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We were considered kings even amongst our enemies, rivals in a dangerous game of supremacy, ruthless predators who would stop at nothing to get what we want. The Brotherhood was an organization created to keep the peace between six powerful crime families. There was no question we were monsters, every one of us a bad man with a penchant for violence. However, we were also determined to do things differently than our forefathers who started wars where blood rained in the streets. That wasn’t our style, change continuously necessary.
Constantine was considered the founding member, a merciless man who’d suffered many losses. Could I trust him as well as the other members? I’d learned that was the case, even providing assistance over the years. Now it was my turn. I needed the kind of help only Constantine and his massive army could provide.
There were rules, but we made them. Anyone who broke the sovereignty of our ‘round table’ would face punishment. Up to this point, no one had.
There was no fucking with another member’s turf.
I’d be required to return the favor, but I’d made the decision, good or bad, to keep Whitney safe.
She was mine. Mine to taste.
Use.
Fuck.
And own.
Goddamn it, I had it bad for the woman.
“Is your plane in the city?”
His laugh was dark, ordinarily the sound pissing me off, but we’d learned to tolerate our differences and our dark humor over the years. “It’s yours if you need it.”
“Then I’ll hitch a ride back to Philly.”
“On the way. Call me when you’re in a holding position.”
There was no need for further discussion. Whether or not Whitney adhered to my rules no longer mattered.
She’d soon learn that by being under my protective wing, she might survive.
But she’d be required to provide the information I needed.
One way or the other.
* * *
Whitney
Open Me
The words had presented a swirling vacuum. I craved the truth, but in learning who and what Phoenix was, the fantasy would be destroyed. My heart ached from the thought.
As soon as I clicked on the link she’d sent, a sharp feeling of anger coursed through me like venom from a snake.
And the snake’s name was Phoenix. As I read the article from a newspaper in Napa Valley, I was pulled into a vacuum.
My thoughts drifted to what my father had said right before I’d hung up on him. Something about irreputable people hunting for him. Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes, doing everything I could to remember the few other conversations I’d had with him over the last two years. My father had changed his number, which was the reason I’d answered the phone a few months before. No, it had been longer. A year? More?
He’d made another promise about getting a fantastic job. That I should come visit. He’d told me where he’d gone. Hadn’t he? I moved toward the window, leaning against the glass.
As I forced myself to glance at the article again, I held my breath.
Elena Diamondis, owner of Diamondis Wineries, was arrested on extortion and blackmail charges. As sister of Phoenix Diamondis, the notorious leader of the Greek Crime Syndicate in Philadelphia, there’s speculation her winery has been used for money laundering for illegal activities.
I couldn’t stomach reading anything else.
I’d just left Napa Valley, for God’s sake. I’d buried my father in a grave that I’d never visit again, his small tombstone surrounded by lush greenery and trees. There’d been no one there to attend except the daughter he’d never known.
