AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What about your father’s men? Are they standing behind you?”
Shaking his head, he says, “Most are too scared. They’ve seen what the Ferryman does to anyone that tries to take control. No one is willing to stand up to him without the backing of the alliance.”
What he’s saying is true. Gideon is a looming threat to anyone that attempts to position themselves as head of one of the families that took out his father. And yet, that hasn’t stopped any of us from trying. Noah, Rowan and I have all taken the risk on our own. Our men have all been willing to stand by us. The alliance has simply provided the support needed to maintain our place.
Though I suppose in my instance, I didn’t inherit anything from my father. My position is my own. But I have kept the one and only thing my brother had a hand in open. The Red.
Marco, on the other hand, has been hiding in the shadows, too afraid to take the throne that should rightfully be his. Of course his men won’t follow him if they sense his fear.
“I’m not sure what you think I can do for you,” I tell him.
“Carina offered to put it up for vote. I want to know if I can count on you.”
I sit back and observe him. The way his right eye twitches in sync with the tapping of his index finger over his knee and the battle he seems to be doing to keep that annoying giggle at bay.
Giuseppe Tadesco ruled Chicago for almost two decades. He was a feared and respected leader. Hell, my brother chose him over family.
But strong fathers don’t always make strong sons. In Marco’s case, this couldn’t be more evident. He reeks of weakness. It rolls off him in a stench that anyone would reject. And he knows it.
If he did attempt to take over Giuseppe’s business, Gideon would make mincemeat out of him without even trying.
Marco must see the hesitation in my eyes because he sits forward. His leg shaking furiously, he says, “Come on, man. You all depend on Chicago. We’re too big to fall.”
“Chicago will be fine. Someone will rule it. But it won’t be you, Marco. I’m sorry. I cannot give you my vote.”
He stares at me long at hard, the veins in his forehead protruding as he attempts to quell his obvious anger. “You know, if it wasn’t for my Pops, your brother would have been nothing.”
“And if it was your Pops in front of me now, my answer might be different.”
“You know what? Fuck you. Fuck all of you!” He pounds a fist against my desk as he stands. “Don’t come running to me when you need something. Cause I won’t give you shit.”
“I’ll do my best not to.”
* * *
In what proves to be the longest day in history, I have an odd number of meeting cancelations, not one single theft in the casino, and other than Johnny Rusk, a gangster turned casino man himself, requesting a personal tour of The Red and the club, there’s nothing much to occupy my mind from the blonde in my home.
Even when I’m standing in front of him, I can hardly keep myself from thinking about her. Her smell. Her taste. The way she felt wrapped around my cock.
While I’m positive she wasn’t a virgin, unless her daughter is the product of some immaculate conception, she was tight. So much tighter than I expected. Does that mean she hasn’t been with a man in a long time? Or is she naturally narrower?
Both thoughts turn me on, the first, because the idea of her with any other man makes me want to erase him out of existence. If anyone is going to stretch her, mold her, it will be me. And if it’s simply that she’s got a slim fit, I’m okay with squeezing in.
“So you say you don’t own Club Voyeur?” Rusk asks.
I turn to the short man, somewhat surprised to see him standing in front of me. We came down into the club he’s finally rich enough to know about and wanted to see it. He walked around the empty, quiet space for so long, my thoughts drifted to somewhere less boring.
“The walls and everything in it is mine,” I tell him, running my hand over one of the upturned chairs set on a table. “As are fifty percent of the profits. The name, rights and client list belong to a woman from Florida. She has very tight control over the way things are run inside the club.”
“If all you get is fifty percent, what’s the appeal?”
“In order for her clients to walk through those,” I point to the double doors lined in red tufted velvet, “They have to come through mine.”
He gives me a smile full of gold teeth. “I see. I’d like to come while it’s open. And if I like it, I want you to get me in touch with this woman.”
“Tell you what. You be my guest tomorrow night. If you’re interested, I’ll give her your name. And if she’s interested, she’ll call you.”
What I don’t tell him is that Seidi Perrelli is unlikely to be interested in him or his illegal casino out in Los Angeles. Yes, he’s made a name for himself, is wealthy enough to own part of the L.A. underground and maybe even has some sway in politics. But he’s still covered in head to toe gold, diamonds and fur. He screams new money. Dirty money.
