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Chapter 1 – Constantine
“You’d better have adamn good reason for interrupting my drink,” I snarled at my enemy, who had dared step through the thick oak door of the Ivory Room.
My guard had alerted me to Gustave’s approach, and curiosity over this direct visit had won out against denying his request for an audience. Besides, Club Black was a neutral zone, the owner forbidding violence from the monsters of the underworld—including those whose work put them on the wrong side of the law. The bastard sauntering to the chair in front of me happened to belong to one of the mob’s elite families. The war between our families had been going on for over a decade. Why I hadn’t ended him yet was a mystery at this point. Heaven knew he deserved it; his empire was built on the bones of screaming innocents. But Gustave Beaumont was fucking slippery—damn near ghost-like in his attempts to evade me.
“We need to talk.” Gustave took the liberty of sitting down in the leather chair opposite me. It was a bold move, given our last interaction resulted in a blood-bath. His ape of a son had tried to pirate one of my ships to smuggle their dirty cargo—poor souls who this family trafficked for currency.
“Where is junior?” I demanded, breaking eye contact to scan the room. I didn’t see the oaf, but he was never far from his father’s side. Since none of the other doors to this lavish, masculine sitting room opened, it was safe to say Gustave and I were alone. Given the presence of the cameras, it was unlikely the fool would try something. The repercussions from Club Black would be severe.
“He’ll be joining us presently,” Gustave intoned, folding his hands over his knees. “If my proposition is amenable to you, that is.”
I narrowed my gaze. Trusting a word that came out of this man’s mouth would be utter folly. Still, a wise man ought to listen to the hiss of the snake, lest he step on it later. “And that is?”
“This quarrel we’ve fallen into—”
“Ourvendetta,” I snarled, hating that he was trying to make light of all the senseless waste and harm our war had cost.
“Yes, well,” Gustave said, waving a hand in the air. “Semantics.”
I let out a harsh breath and wished I didn’t respect James Black as much or else I would have no qualms about breaking Club Black’s rules. “Mr. Beaumont, I beg you to choose your next words wisely. This club might be a non-conflict zone, but if you think for one second that I’m going to sit here and tolerate you making light of your conquest for power, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“It’s not like you’re innocent either,butcher,” Gustave menaced.
I rose to my feet, abandoning all hope of a quiet evening to unwind. My hands might be stained with more blood than Moses’s Nile, but I knew my worth. Sex trafficking wasn’t in my history, and it never would be. As I made to step away, the piece of filth shot to his feet.
“I want a peace treaty,” Gustave blurted.
Those words were powerful enough to stop me. And not because the idea of peace was so appealing. It was the lunacy of this situation. My mortal enemy was asking for peace? Why? And why now?
Guard up, I turned. Most men were smaller than me; my mother’s Thracian blood ran through my veins, giving me the physical prowess to dominate even the giants among men. But Gustave Beaumont? He was not only small, but his slithering ways made him an adder of the underworld. However, a wise man knew a snake bite was strong enough to take anyone down, and that was why I was particularly cautious around him. “You have two minutes. I’m listening.”
I remained standing as Gustave sat back down and shared, “This war between us—and I won’t squabble now on who started it, because we both know there’s no agreement to be had there—is futile. It’s also draining. Our colleagues frown at us, and you and I both know it’s only a matter of time before our constant fighting annoys the Feds or Interpole enough to crack down on us.”
He had told me nothing new. “Ninety seconds.”
Gustave huffed. “There is only one way to mend bridges. I have a daughter, who is now of marriageable age. My proposition is that you take her as a wife, and we begin the long process of mending fences.”
I should have been sitting. His proposition was so ludicrous that a feather could have brushed against my chest, toppling me over. I didn’t know if I should laugh or hit the bastard.
“You have forty seconds to explain why I would ever dream of doing that.” My voice didn’t shake, a fact for which I was grateful, but it was a struggle to maintain my expression.
“As a dowry, I only ask for the Beech Grove property. It’s a new residential development that is lucrative but not obscene. My intent truly is to make peace.” His eyes sparkled. “Now, what can you give me as encouragement that you won’t indulge in uxoricide?”
“You think so little of me that I would murder a woman, let alone my wife?” I seethed, hands fisted.
I moved toward the door. I’d heard enough. This was utter bullshit, whatever game he was playing at. There wasn’t even the smallest possibility that he was being truthful, and I refused to listen to any more of his insults. I took two steps forward and stopped cold. Claude, his ogre of a son, was shuffling into the room. But it wasn’t the weaselly, stupid grin on his face that made me freeze. No, it was the woman at his side.
The daughter.
There was no mistaking the fierce, dark gaze peering over the patrician nose as anything but an inherited feature of the Beaumont clan. Few from the underworld had ever had the pleasure of meeting this woman. I didn’t even know her name, and that was testament to how closely the Beaumont family had kept her secreted away. In fact, given the poor manners of the son, many had thought Gustave kept his daughter hidden away because she was a deranged harpy.
However, seeing her now, that was clearly not the case. While the familial resemblance was strong enough to mark her as offspring, where the males were brutish, their harsh features were smoothed and refined in the daughter. In fact, she looked damn near regal. A crown could easily rest on top of the polished black waves that fell to her waist. The raven locks were shiny, bouncing slightly as she approached. Her tits were plump and full, drawing my immediate attention, but as my eyes dipped, the curves of her waist and hips were just as lush and enticing, daring to be touched. Such a pretty package in her high heels, designer dress, and fully made-up face.
I suddenly had the notion that this ensemble was her armor. That scarlet lipstick, the color of heart’s blood, was her weapon. It suited her deep olive skin. There was nothing wrong with this woman’s mind; that much was obvious as she approached to stand near—but just behind—her father. It was her sharp gaze, with not a drop of fear clouding her black eyes, that arrested me.
The temptress’s level stare was enough to stop me in my tracks—a bad tell, one my enemy immediately picked up on. Although they probably thought my halt was due to the seductive costume, it wasn’t the full truth, because it was the woman inside who was gorgeous. Curiosity, and a tinge of something primal, flared to life in my chest as I stared at her. Yet my instincts kept my features cold and neutral.
Calculations raced through my mind as the silence hung heavy around us. Why would she agree to marry me—the bane of her family? There were many ways to make her tell me her innermost secrets. Her body was just asking to be touched. There was a moment where I lost myself to the vivid array of depraved, filthy things I could do to her.
