Corrupt Me Page 13

  “About time, kid.” He looked flustered as he swiped a strand of salt-and-pepper hair off his forehead.

  I ran over to the stove, lowered the flame, and gave the gravy a quick stir. “Sorry. I was talking to Ma. I can take over from here if you need a break.”

  Most afternoons I spent with Marco, I would learn the art of Italian cuisine from him.

  He seemed relieved to see me. He patted me on the back without a word and shoved a steel container in front of me. Submerged in cold water, the tomatoes were ready to peel and cut. We canned our own crushed tomatoes to make the red sauce Izzie loved so much. She’d raved over our recipe, but I never told her that I had done all the prep work.

  As I pared off the skin and cut the tomatoes into quarters, I thought of Izzie. Whatever I had done to piss her off, I had to fix it because her friendship—or whatever we were doing—had become too important. When we were apart, I would find myself wondering where she was. With each day that had passed, I had fallen harder for her, a feeling I had yet to come to terms with.

  As if on cue, my phone vibrated against my thigh. I set the tomato down, wiped my hands with a towel, and removed the phone from pocket, letting out a sigh of relief when I saw her name on the screen.

  But her text…I had no idea how to interpret the message.

  A few minutes passed, my heart thumping out of my chest, as I analyzed its meaning.

  Izzie: I told you before, three strikes. That’s all you get. Care to guess what number you’re on?

  Me: No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.

  Izzie: Don’t be a dick, Luca!

  When I laughed at her text, Marco raised a curious eyebrow at me. I shrugged it off and typed out a quick message, my back turned to him.

  Me: Can I see you later?

  Izzie: No. I’m working late.

  A woman turning me down was a first for me, and I even considered it an all-time low. Instead of sulking though, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and continued slicing tomatoes, thinking Izzie would be the death of me. But she was worth it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IZZIE

  I stared out the window of my office at Rinaldi Holdings, studying the main entrance to the Philadelphia Museum of Art with its endless staircase and impressive columns that held up sculpted pediments. A major donor of the arts, Grandfather had constructed the offices, so they had a view of my favorite place in the entire city. It felt like an eternity since I’d walked the halls of the museum with the sound of music pouring through my iPod, drowning out the masses, so I could appreciate each work of art, as if they were my own private collections.

  Working weekends sucked. But what choice did I have with Grandfather enslaving me? We had several pending real estate deals and new mergers with a tech start-up and one of our nanotech companies.

  When Silvia peeked through the door and cleared her throat, I spun around in my high-back leather chair. The pained expression on her face made me nervous.

  “Mr. Catalano is here to see you about the Riverfront Realty deal, and Mr. Rinaldi is also on his way downstairs.”

  I slid behind the large oak desk and tapped my mouse. The Rinaldi Holdings logo faded as I opened my e-mail. “I don’t see a Mr. Catalano on my calendar.”

  Silvia stepped inside and shut the door, taking a quick glance out the wall of windows. “Um…Mr. Rinaldi’s assistant sent him down without calling. I offered him coffee, and he insisted I make him an espresso. He seems like a real pain in the ass. I think he’s a friend of your grandfather’s.”

  Before I could respond, my grandfather opened the door, standing behind Silvia, a thick head of black hair combed to the side My grandfather stood tall, the weight of the world balanced on his broad shoulders. Shrewd in business and in life, he had a fierceness about him that sent a chill down my spine when his dark eyes met mine. My mother looked exactly like him, except he was a foot taller and had a dimple that creased his right cheek.

  “Isabella, my dear, I want to introduce you to someone you’ll be working closely with in the future.” He walked toward me, stopping long enough to glance over his shoulder and said, “That will be all, Silvia.” He gave a gentle wave of his hand, as though she were beneath him.

  Silvia came from a well-off family, but Grandfather didn’t consider her father’s profession at all admirable. He said plastic surgery was for doctors who didn’t have the talent to become a real surgeon and that they represented everything that was wrong with society. That was how she’d become my assistant instead of an intern.

