Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Ah, my nephew.” Corbin smiled and wiped the sides of his mouth with a napkin. “Sit. I took the liberty of ordering for you. Kebab. You still love kebab like you did as a boy?”
“I do. It’s good here.” He crossed the room and took the seat across from his uncle. He stared, taking in the ways that time had changed him. Wrinkles spanned every exposed stretch of skin, like deeply-etched, intricate roads of hard living, yet his eyes held the same passionate, youthful zest for life Royce remembered from him. He was also still big—over six feet tall. Like Alesandro had been. Royce had inherited his height from his mother’s side of the family as well.
Royce leaned back in his chair, so he could keep all of the men surrounding his uncle in his peripheral vision. He crossed his arms. “Where is my mother?”
“No polite greetings for family, Alesandro?”
He winced at the use of the middle name he’d inherited from his father. “My name is Royce.”
Corbin waved his hand. “I never agreed with the freedom my brother gave his wife in naming her children.”
“It was her father’s name. I like it.” His grandfather had cut his daughter, Cathy, from his life when she’d married into the crime family that scared him. But that hadn’t killed her love for him in the least. His mother had lost her family, then her husband, and one of her sons. She’d never recovered. She fought a daily battle with depression that he couldn’t even begin to imagine fighting. “You have no reason to be going after my mother.”
“Oh, but I do.” Corbin leaned back in his chair, mimicking Royce’s position. “I’ve kept an eye on you.”
“For how long?”
“Since your mother stole you from me.”
“From you? What claim did you have on me?”
“You are a Karras, and your place is with your family. I watched you grow and flourish, saw your teen years when you were such a bad, bad boy. So angry. So surprisingly good with your fists. You later followed in the Karras footsteps. I was so proud.”
He had, and Royce hated thinking about that time. About the things he’d done. Things that had gotten a good man killed. “Let’s get to the point.”
Corbin made a tsking sound. “Your cousins have children, did you know? I’m a grandfather several times over.”
“Congratulations.”
Some of the sparkle left those eyes, but they stayed shrewd as Corbin stopped talking with the food’s arrival. Royce watched as his plate wobbled on its way to the spot in front of him, the waiter’s hand shaking visibly. Royce nodded his thanks.
“You only eat white meat, isn’t that right? Such a healthy boy.”
“I’m not a boy.”
“True.” Corbin leaned forward and pushed his plate out of the way, so he could rest his arms on the table. “Okay, you want it this way? Don’t want anything to do with your family? Then we’ll get down to business. You’re good at what you do. Excellent, in fact. I could have used your particular skills.”
“Is that why you’re here? You want me to do something?”
“I estimate I’ve lost anywhere from 50 to 150 million dollars with your absence.”
He couldn’t help his loud snort of derision. “That’s bullshit.”
“Watch your tone,” his uncle snapped before his lip curled. “I’ve seen who you’re keeping company with these days. Marc Foster has access to things I want.”
Real surprise gave him pause. “Art?”
“I’m a collector, and there’s an empty spot in my home for a special sort of piece.”
“You’re coming to me for art? Why not just go to one of his galleries?”
“Because the kind of art I want wouldn’t be found there, and I have no intentions of buying it. No, this is payback.”
“Let me get this straight. You think because I haven’t been enforcing for the Karras family all these years, I owe you 150 million? And you think there’s a piece of art I can get for you that’s worth that much? Are you suffering from something? Dementia maybe?”
“This isn’t a joking matter. Talk to your boyfriend. He’ll know where to get what I want.”
“He’s not a damn thief, Corbin. And he’s not a boyfriend. You saw the fake name. He’s a client.”
“I am Uncle Corbin to you. Never forget that. And I don’t want Mr. Foster to actually acquire the piece. You’re the one who owes me.”
“I steal for you, and I get my mother back?” He lowered his voice to a growl. “You say you’ve watched me. Did you ever once see me stealing?”
“You’ll find a way to do this thing I want, Alesandro.”
“My name is Royce,” he said through his teeth. “And I owe you nothing.”
“But your mother does. It’s her fault you didn’t grow up working for me. It’s her fault you aren’t a part of the business today. You must get me a work of art in the range I mentioned.”