“You were right. You got trouble brewing. Rocco Luciano is spouting off shit about taking over your empire. He’s finally seeking revenge for his father’s murder. That’s what I heard from two sources anyway. I did confirm he’d be in town from Chicago.”
Rocco Luciano. Son of Carmine Luciano, one of the men I’d assassinated for my father. While my father had assured me that the Luciano family would be decimated, and they had been, I’d known better. Rocco had been a classmate of sorts, running with an entirely different crowd. He’d been no threat to me then, the gangly kid nothing but a computer nerd. I’d paid him little mind after taking over my father’s organization, absorbing a good portion of the Luciano fortune as well. I should have learned that enemies never sleep, they just lie in wait.
“Has he made any moves?” I asked. What I knew about Rocco was that he took his time, just like he’d done when he took over Chicago. I’d considered his sudden move to another city cowardly. Then he’d gathered enough forces to take over almost half of Chicago. I had to give the scrawny nerd credit. He’d become a force to be reckoned with, but he would not take down my city.
“No. I made certain your father knew. He’s got round the clock security,” Steven said. “He’s just waiting to see what you’re going to do.”
Of course he was. My father always looked for an excuse to hold something over my head.
“Good. Am I to assume the situation involving my death remains a secret?”
When Steven hesitated, I snarled.
“Yeah, but we got people demanding to see your body, including a pesky detective. I just hope no one looks too closely at the photos I doctored.”
“Make certain and keep tabs on Rocco. I want to know where he is at all times. If you hear one word that my secret has leaked, contact me immediately. Is that understood?”
“Don’t worry, boss.”
As I ended the call, the sick realization that I’d been blindsided pissed me off. While I doubted the bastard would dare make a move on the island, this wasn’t the location to hold a standoff.
The only question that remained was whether the lovely Dahlia had been coerced by Rocco. He’d certainly changed over the years, but was her performance just that? It was time to find out.
I’d acted like some lovesick fool, ignoring the training I’d received from my father as well as during certain classes at the university. I laughed softly to myself, wondering what my father would say at my childish behavior. I had no doubt in my mind Rocco had one of his men fire the shot at Daniel.
This was an act of retaliation. But the question remained, was this about Carmine Luciano or Garrison? Or maybe it was about both.
That made keeping Dahlia that much more desirable. I envisioned her in a beautiful gilded cage, waiting for our arrival. I knew my thoughts were sick, but I already felt like she belonged to us and always had.
Daniel’s gruff voice drew my attention.
I stood staring at my almost straight and narrow friend as he headed to the deck to take a phone call. He’d been the one least likely to succeed out of all of us, a kid with a complex from day one after being forced into a situation where eighteen- to twenty-five-year-olds were nothing more than animals, spawns of mobsters and cartels, hackers and assassins. His daddy was considered the lowest of the low, even beneath the kids of politicians. His father had been a police commissioner, one so highly respected the man had to squeak every time he walked. The men who ran the university must have had a sense of humor to allow kids from those families to walk the hallowed halls.
The first day Daniel had arrived on campus, four kids had beaten the scrawny eyeglass-wearing patsy to a bloody pulp. There’d been no reason for me to help the kid, but for the first time in my life, I’d felt some odd sense of compassion. I’d dragged his limp body off the sidewalk and given those four bullies the kind of lesson that to this day hadn’t been forgotten.
One of them likely never regained use of his arm. I hadn’t given a shit about him or anybody else at the time. That hadn’t changed much, except I did give a damn about the two men standing in my presence. I’d never told them that. I’d been taught that you never acted like you gave two fucks about anything or that would be showing weakness. That had been lesson one after a student’s arrival at the university. Lesson two? That you needed to watch your back at all times and that no one was your friend. But that wasn’t entirely true. I’d die for these two men.
Seeing Daniel after all these years had brought up far too many memories, most of them as twisted as the man I’d become. At least he’d changed for the better. While it was obvious that he’d kept some of what I’d taught him in the back of his mind, including how to survive, he’d honed his skills to near perfection, fighting crime with the same vigor I’d used to suit my needs and pad my bank account. In my mind, he was even more powerful.
Hissing, I looked away, gulping half the glass of scotch. I ached inside, burning with need. For her. For the woman who had no real identity.
For the liar.
Yes, for the woman who wore her agony in her eyes. I wasn’t immune to her sadness. I’d just chosen not to care.
But that had failed too. I ached for her, needed her. I didn’t give a shit about the rhyme or reason. Nothing mattered but being with her. There was no doubt both Daniel and Brogan felt the same. Rocco Luciano would not take her from us. Us. I’d used the word again. I tried to laugh, but I remained enraged from learning the news.
There were still far too many things bothering me.
I continued to sort through my memories, trying to determine why she seemed so familiar, but I’d shoved aside so many people in my jaded life that she could be anyone.
Except she wasn’t.
She was special. Just thinking about her made my skin tingle and the rush of emotions something I’d only felt once before. Seeing her wrapped in a towel and nothing else had almost broken me. I adored Dahlia, her spirit as well as her body. I wanted to become the man she needed, but every time I thought about how I could change in order to do so, my thoughts drifted to the only other woman I’d almost fallen in love with. Almost. I hadn’t had the capability of understanding, let alone showing, love so young. Was I any different now? The jury was out.
I’d never admitted to anyone how much I’d cared about Emily. Breaking her had been a requirement of the powerful club, molding her into what I thought she should become a necessity. But I’d been wrong.
Finding her happy in a new life had brought another wave of jealousy that had almost derailed me, but I’d left her alone. I had to. Then I’d realized what we’d shared years before had been nothing more than a fantasy. Four powerful men indulging in a single woman.
