn’t need his father’s money. Hadn’t told his old man a thing yet, but the truth remained.
They hadn’t spoken since he’d been kicked out of the family, of course, but this plan he’d concocted could—no, would—get him back into Luciano Falcone’s good graces, as well as back into the family business.
He was going to prove himself with real numbers, real cash flow. Prove he could help clean the money from his father’s doings, and they could stay way under the radar.
The Giovanni had been around for forty years, and one of the perks of Big Tony turning his back on the family and keeping his nose clean was all the federal agencies didn’t pay him much attention. Gian could keep it that way long term, and show his father he sure as hell knew what he was doing.
The Falcone patriarch would be pleased Elise had accepted Gian’s marriage proposal, so the man would forgive him, eventually. It would be a kick in the balls to Big Tony for the old feud. Maybe when the wedding invitation arrived, provided he could put his real name on it.
When his fiancée got back, he’d be appropriately affected by the horrible news. He’d hold her while she sobbed. Listen to her rant and rave about her stubborn father.
Then he’d kick his plan up a notch.
As soon as he found the damn ledger.
Noise at the double glass doors, the entrance to the executive suites, caught his attention, and he straightened from the desk, shutting the top drawer and securing it.
He’d picked his way through the lock, but he’d taken care not to break it. It’d been easy-peasy. Big Tony should do something about that. He was usually pretty security-conscious, but he’d probably thought no one would have the balls to break into his desk.
Gian narrowed his eyes and calculated a quick reason for his presence in the boss’ office. Then he waited to see who was about to join him.