Monster Inside Me: Volume I (A Dark Mafia Romance Book 1)

by Faye Byrd

  It’s about time I reacquaint myself with Piper Tate.

  SIX

  THE BROTHER CARD

  It’s still early when I arrive at the club, and only Madeline is there when I let myself in. She pauses as she steps around the corner, a box in her arms. “You’re a little early, aren’t you?” She props her hip against the edge of the bar and lifts a brow, awaiting an answer.

  My automatic instinct is to tell her to mind her own fucking business and don’t question me, but somehow that doesn’t feel appropriate. I am early, way goddamn earlier than I’ve ever shown up before.

  So instead, I move her way and lift the box from her arms. “Where ya headed with this?”

  Her eyes scan over my face as if she’s looking for something, but I got that shit locked the fuck down, so she ends up sighing. “Just take it down there,” she says, waving toward the other end of the bar. “I need to restock.”

  I place it where she asks, and in a rare moment of niceness, I lift a brow. “That the only one, or are there more?”

  Though her eyes narrow slightly, she bites back whatever smart-ass comment is going through her head. Good girl. “Nah, this is the only one,” she says as she moves past me, headed toward the box. “You going up to the office?”

  “Yeah. Ivan should be here in a couple hours. Send him up, will ya?” I tap the bar top and start for the elevator before turning to walk backward. “Oh, what time does Piper’s shift start?”

  Madeline’s face lights up, and she jabs her finger in my direction. “That’s it! I knew something was up with you.” Her giddy ass is almost vibrating as she comes to some kind of off-base fucking revelation in her mind. “You’ve got the hots for the new girl, eh?” She’s smirking now, all sure of herself and shit.

  I had paused as soon she’d spoken, but by now she’s just getting ridiculous. I cross my arms over my chest and smirk right back at her. “My interest in Piper is none of your fucking business.” Though my words are harsh, my tone of voice is cocky, self-assured. “Now, what time does her fucking shift start?”

  Her hand lands on her hip, completely undeterred, because she can fucking sense my unintentional easy-going mood. Damn it. “She comes in at five. Would you like me to send her up?”

  “Mi stai sul cazzo,” I mumble, shaking my head, but what’s fucked up is she really isn’t bugging the shit out of me, because right now, for some fucked up reason, I don’t have a goddamn care in the world. I’m just ready to see Piper again, live and in person.

  I wave my hand. “Nah, I just wanted to know what time she’d be in.”

  “Mmm hmm,” she hums, and it slithers down my spine, causing it to stiffen and my casual expression to drop.

  “You wouldn’t want to push your luck too fucking far, would you?” At her head shake, I smile again. “Good. Now make sure to send up my brother.” I turn but pause and glance back over my shoulder. “Before you and him slip into a closet somewhere.” At her gasp, I chuckle loudly and enter the elevator.

  After taking a seat, I open the laptop and pull up the most recent financials for Dark Star. Though the club is technically Ivan’s, and Madeline runs it, I’m the money guy for all the Simone endeavors—legal or otherwise—and no financial statement is approved until it’s passed before my eyes.

  Got to use that fucking MBA somewhere.

  After closing out the club’s file, I log in to the corporate account of our other legal business—Grizzly Armor. This is Ivan’s true love: a multi-billion-dollar cybersecurity firm he developed in high school, which now handles web security for some of the most lucrative companies in the world. Though it only employs twenty-three people, they’re some of the smartest motherfuckers on the planet. Add to that my brother’s genius, and that’s why they’re the top company in their field.

  Though Ivan started the company—and it is his baby—it wasn’t without financial help from Pop and me, so we each own a twenty-four percent share, leaving him the majority. Either way, we’re all some deep-pocketed motherfuckers. The very least I can do is look over the financials and make sure some idiotic fuck isn’t trying to rip us off.

  It’s the money from this endeavor that we invest and use to amass our legal holdings. My building, Simone Place, and this building, Grizzly HQ, are both investments we’ve made that increase our bottom line. Pop has his own fortune, and I do all right myself, but this business has allowed us to expand our influence in Chicago, purchasing large real estate holdings.

