Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One
Geneveive walked through the entranceway to the track loving how the concrete tunnel caused the click of her heels to echo around her. It made her feel strong, powerful and she needed all she could get for her meeting with O’Brien. Leo followed closely behind her, having not left her side since the moment she’d touched back down on American soil. 

It had been three days since she’d returned home and not a second of those days had been wasted… except by her husband. Two attempts to visit him had been denied. The first time was the afternoon in which Noah Bennett spent six hours interrogating him. The second visitation was denied because of some kind of incident between the convicts. It didn’t take much brain power to decipher who was the cause of said incident. Especially when the guards on duty came knocking, looking for a job they’d been promised.

The tunnel opened up and the bright sun bounced off her sunglasses as she walked along the railing to where she could see O’Brien waiting for her. Maisy sat on the bleachers, looking utterly annoyed as Mallory chatted animatedly beside her. Upon her approach Mallory surprised Gen with a beaming smile and excited wave. Mallory jumped out of her seat earning an eye roll from Maisy and a step forward from Leo.

“Genevieve! It is so nice to see a familiar face,” Mallory expressed, gripping Gen in a tight hug that nearly snapped her bones. 

“Uh, it’s nice to see you too, Mallory. I’m guessing the O’Brien’s are doing a good job in keeping you happy?” Gen asked, trying to reconcile the woman in front of her with the one that had been so nasty to her from the start. 

Mallory waved her hand. “They’re treating me wonderfully. The Royale was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“That’s nice. And you, Maisy? Did you find someone to hitch your wagon to?” Gen asked.

Maisy gave a tight smile. “Your husband ran off the only good prospect. Emmett here has never been one to campaign for me,” Maisy said, irritation lacing her tone. 

“There’s just never been anyone good enough for you, little sis,” O’Brien said with a mocking tone. “I need your talents elsewhere.”

“Where? All my talents are being squandered by you and Daddy,” Maisy hissed. 

O’Brien rolled his eyes, looking very much like his sister in that moment, before he turned to face Gen and extended his hand. “Mrs. Accardi,” he greeted with a few lifts of his eyebrows. 

“Thanks for meeting me, Emmett,” Gen said, shaking his hand. 

“Anything I can do for the Accardis, I’d be happy to help,” O’Brien confirmed.

“You mean anything you can do for the Accardis that gets you something in return?” Gen surmised, leaning against the railing beside him. 

O’Brien chuckled. “You’ll do just fine in this business, Gen.”

“So people keep saying. I was told you have some information for me?”

O’Brien sighed, leaned over the railing and interlaced his fingers. “All pleasantries aside, Genevieve, I’m unhappy with how my men are being cared for at your tracks. We signed a contract that provides certain safety measures that are not being upheld.”

“I’ve familiarized myself with your contract, Emmett. While I can’t say I’m pleased with what Galante is trying to pull off, we’ve stationed two guards per one of your men as is stated in the ‘Times of Crisis’ clause as well as covered your losses for the disruptions in cash flow.”

“It’s not just Galante that’s causing us trouble, though, is it?” O’Brien pressed. 

Gen faced him more fully. “Our business is gambling, Mr. O’Brien, not drugs. That’s meant to be your forte. We’ve given you access to several of our tracks and whatever business you’re able to maintain through those tracks is solely up to you. Now, if you’d like a bit more insurance and cash flow that includes less risk, might I suggest going into food chain ownership or lawn care?”

O’Brien chuckled. “That sounds like something your husband would say.”

“You want to hear something else he would say? I’m very busy, Mr. O’Brien and this meeting has taken me two hours away from my office where I have a mountain of paper work to get through along with a few skulls I need to crack together… One of which belongs to my husband. I would like to hear what you want in return for the information you have so we can go back and forth for two minutes before agreeing to terms. Then you can divulge what you’ve learned and we can each go about our day with me being wiser and you being richer, hm?”

“Wish I had you on my team,” Maisy said from her seated position on the bleachers. 

Gen sent her a wink before training her eyes back on her target. 

“I’m guessing you want this track?” Gen asked, gesturing around the area.

“It’s Galantes’ turf,” O’Brien argued with an arched brow. 

“You already know how we feel about Accardi’s cousin,” Gen answered. 

“Pulls in millions each year.”

“To both parties. You want rights?”

“I want to own the whole damned thing.”

“Not a chance.”

“Come on, Mrs. Accardi. You all have seven tracks? What’s one less?”

“Two less as we’ve already sold one to you this year and, from what I hear, you’re currently running it into the ground,” Gen clapped back. 

“It’s not yours anymore so why do you care?”

