by Tracy Wolff
Tori grumbles as much as anyone can grumble in a text message, but she promises to be at our door in less than half an hour. It’s the best I can do, so I slip on my shoes, grab my wallet and room key, and text Geoffrey to make sure he’s downstairs.
He is.
Chloe is studiously ignoring me by this point, which sets my teeth on edge, if I’m being honest. Not because I’m mad, but because it makes me nervous. I don’t like being at odds with her. I don’t like knowing that something I’m doing is hurting her. But at the same time, I can’t see my way around to making things better for her. At least not until I take care of this.
“I’m going now,” I say, as I slide my cell phone into an inside pocket in my suit jacket and make my way to the suite’s front door.
I’m not sure if she’ll even say good-bye or not—things are that strained between us—but Chloe surprises me. Instead of ignoring me, she crosses the suite on bare feet and meets me at the door. Once there, she straightens my shirt collar a little, brushes a speck of lint off my sleeve. Then looks me directly in the eye.
“I love you,” she tells me and my knees nearly go weak with relief.
“I love you, too.” I reach for her, pull her into my arms, kiss her with all the pent-up worry and frustration this morning has wrought.
She returns the kiss, her hands cupping my face, her body pressed against mine. When I finally pull away, she holds on for an extra few seconds…and I let her. How can I not when all I truly want in the world is to be loved by this woman?
“Don’t go,” she whispers against my mouth. “Nico Valducci is a terrible man. I don’t want you to get hurt over something you can’t change. Please, Ethan, don’t go.”
I can taste her teardrops against my lips and it nearly shatters me. Nearly brings me to my knees. I would give her anything, but I can’t give her this.
“I’ll be back in two hours,” I tell her. “And then we’ll spend the rest of the day together doing silly stuff. I’ll take you to the Adventuredome and we’ll ride some rides. Maybe do the roller coaster over at New York–New York. How does that sound?”
She closes her eyes briefly, but when she opens them the tears are gone and she’s smiling. It’s a strained smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “It sounds almost perfect, actually.”
“Then it’s a plan.” I drop another quick kiss on her lips and then I’m gone, striding toward the elevator as I run my other plan over in my head one more time.
When I get downstairs, Sebastian is already in the lobby waiting for me. “You sure you want to do this, man?” he asks as we find Geoffrey outside and climb into the back of the limo.
“It’s got to be done,” I answer, and that’s the end of that.
We’re meeting Valducci at a small Italian restaurant in a strip mall a few blocks off the Strip. My research tells me it’s one of his money-laundering places. It also tells me that two nights a week, a very high-stakes poker game goes on in the restaurant’s private room. Poker’s always been Brandon’s game and I can’t help wondering if this is where he racked up so many of his gambling debts.
It’s still early, and traffic isn’t bad, so it doesn’t take very long to get to the restaurant. Sebastian and I spend the short trip almost in silence, both of us locked in our own heads. I know what I want to say, am sure he knows what he wants to do as well. And it’s not that I’m nervous, because I’m not. The organized crime aspect aside, Valducci is a businessman and this is a business deal—one that’s going to be very advantageous to him, actually. Still, I want this to be over so I can be back in my hotel room, making love to my wife and showing her that everything really is going to be okay.
We’re a couple minutes from the restaurant when Sebastian says, “How the fuck did we get here, man?”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “That’s a question I ask myself every day.”
“I bet.” He clears his throat, looks out the window. “You know, I’ve never really wanted to hurt another human being as much as I want to hurt Valducci. I’d kill the son of a bitch if I could get away with it.”
I’m a little surprised—Sebastian’s always been the more coolheaded one in our friendship, and the bigger humanitarian/people-lover. Oh, we both believe in using our money and talents to save the world, but, with the exception of the war veterans I visit at the VA hospital, my philanthropy is a little broader, more concept and less hands-on. Sebastian’s always been the one to work with people one-on-one. Whether in Haiti or Nigeria or Mexico, he’s always been one to care about the people more than the cause.
So to hear him talk about killing someone so matter-of-factly throws me a little, especially considering he’s one of the most nonviolent guys I know.
“This is about more than the ‘protection’ money he’s been extorting from your father.”
It’s not a question, but Sebastian still nods. “Yeah.”
“So are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or are we just going to sit here staring at each other for the rest of the ride?”
“Aria was engaged to Valducci’s son,” he tells me hoarsely. “Her dad is mafia, too, and she was the chip they were using to cement the bond between the two families. Right up until the fucker nearly beat her to death right under his father’s nose.”
“Fuck, man—”
“Valducci’s also the one responsible for killing Dylan. With my father’s blessing, of course, but still. He’s the one who had it done.”
Jesus Christ. My heart’s racing so fast at this point that for a second, I think it might actually explode. Dylan was Sebastian’s best friend from childhood. He was murdered when we were in college because of his gambling debts. Dylan had a gambling problem and Sebastian had used his trust fund to pay off his debts numerous times in high school and college, but this time he wasn’t there to do it and Dylan died. His death broke something in my friend. Something I’d figured was unfixable until I started to see him with Aria this trip. To find out that the same man was almost, indirectly, responsible for what happened to her, too? Shit. No wonder Sebastian’s been chomping at the fucking bit to make this meeting happen.
