King of Sin
Las Vegas Syndicate Book One
Michelle St. James
Blackthorn Press
Contents
King of Sin
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Links
Also by Michelle St. James
King of Sin
Las Vegas Syndicate Book One
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2017 by Michelle St. James aka Michelle Zink
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Isabel Robalo
One
Nico Vitale stepped out of the limousine and strode past the towering palms lining the walkway. Heat shimmered in the air, rising above the sidewalk in waves.
He fucking hated Las Vegas.
He opened the glass doors leading to the lobby and continued past a security guard at the front desk. The guard didn’t even look up as he passed, a fireable offense as far as Nico was concerned. It didn’t matter that they weren’t in New York or Rome or London or any of the high-profile cities once again under Syndicate control, nor did it matter that Jason Draper, founder and CEO of Draper Enterprises, was running the worst of his criminal enterprises from a compound outside the city.
It was foolish to leave oneself unguarded — especially in their business.
Nico stopped at the elevator and stepped inside, then pressed the button for the third floor.He straightened his suit jacket as the elevator rose. A few seconds later, the doors opened onto a serviceable if generic lobby.
A young blonde looked up from the receptionist’s desk, her smile turning to shock as he continued past her without a word, down the hall leading to the offices of Draper Enterprise’s CEO.
“Excuse me, sir! Sir!” Her voice faded behind him before she made it out from behind the desk and chased him down the hall. “Sir! You can’t just…”
Nico reached for the handle on the double doors at the end of the hall. When he opened it, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find the office’s occupant leaning against a modern desk, arms folded across his chest.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Draper,” the receptionist said, tucking a piece of hair behind one ear as she caught up to him. “He wouldn’t stop. Do you want me to call security?”
“It’s alright, Madison,” Jason Draper said.
Nico turned to her. “I apologize for the trouble, Miss…”
She flushed. “Garner.”
He smiled. “Miss Garner.”
She flushed a deeper shade of red and opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again as if she couldn’t find the words.
“You can leave us,” Draper said sharply.
She nodded, her gaze lingering on Nico’s face before she retreated into the hall. Nico wondered how much she knew about her boss.
He strode into the room and unbuttoned his jacket before sitting in one of the chairs across from Jason Draper’s desk.
“Nico Vitale, I presume,” Jason said.
Nico leaned back in the chair, plucked a piece of lint off his slacks. “I tried making an appointment.”
He looked around, taking in the steel and glass bookshelves, the abstract art, the wall of glass, the Tangier Hotel and Casino glimmering across the street like a mirage. It didn’t surprise him that Draper had established his corporate offices across from the casino that was his pride and joy — everything Nico had read about the man indicated his ego was his worst enemy — but it did surprise him that Jason had set up the headquarters for Draper Enterprises in Vegas when the business was worth over a billion dollars.
Nico knew from the dossier they’d collected on the man that he’d made his money in the financial sector. Why not New York or Hong Kong? Or even Silicon Valley?
Jason stood, walked around to the other side of the desk. He sat down in the leather chair. “I told you I wasn’t interested.”
“I was feeling generous,” Nico said.
Jason smirked. “Generous?”
“Normally I would have sent a messenger,” Nico said. “You wouldn’t have liked the message. I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“You might as well have sent your messenger,” Jason said. “I’m still not interested.”
He had to give Draper credit. He was smaller in person, with a slender build and an angular face. His hair was dark, smoothed back with some kind of product. Nico pegged him as one of the kids who was bullied in school, probably due to both his background and his size.
And yet there was no security in sight. Not a single guard other than the one assigned to the office building in the lobby.
Of course, lack of security detail wasn’t uncommon for executives, but it was uncommon for anyone who decided to dip their toes into the world of organized crime, especially if that person was as unimposing as Jason Draper.
“We could simply kill you,” Nico said blandly.
The other man smiled. “Why don’t you?”
Nico considered the question. He’d been intrigued by the data in the Draper dossier. By Draper’s unusual friendship with Maxwell Cartwright, son of a billionaire real estate developer, and by his rise in corporate America with the help of Cartwright’s father.
He’d even felt a grudging admiration for Jason Draper — right up until the part where he’d used everything Cartwright’s father had taught him to initiate a hostile takeover of Cartwright’s company. It was not a small detail. Loyalty was everything in Nico’s business.
In Nico’s life.
