My ears perk up as I stand up from my chair. “Where is he? Does he know where Luka is?”
Dom simply stares at me, and I know I won’t like whatever comes out of his mouth next. “He didn’t know where Luka is.” He scratches the back of his head.
“Didn’t?”
“He’s dead.”
My fist slams into my desk sooner than I can stop it. “Jebemu mater. Why the fuck is he dead?”
“I guess Ivan got overzealous in his interrogation tactics.”
I point my finger at him. “He should fucking know better.” Grabbing my phone from the desk, I slip it into my pocket. “Tell him to meet me here once I get back.”
He dips his head and follows me out of the office. I eat up the long, dark hallway with long strides and enter the elevator, Dom right behind me.
How did Father deal with all this? I was by his side, learning the ropes of the job, but he made it seem effortless. People flocked to him. They trusted him. He also didn’t own a casino franchise on top of leading the family business, which, I guess, made things simpler.
“When is Johnny coming back?” I ask. Johnny is my casino manager. He has been on the West Coast for a month now, overseeing my other casinos.
“He should be back this weekend.”
“Good.” At least I won’t have to deal with the casino side of things anymore. I have enough things on my plate already.
Dominik drives the car, while I check the hundreds of texts and emails I missed out on. Most of them aren’t urgent, but everyone acts like they are. At one point, I stop reading, and focus on opening them to lower the little number next to my app icon. I’ve always been a multitasker. An organizer. But owning eight casinos, and leading a mafia family currently at war, seems to be my limit.
Especially when I’m forced to do these menial tasks my brother typically did. Fuck, he’d be happy to hear my thoughts now.
When our father died, I took over the family business as the leader. Luka took any chance he could to let me know I couldn’t do this without him, and I guess he was right.
I rub my eyes, working on three hours of sleep. After lastnight, I should’ve slept like the dead. But I wasn’t so lucky. Instead, I tossed and turned in my king-size bed, thinking about the woman who couldn’t run away faster than she did.
It’s unusual, really. Women typically linger as long as they can. It’s why I don’t have sex at my place, ever. I don’t want them coming back with a basket of cookies, or whatever the hell they do to make you fall in love with them.
Last night, though, there was no time to find a better place. To get a room at a hotel. That would have simply taken too long, and I needed to have her as soon as possible.
It’s probably the burnout I’m feeling that made me so desperate. Letting my dick lead the way is not something I typically do. But damn, he did a good job of choosing. He twitches in my pants, as if agreeing, but Dom parks the car in front of an abandoned warehouse.
This. This is why I hate drop-offs. While Luka prefers his combat boots, my Luis Vuitton shoes are not made for the ruined concrete floors.
Dom enters first. His right hand is holding his gun up high, while his left drags a bag full of money. The stale scent of urine permeates the room. He lowers his weapon, so I relax, taking in my surroundings. Mold in the corners, wet spots on the walls, a metal staircase that is a tetanus cesspool.How nice.
My lips flatten as my eyes trail toward the man standing in the middle of the room. A head shorter than me, he lifts his chin up as if it’ll help his case.
“Leon,” he says, and the three men surrounding him pull back half a step.
“Ben,” I respond, making him wince. He prefers to be called by his last name, Russell, but I’m not his fucking fairy godmother.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks.
“Luka is otherwise occupied.” My words don’t leave room for extra questions.
“Of course, of course.” He steps to the side, revealing a largecrate behind him. “Here is the merch.” He gestures his hand out like a magician’s assistant, and my eyes suppress a roll.
I nod to Dominik, who approaches the crate, sneaks a peek inside and closes it. He grabs one side of the crate, dropping the bag with the money, and eyes me with intention.
“Need a hand?”
He grunts, and I grab the other side.
