A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(77)

It wasn’t a joke. It was a test. He’d wanted to see how I’d react.

I stepped back from him, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.

He faltered, frowning. “Trace?”

I took another step back, and another. Still not saying anything.

“Trace? I was joking.”

“You weren’t,” I grated out. “I’ve never done anything to you to make you believe you couldn’t trust me. Never. I handed my father over to you, and I saw what you did to him. Now this?” I motioned to him. “Justin Worthing is not a part of his family’s business. I can’t speak to the rest of his family, but I know he is not. And he’s not one of my employees anymore.”

Stephano raised his chin up, slowly. “His woman is currently in your nightclub, talking to your woman. You can see that I do have cause for concern considering that your woman hasn’t chosen sides yet. She’s still working for the other side.”

“Excuse me?”

He had eyes in my club. In my club! I wasn’t surprised about the reporting on Justin, or even about Jess. I half expected it, but the questioning me, and now this? Current reports right now.

“I was just told myself that she’s there. How did you know?”

I began looking around.

He’d gone to his table. He was looking at papers.

Bobby had brought the wine in—that’s when I’d received the texts from Ashton. I went over his movements after that text.

He’d been in his chair. He was drinking. Testing me. Challenging me in a way. Then he stood, went to his table, and he paused there.

I began to turn toward the table, moving to it.

“What are you doing?” His voice sharpened.

I held up my phone. “You don’t have eyes at my club, not current ones. But I do, and I was just notified. That means . . .”

“Trace! Don’t go over there.”

I ignored him, starting to read the papers.

They were files. Stocks. Others were numbers that he had scribbled down. Photos.

“Stop, Trace. I mean it,” he barked.

I moved aside one of the papers, and I saw a phone. I hit the screen; it was my wallpaper. I picked it up and turned back. “Unlock it.”

“Nephew.” He lowered his head, trying to go soft with me.

“Unlock it. Now.” I tossed it at him.

He caught it, barely, crushing it to his chest with his arm. Giving me an annoyed look, the ends of his mouth pinched in, he moved his thumb over the screen and tossed it back. I went straight to changing the passcode, putting in the numbers I just saw him use and entered my own before I went through the phone.

It was mine. Everything was mine.

He’d made a duplicate phone of mine.

I checked my texts, seeing Ashton’s recent one there.

Seeing my sexts with Jess.

I turned, a cold rage starting in my stomach, and it was growing fast and fiercely. “What else do you have on me?”

“Nephew—”

“What else?!”

He jerked. Swallowing. He finished his wine—thank god for that—and put the glass on the table beside him. Then he held up his hands, both of them. “Now, listen. Trace . . .”

“You have one phone; you could have others. I don’t enjoy my privacy being invaded.” Which was hypocritical of me because I had invaded Jess’s over and over again. I got it. I was getting it. But right now, I was dealing with this fire.

I just hadn’t decided if I was going to add gas or smother it.

“Tell me. Now.”

His head went back, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He had a resigned set to his shoulders. “I can tell that this meeting went sideways. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and that’s on me. I just needed to know. Your woman, you care for her. A lot. I can tell, and she’s in the law. I had to know, Tristian. I had to take precautions. Can’t you see that?”

“You cloned my phone. I’m not seeing anything right now.”

“You launched an investigation into me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you did. I have computer guys. They set up alerts, and they notified me that you were mousing around. You did it a while ago, on a Friday night. I even know where you were, at your place downtown. That fancy high-rise you own. I couldn’t believe it when they said your computer was the IP address that was looking into my finances. Thought it was a joke, but then you got more serious with the cop, and what was I supposed to do? Huh? You’re the only family I got.”

“Maybe there’s a reason.”

His whole face shuddered before he reared back, snarling. “Stop being an ungrateful little bit—”

I was gone.

I couldn’t hit my uncle. If I did, I wouldn’t stop. The other choice I had was to leave.

He stopped but shouted as I was out the door and headed for the stairs, “Where are you going? Trace?!”

I shoved through the stair door and was going to the front door. “Trace?”

I stopped, seeing Bobby standing in the front living room. It was set up as my uncle’s meeting room when he didn’t want someone any farther into the house. He rarely used it because most of his business was done in the kitchen or at his warehouse two streets over.