“Nah, you’re good.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I swear.”
I sigh. “Fine. Where are you?”
His grin’s gonna split his face. “Vegas,” he says and shoves half the pancake into his mouth.
“We have a meeting in an hour,” I remind him.
“Youhave a meeting in an hour. I canceled.” My brother flips the camera to show me a cart filled with breakfast dishes, champagne, and a stack of poker chips he’s gonna tip the staff with. Fuck, I miss Vegas. We used to vacation there all the time. Not so much anymore. Too busy. Overbooked, actually. If my secretary wasn’t vicious about turning down ninety percent of the people coming at me daily, I’d bury myself in work. She’s like my Department of Defense.
“Have a good time,” I tell him, a little jealous of his current circumstances, and a lot annoyed he canceled the meeting and I agreed to attend the auction for him. “Wait, what kind of charity auction is it?”
“A hymen exhibit.”
I blink. Perhaps I heard him wrong. “Can you repeat that?”
Hudson winks, and the screen goes black. A hymen exhibit. What does that even mean? No sense in wondering about it when I’ll find out tonight. I pick up theBusiness Reviewand start my timer so it pings when I need to leave for the meeting. Time is king, and I’m never late.
2
The charity auction venue is a gentlemen’s club owned by the Italian mob boss who operates out of New York. Rumor has it, New York got too heated for him and the family, and they moved to Chicago to cool off and, undoubtedly, find partnerships with the locals, namely Nikola and Mikhail, the other two bosses I happened to know.
A club is an odd choice for a charity venue unless the articles are stolen. Have they stolen hymens? My fingertips tingle. I’d love owning something stolen or forbidden. A stolen hymen is definitely forbidden.
A short, stocky man with a receding hairline opens the door, cigar hanging from his mouth. He scans the street behind me and speaks between the puffs. “Name.”
“Blake Colbert.” It’s not my real last name. It’s the one I use at these types of events.
He shakes his head.
“My brother Hudson Colbert was on the list.”
“Yeah, but you’re not.”
I pull out a wad of cash.
He snatches the money with a smirk and opens the door. Fucking families. He would have let me in anyway. It’s just that I hate wasting time. I’d rather waste money I can make in the time given to me.
The second I enter and the door closes behind me, I clear my throat because the cigar smoke enveloping the room is threatening to choke me. A sea of outdated and plain ugly suits almost blinds me, and I’m thrilled with the potential clientele base around here. These guys need my new fashion line.
Most of the men I recognize, and most of the women I don’t, even if they’re much better dressed than the men. The ladies in cute baby-doll outfits are passing out drinks. A few ladies are already taken by the guys on the couches, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ll find an intact hymen within ten thousand miles of the Mafia bad boys.
I do find the small bar and take a seat on a stool, surprised to see one of the Serbs there serving drinks.
“Neven,” I greet the young mobster with dimples in his cheeks. “Surprised to see you here.”
He fixes his tie. It’s the same as mine. I nod in acknowledgment. He’s buying from my new clothing line, no doubt because a model I used to work with still pimps my stuff to all her associates. She’s a Russian mobster’s wife now and the Serbs and Russians are tight.
“Boss needs an ear in this place,” Neven says.
I nod again, understanding what he means. “I’m surprised Vinnie agreed.”
