Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One

Genevieve stepped into the entrance of the track, relishing the way the concrete tunnel amplified the sharp click of her heels as they echoed around her. That sound made her feel strong, commanding—qualities she desperately needed for the tense meeting ahead with O’Brien. Close behind her, Leo matched her pace, never leaving her side since she had landed back on American soil three days earlier.

Since her return, not a moment had been wasted—except by her husband. Twice she had tried to see him, but both visits were denied. The first was during an afternoon when Noah Bennett had subjected him to a grueling six-hour interrogation. The second was blocked due to some disturbance among the inmates. It didn’t take much insight to guess who had stirred up trouble, especially when the guards showed up shortly after, demanding a promised favor in return for their silence.

Emerging from the tunnel, the bright sunlight bounced off Genevieve’s sunglasses as she walked along the railing, spotting O’Brien waiting for her. Maisy sat on the bleachers nearby, her expression one of clear annoyance, while Mallory chattered excitedly beside her. As Genevieve approached, Mallory broke into a wide smile and waved enthusiastically. She jumped up from her seat, prompting an eye roll from Maisy and a protective step forward from Leo.

“Genevieve! It’s so good to see a familiar face,” Mallory exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug that nearly crushed her ribs.

“Uh, it’s nice to see you too, Mallory,” Genevieve replied cautiously, trying to reconcile this cheerful woman with the harsh one she’d known before. “I take it the O’Briens are treating you well?”

Mallory waved her hand dismissively. “They’re wonderful to me. Joining the Royale was the best thing that ever happened.”

“That’s good to hear. And you, Maisy? Found someone to hitch your wagon to?” Genevieve asked.

Maisy’s smile was tight, her irritation barely concealed. “Your husband scared off the only decent prospect. Emmett here has never really campaigned for me,” she said sharply.

“There’s just never been anyone good enough for you, little sister,” O’Brien teased, his tone dripping with mockery. “I need your talents elsewhere.”

“Where? All my talents are wasted on you and Daddy,” Maisy snapped back.

O’Brien rolled his eyes, resembling his sister in that moment, before turning to Genevieve and extending his hand. “Mrs. Accardi,” he greeted with a raised brow.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Emmett,” Genevieve said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Anything I can do for the Accardis, I’m happy to help,” he assured her.

“You mean anything that benefits you in return,” she countered, leaning against the railing beside him.

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

“So I keep hearing. I understand you have some information for me?”

He sighed, resting his forearms on the railing and intertwining his fingers. “Putting pleasantries aside, Genevieve, I’m not happy with how my men are being treated at your tracks. Our contract guarantees certain safety measures, and those aren’t being upheld.”

“I’m well aware of the contract, Emmett. While I can’t say I’m thrilled with what Galante’s trying to pull, we’ve assigned two guards per one of your men, as stated in the ‘Times of Crisis’ clause. We’ve also covered your losses from the cash flow disruptions.”

“It’s not just Galante causing problems, is it?” O’Brien pressed.

Genevieve turned to face him fully. “Our business is gambling, Mr. O’Brien, not drugs—that’s your territory. We’ve given you access to several tracks, and whatever business you maintain there is your responsibility. If you want safer investments with less risk, might I suggest food chain ownership or lawn care?”

O’Brien laughed. “Sounds like something your husband would say.”

“Want to hear something else he’d say? I’m very busy, Mr. O’Brien. This meeting has already taken two hours away from my office, where I have mountains of paperwork and a few skulls to crack—one of which belongs to my husband. So, why don’t you tell me what you want in return for your information? We can negotiate for two minutes, agree on terms, then you can spill what you know, and we both get on with our day—me wiser, you richer. Sound fair?”

“Wish I had you on my team,” Maisy called from the bleachers.

Genevieve winked at her before returning her focus to O’Brien.

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

“It’s Galante’s turf,” O’Brien argued, raising an eyebrow.

“You already know how we feel about Accardi’s cousin,” she replied.