  Something you can’t do with blood money—if you want to get away with it, that is.

  After a small tap on the door, it opens, and my brother’s thin frame settles into the seat across from me. His eyes rove over me before that geeky smirk from this morning settles on his lips. “’Sup? Everything go okay after I left?”

  I keep my eyes focused on the numbers to refrain from strangling him. “Sure.” I shrug all nonchalantly and shit. “Why wouldn’t it?” I set my impassive stare on him. “Oh, and your laptop is in my vault.”

  He chuckles heartily and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “I think I’ll just let you hold on to that one.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I eye his smug ass across the desk. “Do I need to remind you of the morning after Madeline’s first night at Dar—”

  He waves his hands frantically as his face turns red as a fucking beet. “Stop. Stop it. I’ll drop it. Fine.” He ends with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “You could’ve at least let me heckle you a little before retaliating.”

  I throw my head back and laugh because he’s right. As much shit as I have on his nerdy, loner ass, I could’ve let him fucking razz me a little more. I widen my arms. “Go for it, Van. I’m an open target.”

  He waves me away. “Fuhgeddaboudit.” He tilts his head to the laptop. “How’re the books looking?”

  I focus back on the report. “I’m going through Grizzly now, but the club looks perfect as usual. Madeline may be a bitch to deal with, but she does what the fuck she’s supposed to,” I reply, my attention more on the laptop screen than the words escaping between my goddamn lips.

  “What the fuck, Dante?” Ivan barks, causing my head to snap back in his direction, already realizing my mistake. “She’s not a bitch, and that attitude toward her pisses me off.”

  I sigh and hold up my hands, because fuck. “Shit, Van. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve always liked Madeline in that ‘as long as you do what I say’ sort of way, so you’ll just have to give me time to acclimate to the ‘she’s fucking my brother, you need to act decent’ way. I’ll try. I promise.”

  He goes from fucking enraged to embarrassed before I’m even done speaking. He leans across the desk, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You know about that?” he whispers, like someone might fucking overhear.

  “Gesù Cristo,” I mumble, running my hand through my hair. “Of course I fucking know. Anybody who visits Dark Star with any regularity has to know as well. Besides, why does it even fucking matter? If you want her to be your girl, then she can be your fucking girl. It’s as simple as that.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than you think,” he mutters quietly, looking all guilty and shit.

  “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, throwing my hands up in the goddamn air because I haven’t a fucking clue.

  He reaches out and starts fiddling with a paperweight on the desk, his eyes on his hands. Oh, boy. “There might be a few things I left out of her original background information.” My back stiffens ramrod straight. “Anyway, it’s nothing big, really. There’s just a complication in our relationship.”

  He still hasn’t looked up, and by this point, I’m fucking fuming. “Ivan,” I growl and wait for his baby blues to peek at me over the rim of his glasses. “What did you leave out?”

  He glances back down and swallows before looking back at me with new determination. “She’s married.”

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but that isn’t it. Okay. It’s not too bad. I’m
not particularly fond of people who have affairs outside their marriage, but hey, I’m not the one fucking her. Pretty much like Pop and his whore. The most she’ll ever be to me is my brother’s whatever-the-fuck you want to call her.

  I shrug. “So?”

  His eyes widen slightly, and his head droops. “It’s more about who she is and who her husband was,” he mumbles to the floor.

  And that right there just blows my easy-going mood to hell, because there’s no fucking way he’d act like this over nothing. I stand, shoving my chair back so hard it bounces off the wall, and smack my hands on the desk. “Tell me!”

  He jumps his skinny ass up and starts pacing the floor in front of my desk. “You’re not going to like it,” he says, shaking his head, and I can see him warring with himself, so I cross my arms over my chest and wait. After a few more mumbles, he pauses and meets my eyes. “Her name isn’t Madeline Potter. It’s Lillian Kent.”

  The name rings familiar but nothing I can pluck off the top of my fucking head. “Enlighten me,” I say after a moment of thought.