“You don’t think that’s something we should have discussed before now?” I demand. “Nothing like letting me walk in there blind.”
“You’ve been a little busy with your new wife,” he answers. “Not that I was invited to the wedding or anything…”
I roll my eyes. “I already explained that.”
“I know. But I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t fun to watch you squirm.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that why you decided to spring your Valducci connections on me five minutes before we’re supposed to meet the guy? To make me squirm?”
“I just found out about Aria.” His hands are clenched, his jaw tight. It worries me, considering I saw him lose it with one of the high rollers in his own casino just a few days ago. That fight was also over the guy’s treatment of Aria.
Not that I have any problem with him taking care of the woman he is obviously in love with—I’m not a hypocrite—but it does worry me that he just found out about Aria’s past. His emotions have to be running pretty fucking high—mine would be—and now isn’t the time for that. We need clear heads, need to focus, if we want to come out of this meeting with our goals, and our bodies, intact.
“You sure you’re okay to go in there?” I demand sharply. “Because this isn’t going to work if you try to strangle Valducci with your bare hands.”
“I’ve got this. I’m not going to lay a hand on the bastard.”
“You sure about that?” When he glares at me, I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying you’ve been pretty tightly wound lately. Which I get, believe me. God knows, Chloe keeps me on my fucking toes. But you can’t lose it in there. Stick to the plan and in a few weeks, it will all be over.”
“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I could keep it together.”
“Bullshit. I know you, man. With the k
ind of history you have with Valducci, you wouldn’t walk away from this meeting for anything short of a gun pointed at Aria’s head.” I don’t remind him that I was the one there picking up the pieces after Dylan died. I saw how devastated, how enraged, how broken he was. That kind of grief and anger might dull as the years pass, but it never goes away. Add in Aria’s own dark past…and I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried the guy is going to go all loose cannon in there. Which is not what we need right now.
Valducci calls himself a businessman and I’m willing to treat him as such, but underneath that is the knowledge that he is a brutal man capable of almost anything.
“I’m fine—” Sebastian starts to answer, but he falls silent as Geoffrey pulls into a parking lot. He stops the car in front of a surprisingly tasteful little restaurant, considering that in Vegas, low-key and tasteful are two words that have pretty much been stripped from everyone’s vocabulary.
“Don’t fuck this up,” I tell Sebastian as I open the car door.
“Same goes,” he answers with a deliberate sneer.
Okay, then. We’re definitely on the same page.
It’s barely ten, so the restaurant isn’t open yet. But when I try the door, it swings open easily. There are about thirty tables inside the small dining area, all with white tablecloths and candles. Valducci is nowhere to be seen, big surprise, but three men who are obviously muscle are sitting at one of the tables. When we walk in, they climb to their feet.
“I’m Ethan Frost and this is—”
“We know who you are,” the one in the black T-shirt says. “Mr. Valducci will be here in a few minutes.”
Of course he isn’t here yet. I check my watch—sure enough, we’re not early. If he’s trying to intimidate me, it isn’t working. These are the tactics of an insecure man obsessed with his own power. Which tells me that if there weren’t guns in the room, we would definitely have the upper hand.
But there are guns in the room—several, in fact—and those are only the ones we can see. Which is why I don’t fight it when the goon in the blue button-up tells me to turn around so he can pat me down. Sebastian looks like he wants to argue, but in the end, he doesn’t say anything, either.
I breathe an internal sigh of relief. As long as Sebastian plays along, everything should go just fine.
When they don’t find any weapons—I’m not sure what it says about my naïveté that I didn’t even think to bring one—they invite us to take our choice of tables as we wait. The third guy, dressed in a white T-shirt, offers to get us a drink. We both decline.
Fifteen minutes later, Nico Valducci strolls in the front door of the restaurant along with two more henchmen. All three of them are dressed in tailored suits, but a quick look tells me they aren’t the same quality Sebastian and I are wearing. Another look tells me that Valducci is even more aware of that fact than I am. Good. As long as he understands where the power really lies in this meeting, things will go fine.
“Gentlemen, welcome,” he tells me, all smiles and effusive charm while the two men with him just stare at us stonily. “Vito, you didn’t get our friends any refreshments?” He addresses the question to the man in the white T-shirt, who just shrugs.
“They didn’t want anything, Mr. Valducci.”
“Nonsense. At least get them some coffee.” He turns back to us. “Unless you’d like something stronger.”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.” Sebastian answers this time and his tone is almost polite.
Nico’s eyes narrow—okay, it was a big almost—but he doesn’t call him on it as he settles himself across the table from us. The two men behind him sit down on either side of him.
Sebastian is eyeing one of the men—he’s the youngest guy in the room and he also happens to look a lot like Valducci himself. His son, I surmise as, internally, I curse luck, fate and the fucking universe. How the hell am I supposed to keep Sebastian cool if the man who nearly beat his woman to death is seated across the table from us? There’s not enough calm in the universe for that.