Farrell, Christophe, and Luca weren’t exactly negotiable on the principle either, but Draper had stepped into the Las Vegas territory after Raneiro’s death. Had made contact with Fredo DeLuca, former boss of the territory, and entered into a partnership that had funneled millions of dark money into Draper’s offshore accounts.
He wasn’t an ideal boss for the Vegas territory. Other than the previous year with DeLuca, he had no experience in organized crime. He didn’t understand the dynamics or unspoken rules, and while the old-school honor code had been rebranded under the leadership of the new Syndicate, some of the traditional rules remained.
Loyalty to family — in one’s territory and to the family above it — was paramount.
Skimming money off the top was forbidden.
Taxes were filed on time and with accuracy that would stand up to an audit.
Most of all, family was off-limits. To everyone.
Jason Draper had violated at least two of those rules in his relationship with the Cartwrights. The fact that it had all happened before Draper’s seizing of the Vegas territory mattered little to Nico.
They were character flaws, and character flaws were etched in one’s soul.
Which brought him back to his reasons for not having Jason Draper killed.
“It would be more… expedient for us to co
me to another arrangement,” Nico finally said.
He didn’t mention the why of it — the fact that executing Jason Draper, a multimillionaire who had twice been listed on the Forbes 100, would draw undue attention to the Syndicate.
Nobody cared when criminals were killed. Even the FBI’s investigations were half-hearted when it came to known members of the criminal underground.
An executive like Draper would be different. Killing him would be easier than most, but the aftermath could be the Syndicate’s undoing.
Jason steepled his hands on the desk. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not interested in a partner.”
“That offer is no longer on the table,” Nico said.
Jason smirked. “A new offer? I’m intrigued.”
“This territory won’t remain yours without Syndicate oversight,” Nico said. “Period.”
“Then we have nothing to talk about,” Draper said.
“We appreciate your willingness to step in after Raneiro Donati’s death. In fact, we’re willing to reward that initiative by offering you a buyout.” Nico reached into his jacket pocket and removed an envelope. He slid it across the desk. “I think you’ll find the offer more than generous. In return, you step away from DeLuca and all Syndicate business. We’ll install a new leader here. You will cease and desist all related activity.”
He watched as Jason reached for the envelope. He opened it, pulled the check halfway out and returned it to the envelope a split second later.
He slid it back across the desk toward Nico. “No, thank you.”
“I’ll give you another minute,” Nico said, holding his gaze.
He wondered if Draper understood the ramifications of his rejection.
The consequences.
“I don’t need it.” Jason stood. “Now, I have another appointment, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Nico couldn’t tell if Draper was foolish or ignorant. Did he understand the Syndicate would make it their number one priority to shut down Draper’s legal enterprises in addition to the illegal ones? Did he know the Darknet poker games he was hosting in the mansion outside the city would be shut down? That he would likely spend the rest of his life in prison — and that was only if one of his unsavory clients didn’t decide to off him first to keep him quiet?
Cold anger swept through Nico at the thought of the poker games. Attended by some of the most soulless criminals in the world, the games were marketplaces for everything from drugs to weapons to women.
But it was the women that made Nico want to put a hole through Jason Draper’s forehead.
Nico had never sanctioned violence against women, had made the eradication of it a cornerstone of the new age army he’d built in the aftermath of his father’s death. It had been one of many points of contention between him and Raneiro, his mentor-turned-enemy.
Neiro wanted things to stay the same. Nico wanted them to change.
Neiro had come for Angel Rossi, and it had been his death warrant. By then Nico had already been all in with Angel. It hadn’t mattered that she was his enemy’s daughter. That he would have to risk everything to have her. He hadn’t had a choice, not since the moment he’d walked into the room where he’d been keeping her prisoner as leverage over Carlo Rossi.
Now they had a daughter, Stella, and the thought of anyone trafficking girls was enough to make him want to kill indiscriminately.
And Nico didn’t do anything indiscriminately.
He stood and picked up the check, sliding it into his pocket before buttoning his jacket.
He was halfway to the door when he turned to face Jason Draper.
“Why did you do it?”
“Excuse me?” Draper asked.
“Donald Cartwright,” Nico said. “He was like a father to you. He was your mentor. Why did you turn on him like you did? On Maxwell?”
Emotion rippled across his features: surprise, anger, maybe even regret. A moment later, it was all gone, replaced by the smarmy self-congratulation that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face.
“It was nothing personal,” Jason said. “Just good business.”
Nico turned and headed for the door. He made his way down the hall, nodding at the receptionist as he passed, and stepped into the elevator.
