rel="nofollow" href="#ubffa99b1-d7e7-503c-a317-3a0d2198bd00">Chapter 15
Prologue
Martin Diaz Cole extended the lacquer and walnut burl finish humidor to his youngest brother, waiting for David to select a cigar. He repeated the gesture with his brother Joshua, and then his nephew Timothy before he selected his. It was hours from dawn and yet the other three men seemed reluctant to retire to the suites assigned them or to their respective homes.
It was a ritual that had been repeated for more years than Martin could remember. The entire Cole extended family came to West Palm Beach, Florida, on Christmas Eve for a reunion that usually culminated with a wedding before the end of the year. But unfortunately there had not been a wedding in several years—not since his nephew Diego married Vivienne Neal. His niece Celia didn’t figure into the equation because she’d married her FBI special agent husband in Virginia and hadn’t been able to repeat her vows for the entire family because a winter storm had blanketed North Carolina’s Great Smoky Mountains with nearly two feet of snow. She’d also been in the second trimester of her pregnancy and had curtailed traveling until after the birth of her daughter.
Using a cutter, Martin snipped the end of the cigar, moistened, lit it and pulled in a mouthful of sweet, fragrant tobacco. It wasn’t the quality of the finest Cuban cigar, but it came close.
David Cole blew out a perfect smoke ring. “Are you certain these aren’t contraband, Martin?”
The first time Martin had smoked a Cuban cigar was when he’d visited his late mother’s country of birth after graduating college, and he’d found himself enthralled with them. Over the years he’d smoked cigars from around the world, but none compared to a Cuban. “Bite your tongue, little brother. We both wish.”
Squinting through a cloud of smoke, David Cole’s jet-black eyes narrowed. “When am I going to stop being your little brother, Martin? I’m old as dirt, almost completely gray, and I’m a grandfather.”
“And you still have two kids who should either become a priest or nun, because they’re never going to get married,” Joshua Kirkland teased.
David glared at his half brother, hoping to intimidate him, but knew there were few things or people who could intimidate or frighten the retired career army officer. “Don’t act so smug, Josh. Serena and I had four children to your two, so there’s no comparison.”
A rare smile tilted the corners of Joshua’s firm mouth. “My two kids have given me six grandchildren, and still counting, hermano. How many do you have?”
David took another puff of his cigar. Even after so many years the teasing had continued. As the youngest of five, he’d been the last to marry and father children. His wife had given him four children, the last two twins, and the taunts about his children being marriage-phobic subsided when his older son and daughter married. It was only his twins who appeared reluctant to settle down. He knew both were too involved in growing the record company he’d established years ago.
“Don’t look so smug, Josh. I’m willing to bet when Jason and Ana marry they’ll both have a whole bunch of children between them.”
Timothy Cole-Thomas leaned forward, staring at his uncle. “Is there something you’re not telling us, David?”
Dimples creased David’s lean face when he smiled for the first time. He knew his twins better than anyone—and that included their mother. Both were comfortable divulging their closely guarded secrets about the business and their personal lives with him. Ana, as CEO of Serenity Records, had just signed a hot new recording artist that was rumored to become a crossover phenomenon. His daughter had confided to him that she now felt secure enough to shift her focus from business to her personal life. She’d recently closed on a condo and bought a new car—two things on her “to-do” list she’d neglected for years. For years she’d rented a studio apartment, while contracting with a car service to drive her around.
“Not really.”
Martin ran a hand over his cropped silver hair. “I think David should put his money where his mouth is.”
“Hear, hear!” chorused Joshua and Timothy.
Grinning, David shook his head. “You guys have got to be kidding.”
“Do we look like we’re kidding?” asked Joshua. “I agree with Martin. You should put up or shut up.”
David squinted through a cloud of gray smoke as he met the gazes of his brothers and nephew. “Well, gentlemen, I’m willing to wager a million dollars that my son or daughter will marry before Nicholas. What’s the matter? Is the wager a little too steep?” he asked when a groan and soft whistles echoed in the library.
“I don’t mind donating the million if it’s going to a worthy cause,” Timothy said.
Joshua cleared his throat. “Who are we betting on?”
“It has to be Jason and Ana,” Martin remarked.
“Don’t forget Nicholas and Joe, Jr.,” David reminded him.
Timothy Cole-Thomas crossed a leg over the opposite knee. “It can’t be Joe, because his father’s not here for the wager.
Martin nodded. “Timothy’s right. It will just be the four of us. I’m willing to put up a million, but, David, you’re going to have to ante up two mil because you have two kids to Timothy’s one.”
The seconds ticked as the three men stared at David. “No problem,” he said after a pregnant pause. “I’ll wager two million. Whoever wins will establish an endowment in his name at his alma mater. If none marry, then we’ll set up a foundation in the family name: ColeDiz.”
“What are the rules, Martin?” Joshua asked.
David frowned. “Why are you asking him? It’s my kids you guys are betting on.”
“Mine, too,” Timothy reminded him. “It has to be either Martin or Joshua to determine the rules if this wager is going to be impartial.”
“Timothy’s right,” Joshua concurred. “Let Martin establish the contest rules.”
David’s frown faded. “Okay.”
Martin stood up and walked over to an antique desk and picked up a pad, then handed a sheet of paper to each of the assembled. “Write down the names in the order in which you believe Nicholas, Jason and Ana will marry. Also indicate the name of your alma mater.
Joshua Kirkland jotted down his wager. “David, if you’re a little short on funds, I’ll spot you a million,” he teased.
“Yeah, right,” David drawled. As Samuel Cole’s son, purported to be the first black U.S. billionaire, money had never been a problem for anyone claiming Cole blood.
Martin completed his slip. “We’ll put the slips in an envelope, seal it and everyone can put their initial across the flap. Next year this time we’ll
