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Turning his attention back to the chairs, his lips curled downward. His upside-down smile reflected the imagery of the night ahead flowing through his mind. Occasionally disciples needed to be reminded he was not a man to cross.
He called the room his Chamber of Conscience.
Confessions were heard.
Loyalty inspired.
Mercy dispensed—or withheld.
It was one of four rooms in his private quarters that led into the round VIP lounge where he entertained his celebrity guests. The remaining three rooms offered different forms of entertainment for his guests. The BDSM Boudoir provided a fully equipped dungeon. Tempting Treats was a large dining area with a buffet of exquisite dishes, and the only area in which eating was allowed, and the third was aptly named The Pharmacy.
Only Sonny had the keys.
Several times during the evening he’d announce the pharmacy was about to open. Guests would line up as he unlocked the door. He’d enter, move behind a raised counter, loom over them, and dispense his drugs reminiscent of a theatrical bartender serving cocktails.
“Excuse me…”
“Yes, Rosemary,” he replied, turning around to face her.
“Ewen MacDonald’s clothing for the party tonight has just been brought in from his apartment.”
“Did you go through it?”
“Yes, and I found nothing, but I thought you might want to check it yourself before I give it to him.”
He paused, then smiled.
“I love how you don’t assume and always give me the last word. Hmmm, maybe I’ll have those written on a large plaque, but add to it. My Three Commandments. Don’t assume. Don’t take things for granted. Always give Conchello the last word.”
“Perhaps, always give your ruler the last word,” she suggested with a smile.
“Always give your ruler the last word,” he repeated. “Ah, yes, good, very good. Get quotes from several sign makers. White board, black lettering, and make it big. Six feet high and three feet wide should do it.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“So, where are MacDonald’s clothes?”
“In the laundry room. Would you…?”
But Conchello’s phone rang, cutting her off.
“Just a minute,” he said briskly, retrieving it from his pocket.
The screen told him it was the man he’d put in charge of the search for Dan Miller and Elizabeth McKay.
“Yes?” he barked gruffly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Conchello, there’s been no sign of Elizabeth MacKay or Miller.”
Sonny paused, then glanced down at Rosemary. “Go ahead and give MacDonald the clothes.”
“What the fuck, Alan,” Sonny barked as Rosemary left the room. “They have to be somewhere. What about that sailing school captain she was spending time with?”
“I’ve had a team watching his base at Red Hook, but he hasn’t been seen.”
“Fuck. Get your ass over there and find out where he is, but be smart. No rough stuff. These are idiot civilians. Get answers with honey. All you’ll get with vinegar is a call to the cops.”
“Yes, Mr. Conchello.”