When he reached the lobby, he made his way past the guard and pulled his phone from his pocket as he walked toward the car at the curb.
Farrell Black picked up on the second ring. “How’d it go?”
“No deal,” Nico said.
“I’m not exactly disappointed.” Farrell’s speech was marked by the crisp British accent that made it difficult for people who didn’t know him to hear the sarcasm that dripped from his words.
The driver opened the back door and Nico stepped into the car. “I understand.”
Jason Draper had never been an ideal candidate for running the Las Vegas territory, but his association with Fredo DeLuca had made it necessary for them to approach him first. It was more than likely he wouldn’t have adhered to the Syndicate’s rules — the Darknet poker games were netting him a pretty penny, and Draper liked his pennies.
But they’d had to try, and the truth was, their other options weren’t much better.
“So it’s on to Cartwright,” Farrell said.
“Unless you have a better idea.” Nico leaned back against the seat, relishing the cool, dark interior after the garish brightness of the city.
“I don’t,” Farrell said. “But I still don’t like it.”
They’d discussed their options ad nauseam at their last board meeting in New York. Christophe and Luca hadn’t been any more inclined to bring on Jason Draper than Farrell and Nico, but they hadn’t been enthusiastic about their second option either.
“Cartwright has known Draper his whole life,” Nico said. “He’s our best shot at shutting down Draper’s little enterprise.”
It wasn’t ideal — it meant working with one of their contacts at the FBI — but it would get Draper out of the way. Nico had learned a long time ago that the Feds were more inclined to work with the devil they knew.
“That may be,” Farrell said, “but Cartwright is an entitled playboy. He’ll never be able to take over the territory once we remove Draper.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Nico said. “I’m heading over to talk to him this afternoon.”
“Better you than me,” Farrell said.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
He disconnected the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket. Farrell was right — Maxwell Cartwright was all wrong for the job. His stint in Special Forces after his father’s death hardly mattered: he’d been dishonorably discharged for failing to follow orders and had been living off his trust fund in Vegas ever since, drinking his weight in whiskey and sleeping with every showgirl and cocktail waitress in town.
Not exactly the profile of the disciplined, principled leaders the Syndicate needed.
Nico sighed. Since Raneiro’s death they’d brought Miami, Rome, London, Paris, and New York back under their control. Vegas was next, a veritable goldmine of money for the Syndicate. Cartwright was all they had, their best shot at shutting down Draper so they could start fresh in this godforsaken city.
He didn’t love the fact that they didn’t have a plan for running the territory after they got Draper out. Nico was calculated by nature, preferring to take his time, to have multiple contingency plans in place before executing any strategy.
But sometimes you had to play the hand you were dealt, have faith the deck would provide the right card at the right time.
Angel had taught him that.
He leaned back against the seat as her face appeared in his mind. He loved their life. Loved their four-year-old daughter, Stella. Loved the oasis they’d built in the middle of Rome, the scent of oranges and basil on the air.
But it was Angel he couldn’t wait to hold in his arms when he returned to Rome. She was his first thought when he opened his eye
s in the morning. His last before he fell into the abyss of sleep.
If she were with him now, she would tell him to enlist Cartwright’s help in eliminating Jason Draper. She would tell him that Draper’s replacement would present to them at the right time.
She would be right.
He opened his eyes and looked out the window. Just the thought of her made him feel better. He would do what needed to be done. He would do it quickly so he could return to the woman who was the very blood in his veins, who was every breath he’d drawn since he’d first taken her to punish her father all those years ago.
Since he’d walked into the room and fallen in love with the stubborn tilt of her chin, the flash in her green eyes.
Two
Max Cartwright opened his eyes slowly, trying to determine if it was night or day. It was hard to tell in the guest room, the blackout shades drawn against the city in the distance.
He dared a look to his right, thinking that might give him a clue, and found long blonde hair splayed across the pillow next to him.
Probably early morning then, or close to it.
He wasn’t surprised the woman he’d brought home (Tiffany? Destiny? He couldn’t remember) was still there. Sometimes they called a car and left before he woke, but more often than not, he found them still there in the morning, although not in his private bedroom. He didn’t take women to his bedroom. Ever.
That’s what the first floor guest room was for.
He didn’t try to be careful as he got up and pulled on a pair of jeans from the floor. It would be easier for him if the woman woke and left on her own, but he would start the coffee and bagels just in case. Making them breakfast, however perfunctory, seemed to help ease them out the door.
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