What I Fight For: A Bad Boy Military Romance (Easy Team Book 1)
Page 24
But swallowing every shaking nerve, I had forced myself to turn the tables. I had never been much of a flirt but this was my mission. And shaking and quivering in front of a man hardly seduced him. Especially if that man was Marco Desmond.
And to be honest, I thought smilingly, I had quite enjoyed that look of shock on his face as I had pressed close against him, his hard chest against mine. Not bad, Margot.
I looked at the crinkled paper.
Marco Desmond.
But I had to be careful. I was playing with fire here.
Seeing Marco’s name on the document was surprising in more ways than one. For the son of Roy Desmond, he sure had very little claim throughout his father’s empire. I hardly saw his name on any documents.
In fact, there wasn’t much information on Marco Desmond anywhere. Even the FBI knew very little about him. We knew he was trained from a young age to work for the Family but how he was trained or what he was trained to do was still a mystery.
Well….a little bit of a mystery.
The other day, on my way to my office, I had passed by a large lounge. Several women were piled up on couches, drinking champagne and talking. They hardly gave me a second glance. With my gray pantsuit, I stood like a shadow against their spangling dresses and loud makeup.
“He’s just my type,” one of the girls said as I passed. “I’ll get Marco Desmond if it’s the last thing I do!”
I knew I shouldn’t but hearing his name, I couldn’t help but press myself against the wall, eavesdropping on the conversation. I knew so little about the man I was supposed to seduce. Any information helped.
Another girl scoffed. “Evie, you and every other bitch around here wants that man.”
The woman, Evie, made a protesting noise. “But they don’t get him like I do!” The other women all made exasperated noises but Evie persevered. “I could tell he’s just like me! He’s not the kind of man to get in the thick of it. He’s happy just kicking back and taking care of business from an office.”
There was a pause before a third woman suddenly said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“He’s laidback,” Evie explained. “He knows his father’s done all the hard work of building up the Family. All he has to do is kick back and enjoy it. That’s my kind of man—”
“Are you fucking crazy?” another woman joined in. “Do you even know anything about this Family?”
“She’s still new,” a woman said, lamely defending Evie.
“Then learn this good, honey,” the woman said. “Marco Desmond built this Family. He’s done all sorts of things for this business. Not too many people know since he kept using aliases but he’s done everything dirty and rough you can think of to build up this Family from the ground up.”
Evie was quiet.
“I never heard that,” she said quietly, almost in a pout.
“Of course you hadn’t, you nut!” the woman cried. “If you had, you wouldn’t be talking so fucking crazy.” Suddenly the women’s voices dropped a notch. It was as if they all leaned in towards each other conspiratorially. I found myself leaning in against the wall as well.
“You’ll hear this around sooner or later so might as well hear it now,” the more experienced woman said in a low voice. “Marco Desmond was and probably is still the Desmond Family’s hit assassin.”
There was a sharp gasp from Evie.
“He’s probably done more hits than you’ve had handshakes. So you be careful, honey,” the woman advised. “Don’t you be playing him like some fool. ‘Cause he ain’t.”
Aliases.
That was how Marco had kept himself so firmly entrenched in the shadows of the Desmond Family. His whole life, he had used various aliases to cover the work he had done for Roy and the Mafia.
But why?
It almost seemed he didn’t want recognition for his work. For a man who had clearly contributed a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for the Family, he seemed almost reluctant to take any credit.
An assassin.
A hitman.
It was entirely believable. Marco carried a powerful grace that spoke of a complete control over his body. He knew exactly how to exert his strength and how to execute his power. As a hitman, he must’ve been lethal.
But now, what was he? Was he still an assassin? Or, as I looked down at my file, an owner of a random string of moderately successful manufacturing plants? What a mystery.
I groaned as I stretched for the first time in hours. I’d had enough for today. The numbers and accounts were all starting to run together. I could finish tomorrow.
As I gathered my things, I nearly ran into a chest as I turned towards the door.
I cried out as I hastily took a few steps back. I looked up at the startled but amused face of Gus, one of Roy’s men.
“You scared me,” I said, a hand to my chest. My heart was still beating like a hummingbird’s.
Gus’s craggy face burst into a sinister grin. The man couldn’t blink without looking sinister. He had clearly been born for a life of crime. “I can see that,” he said, his eyes glimmering with an ominous air.
Catching my breath, I looked up at him. “Did you need something? Did Mr. Desmond ask for me?”
Gus shook his head. “No, I’m just here to deliver a message,” he said. “The dinner tomorrow. You’re coming.”
Well, that’s one way to invite someone.