“He pulls in millions every year.”

“To both parties. You want rights?”

“I want to own the whole damned thing.”

“Not a chance.”

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

“Two less,” Genevieve shot back. “We already sold one to you this year, and from what I hear, you’re running it into the ground.”

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

“I care because our tracks generate millions, as you so kindly reminded me. I won’t hand over a valuable asset for information I haven’t even heard yet,” she argued. “So, what do you really want?”

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

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

Genevieve smirked, ignoring Mallory’s outburst. “As Accardi already told you, no returns. Better luck next year.”

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

“No.”

“All of his track deals.”

“I can give you two.”

“This one?” he asked eagerly.

“Florida and California,” Genevieve offered.

“Why not this one?”

She looked out at the beautiful track, memories flooding back of her father bringing her here—not to bet, as he never believed in gambling, but just to watch the horses. Before they moved north, she had ridden horses in Georgia. Riding in New York City was too expensive, and traveling far enough out of the city to find cheaper options wasn’t practical. So every few weeks, she and her father would make the trip. She’d stroll the grounds, petting any horse she was allowed to touch, and they’d sit on the bleachers cheering for horses based solely on their beauty. Those were some of her fondest memories.

“For the same reason I wouldn’t give you the Georgia track,” she said, unwilling to share more.

O’Brien clicked his tongue, staring out at the track before lowering his head. “Fine,” he said, spinning around and holding out his hand. “Sole rights to Florida and California tracks.”

“Deal,” Genevieve said, shaking his hand firmly. Before he could pull away, she tightened her grip. “But before we break out the contracts, let’s hear what you have to say.”

O’Brien smiled, freeing his hand. “Alright, Mrs. Accardi. As you know, my men have been approached by individuals who don’t seem affiliated with any major players. They’re not trying to poach my men but are testing the waters, seeing if they’d prefer working for someone other than Accardi.”

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

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Seems like something Galante would know too, wouldn’t it?”

“Do you think it’s another Italian family?” she asked.

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

“Bennett? The FBI?”

“No,” he said again, drawing out the word.

“O’Brien.”

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

Genevieve noticed Maisy stiffen in her seat. “Yeah, Galante’s late wife was a Phelan. He married her against both families’ wishes, and it caused a huge scandal for years.”

Maisy snorted, drawing both Genevieve’s and O’Brien’s attention. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking away.

“Anyway,” O’Brien continued, “the feud lasted more than a few years. In fact, the families have never stopped going after each other. Earlier this year, the Phelans sent a message to the Galantes—one I think is too brutal for a lady like you to hear.”

“You think Galante is trying to appease the Phelans?” Genevieve guessed.

O’Brien shrugged. “If he is, he’s failing. The Phelans want blood.”

“If it’s blood they want, they can have as much as they want from Galante,” Genevieve said firmly.

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

“Am I missing something? Are you a mediator?” Genevieve asked, suspicion growing.

“I’m just trying to educate a new family member on the decades of feuds tearing through the industry.”

“Well, get some caulk and get to the point,” she snapped.

O’Brien chuckled. “The Phelans want justice. They want what was taken from them. You saw what a deal at the Royale can do for a family. Galante took the Phelans’ main bargaining chip—their only child. He took away their incentive, money, possibilities—their entire future. Now, his child threatens to derail both organizations. My guess? The Phelans are trying to sabotage Michele’s takeover. Ruin his future, so to speak.”

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

“Conor? You think I was talking about Conor?”

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

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

“That’s the rumor. Whoever it is, they want to control what both families have to offer.”

“I still haven’t heard anything worth two tracks,” Genevieve said.

O’Brien smiled. “It’s all relevant, I promise. But maybe this will interest you. Galante called me yesterday. The Phelans are getting to him. He wants a meeting. Tomorrow. Says I can bring a friend.”

“Care to be my date?”

Genevieve arched an eyebrow. “What’s the dress code?”