Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Dominic Crane had one leg draped over the back of the couch, his eyes fixed on the ornate plaster moldings on the ceiling. Chopin played on his stereo.
His body was still, but his mind was working. Plotting, just as his enemies were plotting against him.
But it really sucked not being able to move. Not beyond the walls of this house, anyway. Seriously limited his options—both for business, and for fun.
His phone rang. It was his lawyer, Aaron Sandford. Dominic reached over to grab the device from the coffee table and answered.
“Yeah?”
“Dominic, how are you?”
Sandford pretended to kiss Dominic’s ass. But he knew the lawyer hated him. The feeling was mutual.
“You have news?” Dominic asked. “From Warren?”
“Not your brother, no. I’ve been assured he’s safe. But not so talkative lately, it seems.”
“Why is that?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
Originally, Sandford had worked for Dominic’s older brother. But Warren was in prison now, serving a sentence for tax evasion like a modern day Al Capone. Warren, at least, hadn’t written off Dominic altogether. If he had, then those attempts on his life probably would’ve been more successful.
But Dominic’s last message to his brother had gone unanswered. It was concerning. The two brothers had been trying to fortify their support to retake the family business. It didn’t seem to be going well.
In just the last week, Dominic’s few allies had stopped taking his calls. Which meant something new had changed. But what?
Sandford cleared his throat. “I just got a new offer from the district attorney’s office.
They’ve sweetened their plea deal considerably.
I’m obligated to let you know, even though I’m sure you won’t be interested.
But this is a positive sign. It means they’re willing to negotiate.
We can come up with a counter that would be more palatable. ”
Dominic looked down at the ankle monitor strapped to his left leg. The band of black plastic itched. His skin was getting pale and shriveled underneath it. He’d been wearing the thing for the last several months, ever since he’d been granted bail.
“What’s the offer?”
Sandford coughed again. Either he had a buildup of phlegm in his throat, or he really didn’t want to pass this on.
“They’re asking you to turn state’s evidence.
Inform on those you used to work with in the Syndicate.
Although, as usual, we deny there is any such organization as the ‘Silverlake Syndicate.’”
“Yeah, sure.” The “Syndicate” was a term for outsiders. To the Cranes, it was just the family business. A burden Dominic had never wanted, as if he’d had a choice in the matter.
But now, Dominic was technically an outsider, too.
“What’s the rest?” he asked.
“Well, in exchange for your testimony bringing down the so-called Syndicate, they’ll grant you full immunity and witness protection.
As I said, it’s not something you would ever consider.
But I’ll keep working on them. At the very least, I should be able to loosen some of the conditions they put on your bail.
Like the electronic monitoring and movement restrictions. ”
“You do that.” Dominic wasn’t allowed to go more than thirty feet from the perimeter of his house in West Oaks.
Hard to take back control of his life without the freedom to navigate.
To meet with the remaining captains who were loyal to him, demand to know why they’d gone silent.
And persuade—or threaten—the others into submission.
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” his lawyer said.
Dominic didn’t bother to say goodbye. He tossed his phone onto the table and put a hand over his eyes.
Rat out the Syndicate? Rat out his family?
The DA called him a criminal, and he’d definitely done bad things.
Cruel things. Violent things. But only to people who’d deserved it.
He drew the line at destroying the lives of innocents.
For that reason, certain of his former allies had betrayed him.
Called him weak. As if he didn’t have enough blood staining his hands that he sometimes thought he could still smell it.
In the power vacuum that had followed his ouster, half a dozen different factions within their group had begun warring for control.
His uncles headed some of those factions.
Not real Cranes—they’d married in—but still technically family, and feuding just as bitterly as the Medicis or Borgias ever did.
He didn’t even know who was in charge of the business at this point, if anyone was. It was a fucking disaster.
Dominic’s own mind was at war with itself, too. A secret part of him wanted to just wash his hands of the Syndicate, like he’d tried to wash away the blood.
But like it or not, the business had become his responsibility. His duty. Warren had told him growing up—there’s always someone worse.
That meant he was trapped with few options, just as surely as he was stuck within the confines of their West Oaks house.