“What dinner? Tomorrow? Where?” I asked, completely confused.
“There’s a regular dinner about once a month. Everyone’s required to attend. As the newest hire,” he gave me long look, “you definitely need to be there. It’s in the house. The main dining hall.”
Only a place like the Desmond Family compound could have a dining hall and then a main dining hall.
“What is it? Is it like a…a formal event?” I asked, still unsure what I was supposed to do.
Gus grinned again. “Not really,” he said. “Just look decent.”
He paused at the door before leaving. He gave me another one of those leering looks. “After all, it’s time you’ve met the Family.”
Chapter Seven
Halle
I smoothed down the front of my simple black dress. Gus had said that the dinner wasn’t really a formal event and yet I was pretty sure I would be frowned upon to come in in jeans and a t-shirt.
The black dress had been the only formal wear I had brought. Matching them with nude heels and my hair pulled back into a low ponytail, I hoped I was dressed suitably for the dinner.
Walking down the grand spiraling staircase, I took slow breaths to help compose my face. This was a tightrope I was walking. I had to be calm and believable as the newest Desmond hire while looking attractive and alluring enough to catch Marco’s eye but not so alluring that I also attracted unwanted attentions from the other men.
And if it should all go wrong….
I stiffened my shoulders back, refusing to finish that thought. I was going accomplish this mission and with flying colors. You’ll see, dad. You’ll be proud.
The mansion was incredibly large and sprawling with three separate dining rooms. A maid approached me and quietly ushered me down the right hallway towards the main dining hall.
It was an enormous, high arching room that could fit a twenty foot dining table. An enormous fireplace stood at the head of the room and large curtains outlined the walls.
But instead of one long dining table, there was a shorter one, about eight feet long set at the head of the room. Then surrounding the smaller table were four circular tables.
Immediately, I recognized the hierarchy that this room instilled.
Nearly everybody in the room were men. The only other women besides myself were three women at the main table that were clearly meant as entertainment. They wore plunging necklines and short skirts with heavily made up faces. I wondered if one of them was Evie.
After all, one of the ladies was clinging around Marco.
The main table
was clearly meant for the top ranking members of the Desmond Mafia. At the head sat Roy who had a bleached blonde hanging off his right arm. To his left was Marco and to his right was Gus. I recognized a few of the other men at the head table.
The men were all a little reserved and aloof. You could tell that these were men who were used to moving in shadows and keeping their faces in the dark.
By contrast, then men sitting in the smaller circular tables were the lower ranking members of the Desmond Mafia but were clearly being groomed for more. These were the next generation.
These men were a little louder, more boisterous. Though they worked in a dark business, they did not have the heaviness yet of having to carry the Family on their backs.
I had slipped into the room when everyone seemed to be on their first or third drink. I saw only one seat open at a circular table towards Roy’s right. I immediately took my seat.
As soon as I had sat down, I could feel the eyes of my tablemates boring into me. I wasn’t sure how many people knew about my arrival. I’m sure I was quite the surprise.
From my seat, I could see Marco almost directly across from me at the head table. I wondered if he had noticed me as well.
“Soooo,” a voice started from behind me. I turned in my seat. A man with long shaggy blonde hair and a scar running down the corner of his lip looked me over. The scar made his bottom lip droop a little, giving him a morose look. “There really was a female hire, after all.”
A maid came and placed a drink in front of me. I looked around. Everyone had the same drink. Apparently, this was not a dinner where one could make their own choices.
I took a sip of the amber liquid. Brandy. I felt the fiery drink burn down my throat, settling nicely in my stomach.
I gave a nod. “There really was,” I said.
The man gave a hoot of laughter as if I had said something clever. The man turned to the rest of the men at our table, all of who had their eyes trained straight at me, and laughed, “Who’d ever thought we’d be drinking with a girl tonight!”
The other men guffawed as they slurped their brandy. I realized only the head table had girls.
“I’m Wiggy,” the man said, introducing himself. “But, sweetheart,” he said, dropping his voice lower, “you can call me Big Wiggy.” He then suddenly snapped his teeth at me as if biting into a juicy steak.
A burst of laughter came from our table as the other men teased and ribbed Wiggy.
I had been around men for most of my career. As an executive accountant for a large international firm, I was the only female accounts manager. At the FBI, I worked with largely only male employees and as a field operative, I would most likely only be working with men.
I was very used to their childish and sexist teasings. It was old hat to me. Normally I could brush it off without a second thought. But I had already finished my first glass of brandy and was a few sips into my second. I was feeling a little feisty.
I waited until Wiggy was taking a sip from his glass when I leaned in and whispered breathily against his neck, “Whatever you say, Big Wiggy.”