“I care because our tracks make us millions, as you’ve so thoughtfully pointed out. I won’t hand over an impressive asset for information I don’t even know will help me,” Gen argued. “What do you really want?” Gen asked.

“Okay, okay, I want you to take Mallory back,” O’Brien suggested.

“What?!” Mallory shrieked, her voice edged with hurt.

Gen smirked, ignoring Mallory. “As Accardi already told you, no returns. Better luck next year.”

“Worth a shot.” O’Brien sighed and looked longingly out at the tracks. “Fine, I’ll settle for all of Michele’s current contracts with you.”

“No.”

“I want all of his track deals.”

“I can give you two.”

“This one?” he asked eagerly.

“Florida and California,” Gen proposed.

“Why not this one?” 

Gen looked out at the beautiful track and remembered the numerous times her father had brought her out here. Not to bet, her father never believed in betting, but to watch the horses. She rode in Georgia before they moved up north. The riding in New York City was too expensive and traveling far enough out of the city where it was cheaper wasn’t feasible. So, every few weeks she and her father would travel out to the track. 

Gen would walk along the grounds, petting any horse she was given permission to touch. They would sit on the bleachers and cheer on the various horses based solely on which ones she thought were the most beautiful. They were some of her favorite memories.

“For the same reason I wouldn’t give you the Georgia track,” Gen answered, refusing to give him anything more intimate than that.

O’Brien clicked his tongue and looked back out at the track. He dropped his head down. “Fine,” he said, spinning and holding his hand out to shake. “Sole rights to the Florida and California tracks,” he proposed. 

“Deal,” Gen said, taking his hand and shaking it. Before he could pull away, she tightened her grip. “Before we pull out the pens, though, let’s hear what you have to say.”

O’Brien smiled and pried his hand from her grasp. “Alright, Mrs. Accardi. Alright. Well, as you know my guys have been getting approached by men seemingly unaffiliated with any major player. Not trying to poach them from me, but poking around to see how they’d feel about having someone other than Accardi to work under.”

“Your men don’t work under Accardi,” Gen said with a tight smile. 

“That they do not,” he agreed. “Seems something Galante would know too, wouldn’t it?”

“You think it’s a different Italian family?” she asked.

“No,” he drawled out, waiting for her to guess again.

“Bennett? The FBI?”

“No,” he drawled again.

“O’Brien.”

“You’re no fun. Must have been a boring wedding. Have you heard of the Phelans?” O’Brien asked.

Gen noticed Maisy stiffen out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah, Galante’s late wife was a Phelan. He married her against both families’ wishes and it caused a big stink for a few years.”

Maisy snorted, drawing both Gen’s eyes and O’Brien’s. “Sorry,” she said, looking away.

“Anyway…” O’Brien continued. “It lasted for more than a few years. In fact the families have never stopped going after each other. Earlier this year the Phelans made a statement to the Galantes. One I think is too horrific for a lady such as yourself to hear.”

“You think Galante is trying to make the Phelans happy?” Gen guessed.

O’Brien shrugged. “If he is, he’s not doing a good job. The Phelans are out for blood.”

“If it’s blood they want, they can have as much as they want from Galante,” Gen told him.

“If it’s blood they wanted, Mrs. Accardi, they’d have enough to supply the Red Cross for decades.”

“Am I missing something here? Are you a mediator?” Gen asked, her suspicions in the O’Brien’s growing by the second.

“I’m merely trying to educate a new family member on the decades of rifts cracking their way through the industry.”

“Well get some caulk and get to the point,” Gen hissed. 

O’Brien chuckled. “The Phelans want justice. They want what they had taken away from them. You saw for yourself what a deal at the Royale can give a family. Galante took the Phelans’ main bargaining chip: their only child. He took away incentive, money, possibilities, their entire future. Now his child threatens to derail both of their organizations. My guess is the Phelans are trying to get ahead of Michele’s takeover. Fuck up his future, as it were.”

“Conor has no interest in family business. Michele’s future is already crumbling without their help.”

“Conor? You think I was referring to Conor?”

“Does Galante have a child no one else knows about?” 

O’Brien glanced over at Maisy who was listening intently. 

“So the rumor goes. And whoever it is, wants to take over what both families have to offer.”

“I still haven’t heard any useful information worthy of two tracks,” Gen said.

O’Brien smiled. “It’s all pertinent, I promise you. But maybe this will perk your interest. Galante gave me a call yesterday. The Phelans are getting to him. He wants a meeting. Tomorrow. Says I can bring a friend,” he answered, his friendly smile turning wicked. “Care to be my date?”

Gen arched a brow. “What’s the dress code?”