  He rubs the back of his neck and surreptitiously moves a couple more steps away. “Ya know”—he shrugs—“William Kent.”

  Rage races over me, and I step out from behind the desk. My steps are calculated as I approach him. “Excuse me,” I say with a nasty sneer. “I think I misunderstood you, Ivan. Because there’s absolutely no fucking way my brother would keep something like this from me for three goddamn years!” I’m yelling by this point, and I can’t seem to stop my hand when it smacks him upside the fucking head.

  Balling my fists, I turn and take two steps away, pinching the bridge of my nose. He stays quiet as I count down from twenty in my head, attempting to obtain some kind of fucking control. Enough not to shove my Desert Eagle down his throat, at least.

  Because, goddamn, he’s a fucking idiot.

  I finally just give the fuck up and move back to my seat, flopping into it with a growl. “Sit the fuck down and spill,” I demand, pointing to his chair.

  He approaches hesitantly, and that pisses me the fuck off, even though it shouldn’t. I mean, I love my brother and would never hurt him, but I want to, so he’s smart to be fucking leery. Right this second, the urge to kill is surging through my veins with the swiftness of a jetliner.

  “I’m sorry, Da—” I snap my hand up and pin him with a dark stare, instantly putting a stop to his babbling.

  “Save it. I want to know details,” I say, jabbing my pointer finger into the desk. “Every fucking detail.”

  He breathes deeply and nods, centering his glasses on his nose like a shield. “Maddy had already been on the run a year and a half by the time she landed in Chicago. She’d changed her appearance and her name several times already but not good enough.” He pauses, and a faint smile curves his lips. “Well, not good enough for me, anyway. As soon as I ran her check, I knew something was off, so I sent her through my facial recognition software.”

  My eyes widen in goddamn disbelief at this motherfucker. “So, what? Instead of telling me we’d located a missing mob wife, you what? Hired her?”

  He nods and his mouth opens, yet he pauses before speaking. “I, uh, gave her a new identity, but first I stripped her original one to only the barest facts.”

  My head thumps against the back of my chair as I just stare, wide-eyed, at this goddamn ding dong. My genius fucking brother, using his skills to help a runaway mob wife from Miami. Now, don’t get me wrong. I hate those motherfuckers and refuse to entertain any business notions with them, but this. This is akin to a war crime. It will cause a war if it’s ever uncovered.

  “Look, Dante,” Ivan starts, leaning forward and motioning his hands expressively. “You should’ve seen her, talked to her. She was a mess—and that was over a year after her escape. I could tell she needed help.”

  I snort. “So you took it upon yourself.” I take a deep breath and sit forward, mulling over his argument.

  Nope. I still don’t fucking get it, but one thing bothers me more than the rest. “Why didn’t ya just tell me, Van?”

  “Oh, come on, Dante. You know why!” he says, throwing his hands up in the air and giving me an incredulous look. “She was this beautiful, broken woman who needed somebody to step in and help. She didn’t ask me. I just did it.” He shakes his head with a laugh, and not necessarily a funny one. “You should’ve seen her when I gave her the new documents. She flipped out.”

  “So, how’d ya get her to stick around?” I ask, widening my arms. “And why would she leave one mob family only to get close to another?” I shake my head. “That doesn’t exactly add up.”

  “She had no idea.” He shrugs. “Which is why I had to sit her down and lay out her options—accept my help and build a safe new life, or hit the road again because she was a liability with her flimsy ID. I even warned her what she was getting into as far as you were concerned.” He rolls his fucking eyes, and I’m not sure if that bothers me or not. I mean, I can be an asshole. “Look, it’s taken me years to truly earn her trust, and I won’t lose it. She’s finally opened herself up to me in ways I never thought possible, and I need my brother to know the truth.”

  I sigh and nod, because fuck, he’s pulling the brother card. “What did you mean earlier when you said she escaped?”

  “She was his prisoner, Dante. Not his wife.” His voice is hard and angry, a tone I’m unaccustomed to hearing from Ivan. “I still don’t know the depth of the brutality she faced with him, but I know it was bad. Returning her is not an option.”

