I’d usually go home. I built a mansion several years ago outside of the city. It’s become my sanctuary, but I’m not up for the thirty minute drive to get there tonight.
I have the penthouse for nights exactly like this.
But before I can leave my Porsche 911, the phone rings, and I recognize the number. With a sigh, I answer.
This will be about Elliott.
“Cillian, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Cillian O’Connor is the head of the Irish mob and owns a casino here in Vegas, but his business is primarily out of New Orleans. I have no beef with the man. He runs a good casino, cleans his own money there, and doesn’t interfere with my brothers and me in our city.
It’s been mutually beneficial.
But I have a bad feeling about this call.
“Julian,” he says smoothly. “I don’t like making this call and ruining your evening.”
Fuck.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“Your son has been gambling at the Four Leaf all week and has lost more than he can cover.”
I’m going to kill him.
“How much does he owe you, Cillian?”
“Just over a quarter of a million.”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter with a loud exhale.
“Quite,” he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I have no issue with you, Julian. Your son, however, has an addiction that’s starting to piss me off. So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to forgive this debt, and you’re going to keep your kid out of my place. Permanently.”
“Done. I’ll pay you, Cillian.”
“I don’t want your money. You and I are square. Just keep him out of the Four Leaf and out of New Orleans.”
“Done. Thank you.”
We hang up and I drag my hand down my face in agitation. This is the third call like this in the past month. I paid the other two debts, totaling almost half a million. Elliott is writing proverbial checks like he’s already in charge, and it’s going to get him killed.
He wasn’t always this reckless. This ...stupid. Elliott was a quiet boy, an excellent athlete, and I had high hopes for him inmy organization. But a couple of years ago, he started gambling and drinking way too fucking much.
He’s a liability. Not just to me personally but to our organization. To thefamily.
And I absolutely can’t fucking have that. I would kill anyone else for making me look weak.
I climb out of the car and nod at my security, who followed me home, and then ride the elevator up.
At the very least, maybe I should stop protecting my son from the consequences of his actions and let someone beat him to hell and back to teach him a lesson.
Pushing through the door, I can feel that I’m not alone, which isn’t a surprise. Elliott crashes here when he’s not in a casino or the club. The one rule in the past was that he not bring women here, but I don’t care if he stays. And now that he’s engaged to Natasha, I know that he’s brought her to the penthouse off and on, which doesn’t really bother me, either, except that I see her more than I’d like.
Not thinking about that.
Crack!
I scowl as I turn the corner and see my son slap his fiancée across the face, twice, sending her to the floor.
