He took my hand and squeezed it. “I know.”
“What about maids?” I asked as he tapped three times on the door. “Room service?”
“Taken care of,” Cole said. “No one sees him.” The door opened, revealing a perky girl in her early twenties who looked vaguely familiar.
“Hey! Come on in,” she said, stepping back so that we could enter.
“Darcy, you remember Kat? She’s Maury’s daughter.”
“He’s such a nice man,” Darcy said, holding out her hand for me to shake. “And we’ve met at Destiny. I used to dance there.”
“Darcy’s going back to school in the fall,” Cole said. “She’s taking a few college prep courses now, so we made a deal. She hangs out with your dad, answers the door and keeps him out of sight, and she can get paid for spending the rest of her time studying.”
“Not bad,” I said.
“It’s a great gig,” Darcy said, looking at Cole with something close to hero worship.
“Um, can I see him?”
“Huh? Oh! Right. Come on.” Darcy led the way into the suite, a still elegant but much smaller version of the one Tyler and Sloane occupied. “He goes into one of the bedrooms when anyone comes—maids or room service or maintenance. Hang on.” She bounced across the room, then disappeared down a short hall. I heard her tap on a door and call for him. A moment later, my father walked into the room, a wide grin spread across his face, and his arms held out wide for me.
I hugged him tight, then stepped back to look at him. He looked calm and rested—the fear I’d seen on his face when he’d come to my apartment had all but been erased. I eased closer to Cole and took his hand in a silent thank-you, because he’d played a huge part in erasing that worry.
We settled in the living room, me perched on the arm of the couch so I could be close to my dad, and Cole standing near the window, looking out at the city. Darcy played hostess, offering coffee or wine or something stronger.
I went for the stronger.
“You’re doing okay, Daddy? Not getting restless?”
“You know me, I’m always restless. But I’m content to stay put until your young man here tells me otherwise.”
“Good,” I said. “He’s gone to a lot of trouble, and he knows what he’s doing. You listen to him.”
“I am. You’ve got a good man there, taking care of me. Taking care of you. I didn’t want to put you at risk, kiddo, I really didn’t. But I’m glad I came.”
I sighed. “I am, too, Daddy. I just want you to stay safe.”
I made him promise a dozen or so more times that he’d follow all the rules and not do anything stupid.
“I did a bit more poking around,” Cole said, leaving the window to join us. “The property is prime, and although Frederick Charles doesn’t want to sell to Muratti, that’s not because he’s looking to develop the property himself or expects his niece to after she inherits.”
“He just doesn’t want to sell to a mafia guy,” I said.
“Exactly. Which gives us an advantage.”
“I get what you’re thinking, but even if Frederick sells the property, won’t Muratti hold a grudge?” I asked.
“He’s that kind, yes. But he’s also about to retire, and his son, Michael, is starting to take over the organization. Michael’s not as old-school mafia—no horse heads in beds—and he doesn’t see the point of flying off the handle if it’s bad business.”
I caught my dad’s eye. So far, that sounded promising.
“So once we’re clear, I think Michael will simply write your dad off as a bad bet and everyone will go on their way.”
“You think,” I repeated.
“There’s an element of wait and see, I won’t sugarcoat it. But unless you want to call in the Feds—and then we’d be talking about witness protection—this is the best we can do.”
“I got myself in deep, sweetie,” Daddy said. “I can take it.”