Perhaps because I’d forsaken the party scene years before, other than working the family club as required. Indulgence was a showstopper, a dance club catering to the rich and famous while offering a glitzy environment reeking of sin.
That usually meant I was kept busy handling the typical riffraff determined to destroy our customers’ fun-filled evenings. I was damn good at doing so, whether using brutality or coercion. It all depended on the person’s attitude and my mood at the time.
While the youngest brother of the Prince family, I was feeling my age. Especially this morning. Hot sex could do that to a man. Damn it. There I went again thinking about the girl who’d made it perfectly clear she didn’t want to see me again.
In truth, the aches and pains could be for an entirely different set of reasons. Maybe the various acts of brutality during the last few months had finally begun to take a toll. We were the most powerful, influential, and profitable crime syndicate in the South, parlaying our early fortunes of drug and arms deals into land development and property ownership.
At the rate of our expansions, we’d own half the Southeast soon. We’d just proctored a sale of a resort in Miami of all places. Meanwhile, I had my hands full here.
And yet I was still bored to death half the time.
My brother, the glorious leader of the mafia had teased that I needed to settle down.
My sister had often told me I needed a hobby.
What was needed at the moment was mixing up how I did business. There was nothing wrong with keeping our enemies guessing. And we’d had our share over the last few years.
Just when you thought our move into more corporate, legal operations would curtail acts of violence, the Sicilians came along. Then the Bratva from not one but two cities. There was nothing worse than dealing with Russian pigs.
In my personal point of view.
What I could usually count on was every business day being the same. I’d start with time in the gym followed by stopping by our bistro underneath the club for a cup of java. Then I’d do the rounds of our offsite warehouses where we kept everything from our liquor, cigar, and food deliveries to what few illegal drugs and weapons we continued to profit from.
The old way, as my father had wanted it before his untimely murder only two years before. With additional security installed, and more training added to the routine for our soldiers and other employees, we were a tight organization rarely infiltrated by nuisance issues.
A single phone call had offered a change in the routine.
Wait a minute. What the hell had last night been?
I was also shocked Emmeline hadn’t called me, using her special methods of interrogation to find out every detail of whether I’d been a good boy. You bet I’d been. I couldn’t help but grin. The quick shower had done little to remove Aphrodite’s scent.
Now it was time to see if Donatello’s informants had been blowing smoke. Why did I have the distinct feeling that the day was about to become very interesting?
As I got off the Harley, I studied the warehouse. Nothing about the men who worked for me surprised me any longer. Over the years, they’d been highly trained, skilled in various applications including web design, computer science, economics, marketing, advertising, and every pharmaceutical skill along with the regular skills of military expertise and warfare required to run a mafia corporation of our size.
Today, the grins on their faces amused the hell out of me. And why? Because they’d captured several bandits who’d tried to get one over on us. Yep. Drugs being Donatello’s pet peeve had honed his instincts.
I used the term bandits because no decent rival crime syndicate would dare allow their men to try to infiltrate property owned by the Prince family dressed in cowboy attire. Complete with handkerchiefs to cover their faces.
The material had been pulled down and they’d been handcuffed with zip ties. All peering at me in a way that allowed me to know they realized I had their lives in my hands.
My fucking God. I thought I’d seen it all in my thirty-four years of being on the planet. I guess I was wrong.
What the fuck did they think they were doing, auditioning for the position of cowboy in the Village People?
Donatello had called with the morning news, my breakfast with two shots of expresso the brew of choice. He’d had me laughing so hard I’d burned my mouth. Now he stood with a smile on his face, waiting for my arrival.
Thankfully, his instincts had been spot on. Except for maybe this time.
I ripped off my helmet, taking my time doing so. If it wasn’t eight-thirty in the morning, I’d pull out a stogie, light it up, and enjoy a tall bourbon before dealing with this. At least I’d have a story to tell for the family meeting.
Instead of preparing inventory, today I was getting information out of horse whisperers. Maybe it would be a good day after all.
After adjusting my suit jacket, I headed toward my Capo. We’d been best friends since we were four years old and I’d smacked him upside the head with a softball bat. He’d tried beating me to a pulp and we’d been best buds ever since. He was the one Italian I tolerated, his heritage something I often taunted him about. The man was as charming and debonair as he was brutal.
A dangerous combination and perfect for the Prince family business.
Naturally, when he was uncertain what career to choose, I’d pushed him toward a life of crime. Glorified crime at the time that had made him into a millionaire. There was no one else I trusted more than the man standing a few feet away wearing an impish grin.
