Genuine Lies

by personal distaste, Delrickio Enterprises dipped its toe into the drug trade. He considered it an unfortunate sign of the times that this area of his conglomerate was so profitable.
    He was a loving husband who handled his extramarital affairs with taste and discretion, a doting father who had raised his brood of eight with a firm and fair hand, and an indulgent grandpapa who had difficulty refusing his grandchildren anything.
    He wasn’t a man to make mistakes, and when he did, he admitted them. Eve Benedict had been one of his mistakes. He had loved her in a wild, fevered way that had made him both indiscreet and foolish. Even now, fifteen years after their affair, he remembered what it had been like to have her. Remembering could still arouse him.
    Now, as he puttered around his orchids, babying them, cooing to them, he waited for Eve’s nephew. For all his faults, the boy was okay. Delrickio had even permitted Drake to date one of his daughters. Of course, Delrickio wouldn’t have allowed anything serious to come of it. A hybrid was fine, even desirable in horticulture—but not in grandchildren.
    Michael Delrickio believed in like to like, which was one of the reasons he had never forgiven himself for becoming mesmerized by Eve. Or her, for doing the mesmerizing.
    And because he saw the fault in himself, he was more patient with Eve’s worthless nephew than business dictated.
    “Godfather.”
    Delrickio straightened from his stance over a trio of spider orchids. Young Joseph was at the doorway. He was a handsome, solid brute who liked to lift weights and spar at the gym Delrickio had an interest in. The son of one of his wife’s cousins, Joseph had been in the family business for nearly five years. Delrickio had had him trained by his own first lieutenant, knowing the boy was not too bright, but loyal and eager to please.
    Muscle didn’t have to be intelligent, only tractable. “Yes, Joseph.” “Morrison is here.” “Good, good.”
    Delrickio dusted off his hands on the white bib apron he wore when he was working with his flowers. His youngest daughter had made it for him, painting on the snowy materiala clever caricature of her smiling papa with a garden spade in one hand and a curvy, sexy woman-size orchid with long, feminine legs draped around him.
    “Bring him in here. Your cold sounds better.” He was a good, concerned employer.
    Joseph shrugged, more than a little embarrassed to have a physical flaw. “I feel fine.”
    “Still congested. You eat lots of Teresa’s soup. Fluids, Joseph, to wash the poisons out. Your health is everything.”
    “Yes, Godfather.”
    “And stay close, Joseph. Drake may need some incentive.”
    Joseph grinned, nodded, and slipped away.
    In the spacious parlor, Drake sat in a comfy wing chair and drummed his fingers on his knees. When the rhythm failed to soothe him, he cracked his knuckles. He wasn’t sweating yet, or not badly. At his feet was a briefcase containing seven thousand dollars. It was short of the mark, and Drake cursed himself for that. He’d had fifteen after fencing Eve’s goodies. Though he understood he’d been thoroughly ripped off in the exchange of merchandise for cash, it had been enough. That is, until his trip to the track.
    He’d been so sure, so fucking sure that he could finesse the fifteen into thirty, even forty. The pressure would have been off for a while. He’d pored over the racing form, calculating his bets carefully. He’d even had a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling at home, along with a snazzy little brunette keeping the sheets warm.
    Instead of marching back in triumph, he’d lost half of his investment.
    But it was going to be all right. He cracked his knuckles again. Pop. Pop. Pop. It was going to be just fine. Along with this seven thousand, he had three dubbed tapes in the briefcase.
    It had been so easy, he remembered. Bagging up a few choice items—things Eve wouldn’t miss. The old girl never wandered down to the guest house more than once or twice ayear. Besides, she had so much, no one could remember where everything was kept. He figured it had been pretty clever of him to bring the blank tapes along. He’d have gotten more than three copied—but he’d heard someone coming in the back door.
    Drake smiled to himself. That was a little more insurance. He’d been able to hide in the storage closet and watch the person go through the tapes, listen to them. That might come in handy down the