  Silvia left with a nod and closed the door behind her to answer the phone.

  A man with jelled dark brown hair and olive skin walked into the room and tapped Grandfather on the back. Then, he reached out to shake my hand. “Miss Rinaldi, nice to meet you. I’m Frank Catalano. I represent LSM Investments.”

  One of our senior lawyers had worked on the Riverfront Realty deal for the past month, inviting me to join the discussion with the real estate brokers. I steered clear of Rob at all costs. We’d invested in a ten-story apartment building in the Pennsport section of South Philly with LSM Investments. I hadn’t liked the agreement from the start, but Grandfather had insisted we make it work and to find any way to close the deal on the property, and we had.

  I shook Mr. Catalano’s hand, curious about this unexpected visit—or better yet, intrusion.

  Grandfather braced him, as if he were an old friend, which was weird because I’d never seen him before.

  “Isabella, Frank is here to discuss the specifics of the Riverfront Realty deal. Whatever he needs, you will assist.”

  I held out my hand, motioning for the man to sit in one of the leather chairs in front of my desk. “Please take a seat, Mr. Catalano. Just give me a minute to pull up the paperwork.”

  “Thank you, Isabella.” Grandfather flashed a rare smile, scratching the stubble along his square jaw, as he made a beeline to the door. “Frank, pleasure, as always. Send my regards to your boss.”

  With the hardened expression of a man who’d had a rough life, I found it hard to believe Mr. Catalano had gone to law school. He looked polished in a three-thousand-dollar charcoal suit.

  Mr. Catalano, a man of few words, just nodded in Grandfather’s direction.

  “Okay,” I said, scrolling through the documents on my computer, “everything looks pretty standard. We filed the articles of incorporation for both companies with the state. Mr. Greenberg filed the operating agreements between Rinaldi Realty Investments and LSM Investments to form Riverfront Realty as well as Riverfront Property Management. We settled on the property last week. I’m in the process of going through the books from the previous owner. Their accounting was a bit of a mess. I’m still trying to get a handle on the ledgers.”

  As I looked at him, he gave me the creeps, but my hand didn’t shake one bit. I had nerves of steel. I was like my grandfather in that way.

  Something about this man bothered me. The scar that ran down the length of his neck wasn’t what irked me even though it did make me cringe every time I got a good look at it. Someone had given him that hideous mark. What kind of lawyer had battle scars?

  “I see there was an addendum filed to the operating agreement. You added Enzo Vitale Senior as co-manager. I was under the impression that I would manage the operations of this company alone. This must be a mistake, Mr. Catalano. I’ll have Mr. Greenberg take a second look at the documents.”

  “There’s no mistake,” he said, resolute.

  “But—” I held back my argument when I saw his jaw tense, and his face became even more rigid.

  “Mr. Rinaldi and Mr. Greenberg are well aware of the deal, I can assure you.”

  Now, I knew something about him screamed red flag. This deal was uncharacteristic of any real estate transaction my grandfather had made in the past three years. I’d spent a lot of time learning the business. No one would invest almost all the seed money when the other party hadn’t offered more than managing t
he rental units. And LSM Investments was taking a cut of that money.

  I scrolled down the page, my eyes focused on the computer screen, as I bit down on my bottom lip. “I would like to meet Mr. Vitale before I sign off on the paperwork.”

  I rubbed my temple, wondering why Grandfather and Rob Greenberg had designated this man.

  Mr. Catalano cleared his throat and leaned forward, intimidating me with his menacing gaze. “We will hire staff to collect the rental agreements and deal with the tenants and also an accountant to handle the finances. Your intervention will not be required. As to the ledgers, it would be wise for you to turn them over to me. I can take it from here.”

  This man confused the hell out of me.

  I slid out from the desk, so our eyes met, and even though he frightened me, I didn’t back down. “I don’t think you understand how I do business, Mr. Catalano. This is my company, my reputation, on the line, and I will not allow a complete stranger to take our money and use it how he sees fit. Please set up a meeting with Mr. Vitale.”

