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“No.” Derri dropped into the chair on the other side of Zander’s desk. “He wanted to, though. Kept begging for a meeting and they kept telling him to fuck off. They wanted nothing to do with him.”
So why were they now demanding a meeting with Zander? He blew out a breath. “Fuck. Okay. Where is he?”
“Downstairs.” Derri got to his feet when Zander did.
“Let’s get this over with.” He buttoned his jacket as he made his way to the door. “Bring me up to speed.”
His private offices were on the uppermost level of the casino and only Derri and a few trusted men were allowed up there. He held meetings on a separate level, and he and Derri took the private elevator there now, Zander struggling to listen as Derri droned on with facts and figures about the Queens organization.
It was all a distraction for Zander, something he welcomed. He didn’t sleep at night because when he closed his eyes all he saw were them. His men. Their loss lingered, heavy and painful in his chest, but he bore the pain and would continue to bear it, if it meant Vince and Scotty were safe.
Didn’t mean he didn’t wish they were there with him. Didn’t mean he didn’t miss them in ways he hadn’t known were possible to miss another human.
He shook his head in hopes of dislodging those thoughts as they exited the elevator and walked into the office where his uninvited guests were waiting. It was just two of them who’d arrived, Derri had told him, no bodyguards, no backup as far as they knew.
Did that mean they didn’t consider Zander a threat?
“Israel Storm.” He greeted the first man, the one who controlled all major criminal enterprises in Queens. He sat causally, an ankle crossed over his knee as he murmured to the man next to him. The second man was silent, gaze alert. His right-hand man, according to Derri. “Reggie Turner.” Storm’s skin was darker than Turner’s yellowish-brown, and the leader of the Jamaicans was bigger, broader than his right-hand man’s slighter build.
They were dressed similarly in jeans and hoodies, with Turner wearing a Yankee fitted perched on his head.
“Kian DuBois.” Storm grinned when Zander stood in front of him, exposing the toothpick he’d been chewing on. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
Now wasn’t the time to correct the other man on the use of that name, not when Zander didn’t know what he wanted. “And I hear you just walked into my territory as if you owned it. With no backup too.” He cocked his head. “You must have a death wish.”
Storm chuckled. “I never leave my home without backup.” He dipped his head in the direction of the man sitting next to him and Turner’s lips twitched at a joke that was clearly between the two of them.
Zander refrained from rolling his eyes. “Why are you here?”
“I have something you need.” Storm unfolded himself from his seat and stood. Derri’s hand went to his waistband. Turner got to his feet as well. A menacing tension filled the room, making it damn near oppressive. “You have something I want,” Storm said, unconcerned.
Zander barked a laugh. “I think you’ve got me confused with somebody else. You have nothing of value to me.”
“Your uncle wanted to partner with me, did you know that?” Storm scoffed as if the mere thought of working with Murray was offensive. “He wanted my Russian connect and offered me all kinds of bullshit in return. But he didn’t offer what I actually wanted.”
Zander stiffened. Russian connect. If he had an alliance with Brooklyn it would be a game changer. Like Derri just shared with him, the Jamaicans in Queens and the Russians in Brooklyn had the ultimate alliance, making them untouchable. Zander didn’t know how or why that came about when at one time those two were at war, but now they only worked with each other, refusing to bring in any others. Zander knew for a fact that leadership in the Bronx had been angling for a part of that. Murray would’ve sold his firstborn to be included and now…
It was all too good to be true. He didn’t believe for a minute that Jersey would be allowed into that alliance when they didn’t know him, but he would at least listen to whatever bullshit the man in front of him was spewing. “What do you want?”
“I want this casino,” Israel Storm told Zander casually.
Next to Zander, Derri spluttered while Zander eyed the audacious sonofabitch opposite him. “You’re on jokes, I see.” He turned away, giving Israel his back. “Let me know when you want to actually talk business, until then…”
“I never joke about business,” Israel said behind him. “I want this casino.”
This casino was their biggest moneymaker. It was how they laundered their money, how they protected all the other illegal dealings, and without it everything became exposed. But Israel Storm would already know that. Zander faced the man once more, his head cocked. “You already know you’re not getting this casino, so why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
Israel stepped forward and Derri tensed as he kept coming until he stood in front of Zander, breath faintly touching his face. “Again, I don’t joke about business.” You couldn’t tell what he was thinking by his expression; he was locked up tight. Reggie wore an identical expression, though his eyes were on Israel as if Zander and Derri didn’t even warrant watching.
“I won’t ever need to be a part of your alliance so badly that I would expose my own neck for you,” Zander said coolly. “Not happening, so you can?—”
Israel smirked then. “I said I had something you needed. I didn’t say it had anything to do with the alliance.”
Zander narrowed his eyes. So this wasn’t an offer about joining his alliance? What kinda game was this motherfucker playing? “I’m too old and jaded for games. We’re grown-ass men, speak plainly.”
“An hour ago, a call was placed from a house near South Philly to a local U.S. Marshal field office not too far from here,” Reggie said, speaking for the first time. “That call lasted less than five minutes. Immediately afterward, another call was placed, from inside that same Marshal office, to a hitman. One your uncle used from time to time when he didn’t want anything traced back to him.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