Not that I’d blame him. It’s been weeks and my hands still bear the last of the bruises from the fight I had with Brandon when I found out what he’d done to Chloe.
Except we can’t afford that right now, not when everything we want to do is riding on this meeting. I catch his eye, give him a very subtle warning look. He nods just as subtly, but his hands are clenched into fists.
Keep your eye on the endgame, I will him silently. I only hope the message is received.
While we’re waiting for the coffee, Valducci keeps up a steady patter of small talk that neither Sebastian nor I are the least bit interested in. But where Sebastian isn’t willing to engage at all at this point, I take one for the team and talk about what shows I’ve seen while in Vegas, what my favorite hotel is, and finally, the weather. Admittedly, I don’t have much to add besides Vegas in August is hot, but no one can say I haven’t at least made an effort to keep up my end of the conversation.
The coffee finally shows up, and I take the offered cup though I have no intention of drinking anything this man gives me. Sebastian, of course, refuses the mug Valducci holds out to him. I grit my teeth and pray that this doesn’t turn into the clusterfuck it has the potential to be.
Valducci doctors his own coffee—cream and sugar—before leaning back in his chair and saying, “So, you wanted this meeting, Sebastian. What can I help you gentlemen with?”
Because I’m suddenly afraid Sebastian is going to tell Nico exactly how he can help us—largely by shoving his head up his own ass—I jump in. “It’s come to my attention that my brother owes you some money.”
I don’t identify Brandon, but then I don’t have to. I don’t think it’s vanity to say that I’m pretty sure half of Valducci’s interest in my brother is his connection to me. The other half is his connection to the United States Congress.
“I’ve given him a pass on those debts. We’re square.”
“As long as he uses his influence as a member of the House of Representatives to help you out from time to time.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Brandon’s father and I go way back. I have no problem doing a favor for the son of a friend.”
“Well, now you’re going to do a favor for the stepson of a friend,” I tell him, pulling my phone out of my suit jacket. “You’re going to tell me how much he owes you. I’m going to add that amount to every penny you and your shell corporations have donated to his campaign. Then I’m going to add thirty percent for your trouble and wire you that amount . You, in turn, are going to take that check.”
“And why exactly am I going to do that?” he asks. He looks amused, but I can see the interest—and the avarice—in his eyes.
“Because it’s in your best interest to do it. It’s financially advantageous and it’s good business to do it. Besides, whatever Brandon can do for you now—or in the future—I can undo a hundredfold. I make a powerful ally but a deadly enemy.”
Valducci stiffens at the implied threat, but he doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he reaches for his coffee. Takes a sip. And studies me for several long seconds. “I thought you had better things to do than to go around cleaning up your little brother’s messes. Empires to run, lives to save, a new wife to fuck. How is Chloe, anyway?”
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to knock his teeth down his throat just for saying her name. Sebastian shifts in his chair, like he’s getting ready to grab me if I do slip the tight leash I’m keeping on myself, but he doesn’t need to worry. There’s no way I’m going to let this prick see that he’s upset me.
“Now it’s twenty-five percent,” I tell him coolly. “Mention my wife’s name again and it will be twenty. She’s not a threat you get to use against me, ever.”
“Or what?” His voice never wavers, his face never changes, but there’s an uneasiness in his eyes that tells me Valducci is taking this meeting very, very seriously.
“Or I will make it my li
fe’s mission to burn you. My brother might be trying to get himself elected to Congress, but I have a lot of friends already there. I have friends in the higher ranks of the FBI, friends in ATF, friends who are investigative journalists. They’re all good enough friends that they’d do me a favor for free if I asked them to. Then again, you get what you pay for and I can pay a lot to get what I want.”
My not-so-veiled threat hangs in the air as I pull up my bank account on my phone. “Now, let’s try this again. Exactly how much does Brandon owe you?”
“Twelve million.”
The number is inflated—according to my PI, it’s more like ten million—but I decide to let the extra two million go. It’s not that big a price to pay, really, if it will get me what I want. Still, I give him a look to let him know that I know he’s lying, even as I arrange for fourteen million dollars to be transferred to the bank account number just scribbled on a napkin.
“What’s my guarantee that you won’t go to the FBI after this?” he demands. “You’re asking for a lot of trust without much to back it up.”
“I’m backing it up with a hell of a lot of money,” I tell him. “And as for why I won’t be going to the FBI unless you force me to? I’m about to transfer fourteen million dollars into your account. I don’t really want to have to explain to the FBI, or anyone else, why I did that. I’ll find my way clear of it eventually, but in the meantime, it’s a clusterfuck I don’t need.”
My answer must satisfy him, because Valducci holds the bank account number out to me. He waits for me to take it, but I don’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, I leave him hanging as I look him squarely in the eye and say, “I’m going to spell it out one more time, just so we’re clear. You take this money and you wipe your hands of my brother. You don’t answer his phone calls, you don’t let him gamble in any of your places, you don’t take any money from him, you don’t ask any favors of him. Use the money to buy yourself another congressman or three. Use it to make up for the money you’re going to lose when the Atlantis stops throwing you kickbacks. I don’t actually give a fuck what you do with it. But Brandon is dead to you forever. Understand?”