  “Angelo assured us you could handle this task.”

  The smugness in his voice and the disgusted look on his face pissed me off. I gripped the edge of my desk, trying to get a handle on my emotions. Not only were we fronting most of the money with very little return on investment, but I’d also have to devote my time to the operations of an apartment building. I told myself that Grandfather knew what he was doing; otherwise, he wouldn’t have cut the check.

  Well versed in the art of maintaining a strong poker face, I eyed my opponent. “He was right about that, Mr. Catalano. I am more than capable of overseeing the operations of this company.”

  I had to show him that I was not about to back down. The noticeable anger in my tone didn’t surprise me, but he seemed a bit intrigued by my reaction.

  His eyebrows rose and fell, and then he lifted a card from the pocket of his expensive suit. With his index finger, he slid a business card across my desk. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Written in block script on a white card was Catalano & Associates with an address on Delaware Avenue.

  Then, he left without turning back, ignoring me as he fled my office.

  Silvia gave her usual pleasantries, closed the door behind him, and plopped down on the chair in front of my desk. “What was that all about?”

  I shook my head, still trying to wrap my mind around what had happened. “I don’t know. That was the strangest conversation I’ve had in my entire life. He barely spoke, and when he did, I could tell something was off. What kind of big-city law firm is on Delaware Avenue? Something is not right about the deal that Grandfather made with him.”

  “Look up the address.” Silvia rolled her chair next to mine and waited for me to open the web browser on my computer.

  I typed the address into Google and gasped. “A strip club. This can’t be right.” I wiped out the search, studied his business card, and entered the address again.

  “I knew he was a little off, but this…” Silvia’s mouth flung open in shock. “How do you run a law firm out of a strip club? Search the addresses around it. Maybe it’s a typo.”

  With help from the Internet, I checked the properties to the right and left of it, finding a similar situation. Delaware Avenue was full of nightclubs, bars, strip clubs, and condominiums.

  “I don’t get it.” I threw his card on the desk and sank back into the chair. “Why are we doing business with this man?”

  Silvia leaned over my shoulder as I opened the documents. “Oh my God. Look at the amended operating agreement Rob drafted for the deal.” She took control of the mouse and scanned the rest of the folder.

  “I know. Imagine my surprise when I found out he had modified the agreement behind my back while Mr. Warmth was sitting in front of me.”

  “Look at this, Izzie Bear.” A strand of Silvia’s black hair fell onto my keyboard as she focused on the computer monitor. “The owner of LSM Investments is Luciano S. Marchese.”

  I turned the screen toward the left, so I could get a better view and propped my elbow on the desk that was polished to perfection, just like everything else in our little den of secrets. My heart sped up as I tried to grasp the consequences of this deal. The last time I reviewed the documents they were incomplete, still requiring a few details such as the name of the owner of LSM Investments.

  Did Rob and Grandfather intentionally keep this from me? Why were we buying property with the Marchese family?

  I looked at Silvia, who registered a look of shock to match mine. “Do you think Luca knew his father and Rinaldi Holdings were doing business together? I told Rob to keep me out of the deal until the settlement just so I wouldn’t have to deal with his creepy ass, but I never thought he’d do anything like this.”

  Silvia scrolled through each screen, but I was too numb to focus on anything, other than Luca. I had so many unanswered questions, all of which revolved around the pending sale of this shithole apartment building.

  She nudged me in the arm with her elbow to whip me out of my trance. Her eyes were still fixed on the electronic proof that our family was as corrupt as I’d always thought, but I couldn’t stand to look at my computer for another second.

  “Check out the HUD-1 forms from the last purchase on the property.” Silvia’s words sounded so far away yet so close at the same time. “There’s no way this place increased that much in value over two months. Rob signed off on all of these, too.”

  I finally spun my chair around so that we were facing.

