Leenock glared at him and looked like he wanted to say something from the way his gaze dropped to Conall’s collar again, but he wasn’t an idiot, much to Conall’s disappointment. He wanted to see Sloan take Leenock down a few pegs.
“My fifth,” Leenock said, a smarmy smile directed at Conall. He patted Tina’s thin arm. “It took me four other women to find me the perfect one.”
“Pretty sure you said the same thing to me and Terrance about your third one—and the fourth. I can’t even remember their names.” Conall crossed his arms over his chest.
He felt the heavy gazes of Sloan’s men on him, particularly Brendan’s, but he wasn’t sure if they were waiting for Sloan to reprimand him or if they were surprised by what kind of mouth he had on him.
Leenock’s smile slipped off his face. “Howisthe Exotic Virtue, Conall? I heard your profits are…dismal.”
Conall resisted the urge to glare at him. Leenock wanted a reaction and he wasn’t going to give it to him.
“I think that’s quite enough,” Sloan said, earning both their attentions. “Do you have issues I should know about, Tad?”
Leenock flashed his teeth at Sloan in a smile. “None. The Leisure Train is as perfect as usual, sir. Our profits are skyrocketing, and we have…the leverage of politicians, actors, and even the local police captain.”
Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Captain?”
Leenock nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. Captain John Donnock.”
Something akin to pride lit up in Sloan’s gaze, and Conall swallowed the snort that threatened to surface.
Sloan stepped forward, laying his hand on Leenock’s shoulder. “How much leverage are we talking?”
“Well…his wife is the daughter of the New York City mayor, and the captain screws a barely legal young man that he dresses up in diapers and asks to be called daddy.”
Even Conall knew that was like finding gold in a town like this, and Sloan’s smile was like a man who’d just found that treasure. “So a lot of leverage, then. Good. Do you have photos?”
Leenock nodded furiously. “I always make sure to take photos of the high rollers, sir, and our cameras are fully functional in the rooms.”
“You have cameras in your rooms?” Conall asked, disbelief washing through him. “We never had cameras. O’Riley said we couldn’t afford it.” He sounded more bitter than what he’d meant to.
Sloan hummed, completely ignoring Conall’s outburst. “We have issues with a certain detective. She’s in the DEA. Do you think he’d pull her off the case?”
Leenock’s eyes flickered from Sloan to Conall and back again, and he clapped his hands together in delight. “Absolutely, boss.”
“Make it happen,” Sloan demanded shortly. “I want Detective Diaz off the port case.”
Leenock puffed out his chest and was on his phone in seconds, talking furiously into it. Sloan turned to Conall and stroked his cheekbone, eyelashes lowered and tongue swiping over his bottom lip.
“No need to be jealous, pet.”
“Jealous? Of him? Fuck off.” Conall batted away the hand with a glare. “Why the fuck does the Leisure Train get cameras, but we don’t? We got politicians too, you know.”
Sloan chuckled and leaned closer, his breath hot against Conall’s lips, like maybe he was going to lean in and kiss him, but he didn’t. He hovered close but didn’t touch Conall. “The Virtue is no longer your concern.”
Conall’s glare deepened and his hands twitched at his sides. What would happen if he shoved Sloan away in front of his men? Probably nothing nice, and Conall wanted to keep his hands on his wrists. “It belongs to me and my brother.” He realized what he’d said as soon as it left his mouth. He quickly tried to retreat, but he knew it was already too late. “I mean—”
Sloan’s face darkened, his jaw hardening, and he grabbed Conall around the throat. It wasn’t a tight hold, but his fingers pressed down on Conall’s windpipe in warning, leaving him gasping for breath but not choking him. There wasn’t any intention to strangle him. “All these whorehouses belong to me, pet,” he whispered, low enough that only Conall could hear him. “You may have helped Terrance run the Virtue, but don’t forget who it really belongs to.”
Conall gasped for air. “It’s yours,” he mumbled breathlessly.
“It’s mine.” Sloan released his hold, and Conall sucked in air desperately. He touched his throat and looked at Sloan carefully. “I’m sorry I had to do that to you, pet.”
Conall merely muttered, “It’s okay,” because there was nothing else he could do. He knew he’d said the wrong thing. But Sloan smiled sadly at him and hooked a finger under his chin, raising it. He kissed him gently, and it almost felt like an apology. It was a reminder that no matter how sweet Sloan seemed to him, he was still a dangerous mob boss and could slit Conall’s throat whenever he grew bored of him.
Brendan called for Sloan, and he left Conall standing there, feeling awkward and a little annoyed at the thought of Sloan growing bored with him. He put his life on the line for this, and he wasn’t going to let the stupid bastard grow bored, even if he had to wear a stupid collar and give his arse to Sloan.
Conall sighed and leaned against one of the fancy pillars in the foyer. He tugged at the collar, because as much as he’d grown used to it, there were times when it pulled at the skin of his neck and reminded him it was there.
