I nod as he says it. The Carter family has made billions out of making crooked deals look respectable.
Raoul goes on, “It’s supposedly a commodities brokerage that converts precious metals into cryptocurrency – shit like Bitcoin and Ethereum. Once they wash it through the system, the funds are untraceable. Which wouldn’t be a problem if the precious metals in question weren’t my fucking ores!”
Dario gives a snort.
“What?” Raoul snaps.
“Nothing. Just this is the first time I’ve seen you get all precious about whores.”
I guess not all of us think it’s too soon for jokes.
“Fuck off. This isn’t the only little stunt he’s pulled. And it’s starting to get too close to home, Dario, so I wouldn’t be joking around so much if I was you. The Irish have been running money throughyourcasinos to wash it.”
My half-brother’s jaw clenches. I’m sure it’s no secret to him that this happens. Plenty of mobsters send runners into gambling houses to play low-risk games. Random guests who come in with a hundred grand or so, spend a few hours winning and losing just enough to turn the cash over. They’ll take a small hit to stay off the radar but walk out with a check that’s squeaky clean. I doubt Dario loses much sleep over it.
But that it’s Whitlock’s money? That probably bites his ass.
“Fucking nerve,” he says under his breath. “So, what’s your thinking?”
“I’d like to blow the motherfucker out of the water.” Raoul sets his jaw.
“And how do you propose to do that?” I ask. I have no doubt the pair discussed this before they got to me today. It’s why our conversation got off to such a heated start; Raoul got straight to the point by telling me he needed Whitlock out of the picture…and fast. Raoul’s a hothead and I’m pretty sure his plan doesn’t involve building a criminal case strong enough to get the guy locked up. I doubt Dario’s planning that either.
“We’ll keep trying your way,” Raoul reassures me…a little. “Dig up more dirt, find enough to put him away. But it this goes on, if it gets out of hand…we do it my way.”
“And what’s your way?”
“We track him down, bring my men in and take him out.”
“Just like that?” I cock my head.
“Just like that.” He leans back in his chair, an ankle over his knee. He steeples his fingers beneath his chin. There’s a cold rage to him that’s not typical of Raoul. Hothead, sure. Murderous, though? And more importantly…ready to take risks.
“What about Andy?” I scowl at him. “What if she’s there?”
“We get her out first. That’s on you. We make sure you have a window, and then you get the fuck out of there. Good enough?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Raoul splays his hands. “What do you think?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
Shit.
Chapter 12
Andy Carter
Irun a hand down the sleek satin that molds my curves. The crimson red fabric is embroidered with black and burgundy stitching, which is useful. It’ll hide the blood.
The woman at the boutique where I bought it described the dress as acheong som. The traditional Cantonese gown has been modernized, though. Short, capped sleeves lead to a mandarin collar that plunges down between my breasts to my ribcage. Slits up the sides are cut almost to my hipbone. And just as he asked, I’m not wearing underwear. For the second time today, I feel nausea swirling. This time it’s not because of a hangover. The thought of Mark touching me makes me sick to my stomach.
I pull in a breath and smooth a stray curl away from my cheek. My hair is piled high on top of my head with a pair of ornate chopsticks. As I enter the restaurant, where I’m scanned by a security guard, I resist the urge to touch them; the edges are razor-sharp and lethal. Instead, I curve crimson lips into a smile, and stroke the end of a long, dangling red earring.
I’m dressed to kill.
“Mr. Whitlock’s table, please,” I murmur to the maître d’. The man is dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He nods and leads me into the restaurant. The interior is entirely black, from the walls to the carpet and all the furnishings, aside from dozens of lights that hang like Chinese sky lanterns overhead. Even though the place is full, conversations are muted. But I’m still aware of a hush descending as I follow the man through the restaurant.