  Silvia had pictures of the dilapidated brick building on the screen. As she clicked through them, she gawked at each one. “What was Rob thinking?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He’s a damn good lawyer, but nothing with this deal makes any sense. You know about my family’s affiliation with the Marchese family, but I had no idea we’d ever entered into any deals with them. I thought we were done with that years ago when our family lost touch.” I sighed loudly and sank back into the high-back leather chair.

  From this seat, forty-nine stories up from the ground, the power of running a billion-dollar conglomerate could get to anyone, even Grandfather. We had more money than we could spend in ten lifetimes, and Rob wasn’t exactly slumming it in his downtown penthouse apartment.

  Although the SEC was always a problem, the recent visits from the FBI finally made sense.

  A loud knock on the door made Silvia and I jump. That was followed by the emergence of Penny.

  Over the past month, Penny had divulged her reasons for becoming friends with Silvia. And, now, we were friends, too. When she’d asked for an internship, Grandfather was more than happy to have the daughter of Mike Baldwin, CEO of Baldwin Industries, working for him.

  “Hey, girlies.” Penny slipped through the door. “Are you guys ready for dinner? I’m starving.”

  I glanced down at my watch to check the time, and I was surprised I’d forgotten to eat all day.

  Silvia shot up from the chair and rolled it back around to the other side of the desk. I shut down the computer, grabbed my purse, and put the insanity of the day behind me, along with my feelings for Luca. Because of the Riverfront Realty deal, Luca and I had no future.

  Chapter Sixteen

  LUCA

  I waited all week for Thursday night poker. With all the bullshit fraternity meetings and breaking in our new pledge class, I needed to blow off some steam. Hunter and Mark rode with me to the apartment owned by my father and situated along the Delaware River. Some of the most expensive properties in Philadelphia were on the waterfront. They also came with the sweetest view of the city. I stuck my key in the elevator slot and pushed the button for the penthouse.

  Mark farted, making it feel like a coffin until the doors opened up to a white marble foyer. He giggled like a child, and I shoved him away as I stepped into my living room. My father had most of the marble and fabrics imported from Italy, which gave the apartment the feel of a modern cathedral. Ornate chandeliers suspen
ded from vaulted ceilings. Windows wrapped around the living room, dining room, and kitchen. French doors opened to a private balcony that overlooked the Camden Waterfront. A spiral staircase led to the second floor with four bedrooms that had equally impressive views.

  I shared the apartment with my dad, but he never used it. After my parents moved to Cherry Hill, New Jersey, he hardly crossed the bridge. His associates handled his business deals, keeping him updated through a tier of advisors. Once a month, I organized a high roller game that helped my boys pay their tuition for the year. And it was easy money.

  You can’t buy loyalty, a lesson I’d learned from my father. I didn’t have to buy Mark or Hunter. We were friends and brothers long before I started running card games or bookmaking. Together we came up with the idea to create our own revenue streams. But my father disapproved. He voiced his opinion on it every Sunday at dinner.

  We climbed the stairs, strolling down the hallway into the bedroom that faced the south side of the river. Opposite my bedroom, it had rich mahogany walls and floors, a wall of glass windows, and a balcony. On the right, we had a fully stocked bar with top shelf liquor and beer for our high rollers.

  Hunter opened a closet, dragging a poker table out with Mark’s help. “Where do you want me to do set this up?”

  I bent down and gripped the bottom of a black leather couch. “Get the other side and help me move it back about twenty feet.”

  Hunter lifted the opposite end with a grunt, still out of shape. Since school had started, he was working on the beer gut to stay fit for football. But he drank and smoked weed more than he exercised. Life in a fraternity house wasn’t for the faint of heart. Still, I had to maintain some semblance of control as president. For the rest of the guys, each night was a never-ending party. I had too much shit to worry about, like sweet-talking the Dean and the campus police.

  I slid behind the bar and poured three glasses of scotch, passing them to my brothers. Hunter lifted the lid of the monogramed humidor, cut off the head of the cigars and handed one to each of us. “This is the fucking life,” he said, rolling his finger over the lighter.