Page 31 of Lord of Vice
And the bastard couldn’t care less that I carried a huge amount of power myself inside the city. Perhaps that was why Breck had ventured into my club instead of one owned by his father. I’d known there was no love lost between the father and son, as if it was any of my business. The kid had been in and out of jail and rehab more times than I could count.
All because his father hid behind his fancy digs and well-respected reputation while tormenting his own kid. Poor dumb son of a bitch.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” Dima asked, jarring me out of my moment of owning a conscience.
I folded my arms, watching Breck’s actions. I could swear it appeared he was under duress. “Have him brought to my office in five minutes. Contact our doctor to have the women looked at. If they aren’t staying at the hotel, arrange for a suite where they’ll be more comfortable.”
“Yes, sir.”
I moved toward the back door of the security room, which led to a private corridor leading to my sixth-floor office. The entire floor was used for the corporate business of every resort and the standalone restaurants we owned.
The businesses catering to our less than scrupulous activities, including the diamond trade industry, were handled at a separate location. The employees were entirely different, the level of security much higher at the other facility. For all practical purposes, the men and women who worked here believed me to be nothing more than a consummate businessman with a slightly heavy hand.
Little did they know there was more than one body buried in the concrete underneath the main building. I headed through the bank of glass doors, relishing the quiet. At this time of night, there was no one else on the floor. As I walked into my corner office, the location just high enough to see a good portion of the strip while also allowing me to pay closer attention to the exterior of the building, my thoughts returned to pretty Penny.
Hopefully soon, Konstantin would shed some light on who she was. Or if her story checked out.
I stood in front of the intersecting floor-to-ceiling windows in the corner, staring out at the myriad colorful lights. It wasn’t late but I was almost as exhausted as my guest had seemed. I stillcouldn’t get over the fact not one of my soldiers had determined the man approaching Giuseppe’s was out of place. It was as if I needed to retrain them. I took another sip of my drink, longing for a cigar.
Given smoking was a terrible habit, I rarely allowed myself to indulge in my favorite Cuban cigars, a gift from Miguel Mario Díaz-Canel y Bermúdez, the first secretary of the Cuban Communist party, the country’s most powerful man. That had been during my last trip to the lovely yet impoverished country six months before.
We’d become pseudo friends, enough that he allowed my diamond ships to take port, the men getting some R & R while the vessel was gassed up. I pulled out the cutter and my favorite stainless-steel lighter before selecting my favorite cigar. As I snipped the end, I heard commotion outside the door.
As the door was thrown open, Breck did his best to jerk free of the two bouncers, doing nothing more than stumbling over a piece of furniture, falling face first onto the floor.
“Ouch,” I said, Dima advancing to light the end of my cigar for me as I watched the man flailing as he attempted to get up from the floor. It would seem he was also drunk, which might help with the interrogation process.
The two soldiers finally helped him up.
“Let the fuck go of me. Do you know who I am?” Breck insisted and I couldn’t help but notice he had no intention of looking me in the eye. That was a testament to guilt.
But there was more. I was certain of it.
He’d known there was a chance of getting caught. No risk, no reward. Or was it something else entirely? Maybe he’d been brought in as a warning, knowing my tight security would eventually notice what he was up to.
“Sit him down,” I said after inhaling the first puff, holding it in my lungs. Cuban cigars were surprisingly sweet. I blew out a tight ring of smoke, savoring the fragrance as much as the taste.
“Fuck, no,” Breck hissed.
The soldiers yanked out a chair, plopping him down with a hard thud. I had to give the man some level of credit. He was dressed impeccably, his suit rivaling mine. I slipped the cutter into my pocket, studying his actions for a full minute before advancing. Only when I’d sat down on the edge of my desk did Breck dare to lift his head, his sheepish look somewhat surprising.
Why did I have a feeling he knew he was way in over his head?
“It would seem we have a problem, Breck, one that I was hoping you could help me with.” I remained casual, enjoying watching him squirm.
“I don’t have a problem other than your two goons attacked me and brought me up here. What the fuck do you want anyway and stay away from my ladies.”
“You mean the three women who are currently having their stomachs pumped as we speak?”
That got his attention. He jerked to the edge of his seat, ready to stand and would have if my soldiers hadn’t gripped his shoulders, pushing him back down.
“Wha… What did you say?”
While I loathed drug dealers of any type, this kid wasn’t solely responsible for providing drugs, merely thinking of them as party favors. Either that or he was a damn good liar, which could make sense. Some of the best dealers wore suits and ties, not leather and stomping boots. The sophisticated variety were the ones to be worried about.
“The little gray pills you brought in?”
“I’m sorry, man, they were just ecstasy.”