  Now he’s just being a fucking idiot. I might not like this bullshit—at fucking all—but I love my brother, and if he thinks he did the right thing, then I’ll kill any motherfucker necessary to keep what’s his. And it’s looking like that may be Madeline Potter.

  “Sei proprio semo, sai?” I say with a chuckle, asking if he realizes he’s a real fool. “Miami means shit to me. I just wish you’d been straight back in the beginning. Maybe we could’ve helped but still sent her on her way. As it is now, if she gets made, we’ve started a fucking war.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a confident stare. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t. I knew you’d send her away.”

  Jesus Fucking Christ!

  I scrub my hand through my hair, all but given up at this point. What’s done is fucking done, and what’s more, he’s a lovesick puppy. Any shot I had of discouraging this is long fucking gone. He made sure of that shit. All I can do now is dig deep and find out the whole story of Lillian Kent. Ivan may have her identity locked down—and I trust he did it thoroughly—but that’s not enough. We’re talking about a powerful mob family here, and only I can truly assure her safety.

  “All right, Van. Here’s the deal,” I say, propping my elbows on the desk. “Give me a few days, and I’ll start looking into this shit. You think she’s safe, but you don’t know the lengths a motherfucker like me will go to find what’s his.” He’s smiling now that he’s gotten his way, but I hold up my hands, signaling it’s not quite that fucking easy. “I need to cool off first, though. So keep her out of my sight until I ask for a meeting. Got me?”

  A wide smile spreads across his lips, and even though he’s ruined my good fucking mood, I can’t help but smirk and shake my head, picking up a pen and throwing it at him. “Now get the fuck out. You’ve ruined my day.”

  He jumps up all happy puppy and shit, leaving the room excitedly. Fuck. I rest my head back and look to the ceiling. This shit was nowhere on my radar, and it irks the fuck out of me. Especially at Madeline. All this time, she was hiding shit from me, and knowing who I am should’ve been enough to make her come clean.

  Now I have to decide how I intend to fucking punish her.

  As all that goes through my mind, though, something else worms its way inside and stirs me from my Ivan-induced troubles. Music. Vibrations reverberate through the walls, traveling upward from the main floor. Dark Star is open. I sit up swiftly, tapping the laptop
screen, bringing it to life. The little numbers in the bottom right corner tell me it’s after eight.

  Fuck! I close out the financials from earlier. I can check that shit tomorrow when I’m alone. Right now, I have much higher priorities. A certain brunette is in the building, and I’ll be goddamned if I stay up here a second longer.

  I roll my shirt to my elbows and leave my suit jacket behind, popping into the lavatory to splash water on my face and run my fingers through my already chaotic hair. A splash of Versace Eros cologne and I’m as freshened up as I can get without going home first. I smirk to myself in the mirror and strut toward the elevator, taking it down just one floor.

  I end up on the VIP level, which includes various ways in which our affluent patrons can enjoy the club’s offerings. The particular features I’m interested in tonight are the glass balconies that arc over the dance floor with built-in low-lying lounge seats that provide the optimal vantage point for viewing our artists. Each of the five exclusive spots offers unique angles on certain podiums, and as I look around, I see all are occupied, causing a surge of irritation to flare.

  But it’s only one in particular that meets my requirements. I stalk over with purpose in my steps and clear my throat to gain the attention of the pack of college-aged boys who occupy it. But they’re so busy drooling over the dancers below that I’m completely ignored, turning my irritation into full-blown rage rather swiftly.

  I snatch the closest body up by his shirt collar and bring his red-veined eyes level with mine. “I do believe you and your friends are in my booth.”

  His eyes cross as he works to focus on my face, and after a moment, a loud cackle erupts, sending alcohol-laden, puke-worthy breath soaring up my nostrils. “Dude, you’re way too serious right now,” he says, gripping my hands and trying to loosen my fists. “Chill, dude. Hey, let me go!”

  By this point, the commotion has attracted a couple of his friends, and they stumble over. “Hey, man. What’s going on here?” one of them says as he grabs his buddy’s shoulder, trying to tug him from my grasp.