White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(35)

“Fair enough, but only because a beautiful woman is asking. Her name was Regina, and she was a knockout. Long black hair, piercing turquoise eyes. If you dyed your hair dark and ditched those contacts, you could be sisters. Granted, she didn’t live much longer than however old you are now. Real sad story.”

If I dyed my hair dark . . .

Blood roars in my ears at his statement. I should be happy that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that I’m wearing a wig, but my fingers itch to rip it off so he can see the real me. The me who has never known my biological mother.

But my father has always kept an apartment in New York.

This is too little to go on, but it’s more than I’ve ever had before. A million questions rush through my brain, but I only ask one.

“How did she die?”

Benny coughs and wipes his mouth again with his handkerchief. He doesn’t answer until he’s refolded it and tucked it away. “She was murdered.”

My heart hammers harder than ever before, each beat slamming into my chest like a bare-knuckle punch. I open my mouth to reply but Greer’s cheerful voice stops me, and I don’t know if I’m grateful or pissed.

“Drew! I wondered where you’d disappeared to. There’s someone I would love to introduce you to.”

I break Benny’s stare and glance at Greer, but her face doesn’t match her voice. Her expression is lined with concern, and I wonder if she’s trying to rescue me. Do I want to be rescued?

Her bright gaze bounces from me to Benny. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart. We’re just talking about ancient history. I’m sure she’d rather meet your talented sister-in-law. I’m just gonna say, if Ms. Superstar doesn’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Dom, we’re all gonna be mighty disappointed.” He sips at his liquor like it truly does go down easier than water.

I turn to see Holly Wix, one of country music’s hottest stars, standing beside Greer.

How the hell didn’t I notice her before? Oh, right, I was having a meltdown and wondering if Benny knows who my biological mother is, and oh, just maybe she might have been some woman who was murdered.

Using compartmentalization skills I’ve honed since childhood, I tuck my questions away in a box, pop off the bar stool, and hold out my hand to the gorgeous brunette who came into the restaurant with Creighton Karas.

“It’s a pleasure. I’m a huge fan of your music. I saw you perform once at a concert in LA. You were incredible.” I’m thankful my words come out sounding coherent rather than discombobulated, like I feel.

Instead of taking my hand, Holly reaches out with both arms and wraps them around me. “Oh my goodness, I’m so damn grateful that Cannon has finally found someone who can handle his cranky ass. Welcome to the family. We’ve been waiting for you a long, long time.”

Her citrus-and-sunshine scent wraps around me, chasing the chills away. Over her shoulder, Benny gives me a chin jerk, slides off his stool with his drink, and disappears into the crowd.

I’m not sure if I just received a stay of execution or lost a chance at learning something vital, but I don’t have time to think about it right now.

“Thank you,” I say, scrambling for words.

Greer smiles and laughs, clearly happy to see Holly embracing me.

“Oh, girl, don’t thank me,” Holly says as her arms unwind from around me and she steps back. “I was just so glad to hear when Greer told me about you. I’ve been waiting years for this moment. You don’t even know.”

“Maybe now they can finally make up and have their bromance back,” Greer adds with hope in her voice. “I know Creighton has been missing Cannon like a lost limb, even though he denies it.”

“Of course he has. Do you know how many times Crey picks up his phone to call and tell Cannon something and then sets it down when he realizes he deleted his number? It’s worse than a teenage girl with a breakup.” Holly shakes her head, and her dark waves dance around her shoulders.

She’s even more beautiful in person than on TV, and that’s definitely a surprise. I’ve met so many famous people in my life, and they always look different without the heavy layers of makeup that get them camera ready.

“Speaking of Crey, where is he?” Greer asks, turning to scan the restaurant.

At the same time, silverware clinks on a glass somewhere. As the hum of conversation subsides, all heads swivel to find the source.

It’s Dom. He stands at one of four tables that have been set for dinner, each about ten feet long, with enough room to accommodate the fifty or so people who have been milling around and making small talk.

When the room goes silent and he has everyone’s attention, a smile stretches over his face like he’s a king surveying his subjects, which I suppose is how he feels. Here, he’s a god. No one outranks him. His decision is the final word on all things. One must wonder if having that kind of power for years would go to someone’s head, and from the way Dom takes no shit, I would have to think it absolutely has.

“Family and friends, thank you all for coming this evening. I think many of you doubted I’d ever live to see this birthday, but I’m happy to prove you wrong.”

As everyone chuckles at Dom’s statement, my gaze skips over the crowd, trying to find Cannon, and I spot him near the exit. He’s a dozen feet from Creighton, but the other man has his back to Cannon.