Talent rubs my lower back, and I turn into him as she captures the photo.
“You kids have fun,” she says with a smile. “I won’t wait up.”
In the car ride over, Talent and I sit in the back of the limo and share a toast to a wonderful evening ahead. He drinks two glasses of champagne to my one, but I’m about to willingly walk into the lion’s den. As much as I’d love to drink straight from the bottle to lessen my nerves, I want to give the best first impression I can. Meeting David Ridge is a big deal.
“Remind me of whose birthday it is,” I say.
Talent sips from his champagne flute and forces a smile before answering, “A friend of the family.”
“If we’re dressed like this, they must be a big deal.”
He nods and says, “They are.”
The St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco is a one-hundred-year-old landmark and stands in the heart of the city as a symbol of elegance and history. It’s brilliantly lit upon our arrival, illuminated to display the long-slit stained-glass windows, semicircle arches, and grand pillars. Two mighty bell towers stretch for the night sky, like an ancient castle from another time.
“Ma’am.” A valet attendant opens the back door and offers his hand.
I step onto the sidewalk, overcome with the smell from the nearby chocolate factory, the ancient trees that surround the city, and the salty ocean. Talent comes around the back of the limo, refastening his jacket, and he guides me toward the massive building with his hand on my lower back. Unlike the gala, there’s no paparazzi or fuss leading toward the event. There’s a line of cars behind us waiting to unload guests, but we’re mostly alone on the short walk to the St. Francis entrance.
The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside, and I can’t believe I’m here. My work with Hush never takes me out of Grand Haven, and now I’m at a birthday party in a real-life castle on a Wednesday night.
“Are you ready?” Talent asks, lacing his fingers with mine and squeezing my hand.
I smile and say, “Are you sure this is a birthday party?”
He chuckles and says, “Our work gets us caught up with some crazy motherfuckers.”
I’m not any less impressed by the grand ballroom, but I’m on high alert once Talent and I join the rest of the party. Scanning the room for anyone I may know from Hush, I’m pleasantly surprised not to recognize the normal company that attends high-profile events like these in Grand Haven. Until my eyes fall on Wilder Ridge, who’s at the bar, looking just as tortured as he did at the gala.
“There’s your brother,” I say, pulling on Talent’s hand.
“Where’s Dad?” Talent asks as we approach the older Ridge son. He pulls a chair out for me and I take a seat, turning to face the party.
“Nice to see you, Lydia,” Wilder says with a drunk smile. He shifts his attention to his brother when he doesn’t get a reaction from me and says, “You know as well as I do that there’s always business to be had at these things. He’s in the first conference room down the hall to the right. They’ve been waiting for you.”
Talent pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Go show your face before they come looking for you.” Wilder asks the bartender to give me what he has. “I’ll keep Miss Won’t-be-Disrespected-Again safe until you’re back.”
Talent kisses the top of my head and walks away with his hands in his pockets. The bartender slides a glass of bourbon in front of me, and Wilder clinks his glass with mine.
“We’ve got to stop meeting up like this,” he says over the rim of his glass.
Inclined to relax a little, I take a sip of my drink and say, “How did you know who I work for?”
Wilder opens his jacket to retrieve his wallet from the front pocket. He flips through a few business cards before slapping one on the bar top for me to see.
It’s a standard black business card with the word Hush typed across the front in white. Inez’s number is on the back. “It’s my understanding that Inez Ricci has a monopoly on the escorting business in our area. These tend to get left around for me to find a lot.”
Merely glancing at the card, I look away and say, “You won’t get to me by calling the number on the back of that card, Wilder Ridge.”
He smiles, and I see a bit of Talent in him. It lessens how defensive I feel.
“I’ve never called the number. The Ridges are perfect, but you already know that.”
“Someone might want to give Talent the memo,” I say sarcastically. “I heard he’s fallen in love with a prostitute.”
Wilder chokes on his drink and laughs out loud, wiping bourbon from his lip. “Beautiful and funny.”
Holding a finger up, I include, “And slutty. Your brother didn’t stand a chance. I’m the motherfucking trifecta.”
“Got any friends?”
I roll my eyes. “You wish. Call the number if you’re lonely.”
Talent appears at the other end of the ballroom with a man I instantly recognize as Talent and Wilder’s father, David Ridge. His sons are taller than him, but like Inez, his very presence demands respect. He doesn’t have the swagger Talent’s adopted, and David doesn’t seem as rigid as his firstborn. His body language is somewhere in the middle, with one hand at his side and the other in his pocket.
Father and son stop right outside the hallway before joining the party, when I realize there’s a third person with them.
My heart stops once and my stomach drops. “Wilder, is that Giovanni Coppola?”
“The one and only. This is his birthday party.” Wilder tosses back the rest of his bourbon and slams his glass down. He walks away and mumbles, “Welcome to the family.”
I don’t fuck with actors, politicians, or the mafia.
Giovanni Coppola is the mafia.
Head of the Coppola crime family, Giovanni has his hands in everything that happens from Grand Haven to the Canadian border. To conduct business in his area, a tax must be paid at the beginning of the month like clockwork. Unless you’re Inez Ricci. She’s an exemption to the rule, but she’s never told me why.
I never cared to ask because I. Don’t. Fuck. With. The. Mafia.
The room suddenly looks very different once I realize I’m drinking bourbon at Gio Coppola’s birthday party, likely surrounded by drug runners, extortionists, and killers. Taxing business owners for the right to work is at the end of the long list of what the Coppola family is involved with. Cartels, gangs, public officials don’t make moves without the Coppola’s say so.
What the fuck does a family of private equity lawyers have in common with the mob?
Wilder approaches the trio and shakes hands with Giovanni, before patting his brother on the shoulder and whispering to him privately. Talent’s dark gray eyes immediately find mine. If I weren’t utterly shocked, I’d leave. But I can’t get my legs to work.
“Take my hand,” Talent says after he’s crossed the room to retrieve me.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a hesitant tone.
His pewter stare doesn’t shake, and he says, “Lydia, it’s not what you think.”
“Are you in the mafia?” I whisper harshly, careful to keep my voice down. I don’t see how he can be and kept it a secret.