Wiggy’s eyes bulged at my sudden intimate attack and he nearly snorted brandy out his nose.
The men around him hooted as they slapped him on the back, calling him “Big Wiggy.” I smiled, pleased, as I took another sip of liquid courage.
Feeling a little adventurous, I turned my head casually towards the main table. Was Marco watching? Had I caught his eye as soon as I had walked in?
But I was immediately disappointed when I saw him talking with the brunette who sat next to him. His eyes were low and smoldering like they had been in the den that day. I could tell from his moving lips that his voice was low and rolling, making the brunette next to him smile invitingly towards him.
I should be disappointed. He wasn’t looking at me and that was my goal, my mission. I should be disappointed that his attention wasn’t on me.
But what I didn’t expect was to be hurt as well. I felt a small pang in my chest in seeing him so distracted by another woman. It was because I wanted to succeed in my mission, I told myself. It’s just because I want to prove myself.
But as I took another sip of my brandy, I knew that wasn’t true. I knew my hurt came from something more, something intimate, something deep.
Deciding to focus on just getting through the dinner, I turned back around in my seat and caught the wait staff just as they were bringing around the dinner. Apparently, there was no choice of menu either. Roy had his set tastes and everybody was going to eat and drink what he liked.
I looked at the thick steak, glistening under the crystal chandeliers. I licked my lips. I found myself suddenly ravenously hungry.
But before I could dig in, I heard a chair scrape behind me.
Roy Desmond rose heavily to his feet. Immediately the room fell quiet, a respectful silence as they waited for their boss to speak.
“How’s the brandy?” Roy said in his gravelly voice, a jowly grin on his face. His gold teeth winked in the light.
The men around him cheered as they raised their glasses.
“Better than that shit last month, eh? Cheap fucking tasting shit that one was,” Roy said. The men dutifully laughed.
Tasting my brandy, I was pretty sure this was the kind of liquor that went for thousands per bottle. And I was pretty sure whatever was served last month was similarly priced.
“It’s good to have the Family together like this,” Roy continued. “It’s important to remember what you’re working for. This isn’t a solo gig.” He gave a hard glare around the room as if daring anyone to disagree with him. “This is a Family. You work for the Family. You bleed for the Family. And the Family will take care of you.”
There were grunts of approval and agreement from the room.
“Sometimes sacrifices are made,” he continued. “Heavy ones. Sometimes fatal ones. That’s necessary. That’s for the good of the Family. And you should never cross what is good for the Family.”
Roy looked around the room again, his eyes blazing the fire of his conviction. “Because I am the Family. You cross the Family and you cross me.” He gave a vicious smile, the gold teeth winking ominously. “And there’s no coming back from that.”
There was a pause to let his words sink in. The room was as silent as a tomb.
Then Roy raised his glass. “To Family!”
Then men dutifully raised theirs. “To Family!” they echoed back.
I raised mine and took a sip along with the rest of them, completely dumbfounded.
What the hell kind of speech was that?
Chapter Eight
Marco
What the hell kind of speech was that?
I stared at Roy as he sat back down, grunting as he fell into his seat. Claudia or Carol or whatever the fuck that blonde was immediately put her head on his shoulder, murmuring about what a great speech that was.
My jaw tightened as I watched him take another sip of his brandy, his eyes still bright and alert from speaking. He always got like that. Roy was always one for adoration and attention.
Roy turned and caught my gaze. He raised a brow. “Something you wanna say?” he said to me.
I raised my own brow, keeping my face neutral. I’d mastered covering my thoughts from the age of ten. I was an expert at it. Years of beatings and watching killings will do that to you.
“I was just wondering what the fuck that was all about,” I said smoothly.
I could see the other men at the table tensing at my words. Was it stupid to talk back to Roy when he was still high from his moment in the spotlight? Probably. But I needed to know what the fuck that was about.
Normally, his dinner speeches lasted for no more than a minute. And they all essentially boiled down to: eat, drink, work hard, and don’t fuck up.
In fact, I hadn’t even been paying attention when he had risen to his feet since I was so used to his usual words. Instead I had been glaring at that little blonde brat, Halle.
As soon as she had come in, I had taken in every inch of her before forcibly turning myself away. I was not going to give her the upper hand in catching me staring.
She wore a simple black dress with no adornments and yet the piece hugged her every curve. With its short sleeves, I got a tantalizing look at her slender arms and the skirt gave me a good look at her long, delicate legs. The black only accentuated the fairness of her skin and hair. She looked goddamn radiant, I thought grumblingly.