“What was that?” I sit at my desk, set my drink down, and spin my luck on my Jacob & Co. Casino Tourbillon watch, following the ceramic ball flying around the pockets.
Most days, I go with one of six numbers that I prefer—or the colors that represent them. Two are black, the other four are red. But today, I focus on the green zero.
Without delving into complicated roulette rules, green is the outlier, the representation of the house edge. The other numbers all fall into categories—red or black, odd or even, high or low. Green stands alone. It’s a beacon to a newcomer and kryptonite to most. An all-in bet. High risk. High reward. Unlikely chances.
Which is precisely why my breath catches when the ball jumps to the emerald pocket, in utter contradiction to this conversation.
“There’s been speculation that you’re the new chair.” He pauses, and my stomach twists. I’ve only held a KORT seat for a couple of years. Very few know, which is for the best since I also run the world’s largest safe haven for the corrupt. Some would find it to be a conflict of interest. And that’s why the rest of his admission comes as no surprise. “There’s a new hit out on you.”
That’s to be expected. Hits on someone in a position like mine materialize often. There’s always a lot of meaningless chatter in the underworld. Posturing. It’s not a concern unless it’s ordered by a group that will ruthlessly follow through and picked up by someone with the skills to carry it out, without fear of retaliation from my members.
“What’s new?” I quip with a hefty dose of nonchalance, but we both know this is different, so I pose the question I’m not sure I want the answer to. “Only me?”
If it’s a KORT issue, there’s one person who would be the ultimate mark, causing a ripple of pain through three of the chairs. My sister, Rena, is too connected at this point. That family she’s now a part of has two KORT chairs in it. And I—the man who raised her since she was six, since our parents perished in a fire and I took guardianship of all my siblings—have another. If someone wanted to wreck KORT, she’s the way to do it.
“All of us, of course. But … yeah. She’s been mentioned. So, with the pictures …” He trails off, allowing me to surmise.
I swill my drink, contemplating outcomes. “And if the threats continue and your investigation turns up nothing?”
“We’re not there yet,” he protests, but theyethas my muscles clenched in rage.
“You can’t take her from us. She needs us, and we need her. And the babies …” If he wasn’t a dear friend who loved my sister, Ty, and their children, I’d be embarrassed by the desperation seeping into my tone, despite how gruff I attempt to deliver my demand. “You can’t.”
Ty and Rena have twins, who are nearly fifteen months and call me Papaw because she views me like a father and I treat her like a daughter. The thought of life without them is unbearable.
The emotions threading his reply mirror mine in fierceness and anguish. “I will do everything in my power to prevent that outcome, but more than that, they are my family now, so I will devote my life to protecting them. Let’s hope those two things don’t come into conflict.”
“Let’s hope.” I tap my finger on my glass, considering all the angles. “Am I safe to assume you’ll interrogate and neutralize anyone who meets certain markers, patterns of behavior, and has motivation at this point?”
“That is the plan,” he confirms. “We won’t be frivolous. We have a profile. We’re starting with independently wealthy—self-made billionaires or possibly millionaires—and assassins. Both have the means to taunt us, access to your services, and very little loyalty. We’re doubtful that a connected family is spearheading this.”
“Well, that narrows it down.” I finish my drink and push off my desk to head back out. “A bit. We have plenty of both.”
He senses that I’m done, so he cuts to the chase. “Do we have authorization to infiltrate La Lune Noire and deal with suspects as necessary? We’ll use the utmost discretion so there is no obvious breach of bylaws.”
Our bylaws prohibit attacks and retribution on property. It’s necessary to ensure we don’t devolve into anarchy. If a member initiates one single act of violence while here, the penalty is death, and they become a part of the La Lune Noire soil. It sounds harsh, but anything less would destroy the sanctuary. There are perks to being the one in charge though. I can change the rules.
“Do whatever it takes to keep her safe and here with us. I don’t care who you have to eliminate.” I swing open my door, traipsing through the penthouse, which houses the nostalgia of nearly two decades of a family I’ve poured my all into, and the fury at it being threatened slices through me, but I refuse to be rash. I got to where I am because I keep a cool head and respond strategically. “It’s probably best if I’m kept in the dark until you’ve got something concrete. Otherwise, I’ll end up taking matters into my own hands. And that would be bad for business.”
“Understood. Carry on as usual then. Let us tend to this.”
A few hours later, as I’m breezing through the halls, eager to make it upstairs for family dinner—which we have without fail three times a week—Bernard intercepts my path, wordlessly guiding me into an office within our security room.
After the conversation I had with Wells, I’m on high alert. “Did something happen?”
“You tell me,” he replies, pulling up live footage of a table at our Italian restaurant—Soirée Italienne. That eatery isn’t open to the public, so whatever he’s about to point out is concerning a member. He selects the camera he wants and taps the screen. “Thoughts?”
The first thought that assaults me when I survey the couple having dinner is that the woman is fucking stunning. Regal and glamorous with an understated elegance. The second one is a reprimand for ogling another man’s date, wife, partner. Someone who isn’t mine. I despise cheaters and refuse to be one, even in my head.
So, I pull myself back together. “That’s Beck Davis. Tech mogul. Good guy. Longtime member, but rarely here. Is there an issue?”
“Perhaps.” He’s disturbed about something, but Bernard has a wealth of insight, so I forgive his elusiveness and choose patience. He zeroes in on the woman. “What abouther?”
Maybe he’s as taken as I am, though I hope not. This woman couldn’t even be thirty, and Bernard is easily twice that, plus some. He’s been around since I was a kid. He helped Ryker—who is the next-oldest Noire sibling—and me raise the others after our parents died.
“Well, she’s indisputably gorgeous. Exquisite.” I gesture toward her, determined to remind him and myself to keep our heads on straight. “But young. Too young. And Beck’s guest.” She’s also too young for Beck, but I don’t say that. Slipping my glasses on and leaning in to examine every detail the screen unveils, I find myself even more enamored. “What color is her hair? It’s too dark to be considered auburn, but it isn’t brown. Or it is with a reddish tint—”
He clears his throat in an ahem-I’m-still-in-the-room manner, his brown eyes dancing. “I’d call it mahogany. Picturethat mane jet-black and the stature slightly shorter. A curvier figure.”