Dominic’s fickle friends and lovers had deserted him. Most of his former business associates had betrayed him. Some were even trying to kill him.
But at least nobody could call him a traitor.
He forced himself to get up and leave the room. As he went down the hall, he could hear Maureen bustling in the kitchen.
She smiled as he padded across the tile. “Well, look who it is, up and at ’em. I was just about to bring lunch in to you.” Her soft southern accent brightened his day, as it always did. “I made you a smoked salmon and cucumber salad. I hope that’s up to your taste this fine afternoon?”
“Whatever you make is always my favorite. I really don’t deserve you.”
She mimed smacking the side of his head. “You’re in a mood today, I see.”
He gave her a sardonic smile.
Maureen had been working for him the last two years. He liked to think Maureen didn’t mind him so much. Perhaps even had affection for him. She certainly wasn’t intimidated by him.
He followed her out onto the balcony, which overlooked the ocean.
Dominic’s house was situated in the West Oaks hills, the toniest neighborhood in town.
This place had once been a second home for Dominic’s family.
They hailed from Los Angeles, and he’d spent many childhood weekends and summer days playing on the grounds here.
Maureen set down his lunch on the patio table, then went back to the kitchen to fetch her own. She gave him company at mealtimes, which he gratefully accepted.
She settled into the chair across from his. “So what’s on your agenda today, Mr. Crane?”
“Try to call Raymond. I’m getting worried about him.”
“Oh. Any specific reason?”
“Just haven’t spoken to him lately.” Dominic’s younger brother was a college student. Not part of the Syndicate, thank god. He was busy with school, and he’d been active online. But he hadn’t been answering his phone.
Combined with the resounding silence of his captains, and the fact that Dominic hadn’t heard from his eldest brother, Warren? Very concerning.
“I’m sure Raymond’s well. Must have a test coming up.” She took a bite of salmon. “Interested in a game of rummy later?”
Though Dominic had several video gaming consoles, Maureen preferred cards, and she’d taught him to play. Those old games were elegant, deceptively simple.
“Not today. But thanks.”
“Too busy contemplating the inevitable demise of everything in the universe?”
“You’ve got me.”
She giggled. “Then nothing too out of the ordinary, I suppose.”
Even before his arrest, when he used to host wild parties here that lasted for days—or when he came home with blood all over his suit—Maureen had never seemed shocked.
Instead, she quietly scheduled their cleaning service and looked at him with sad disapproval, like she might’ve expected better from him.
Even though no one had ever expected much better from him.
Certainly not his parents or the Syndicate captains.
“I would’ve thought you’d be dressed for our guests, though,” she said.
Dominic sat up straighter. “Guests?”
“That nice Max Bennett fellow called. He said they’d be here sometime today to install your new security system. That’ll be quite a relief, don’t you think?”
He slumped into his seat again. “Oh. That.”
The new security system had been Aaron Sandford’s idea. The lawyer had argued that the old alarm was installed on behalf of the Syndicate, which meant his current enemies could’ve had access to it in the past. It was a fair point.
Maureen had mentioned seeing cars with tinted windows driving past the house. No one had actively tried to kill him since he’d gotten out of jail, but Dominic preferred to be on the safe side, especially since Maureen could be at risk, too.
Through the open patio doors, they heard the doorbell ring.
Maureen set her silverware aside. “That must be them. It’s about time. I was starting to wonder. I can handle them, and you can take your lunch upstairs. I’ll let you know if they need anything.”
She always bossed him around like an overbearing grandmother. Usually, he liked it. Made him feel a little closer to human.
But he was too eager to see a different face, even if that face belonged to Max Bennett.
From the first moment they’d ever spoken, Dominic and Max had not gotten along.
Max was one of those people who considered him a bloodthirsty murderer, worse than dirt.
Yet recently, Max had begrudgingly expressed his gratitude for Dominic’s help with a sensitive matter.
Dominic even thought that he and Max were developing an understanding.
He followed Maureen to the front door, standing behind her as she opened it.
“Welcome,” the housekeeper said. “You folks must be from Bennett Security?”
Three people stood on the doorstep: a gigantic guy with an overgrown beard. A girl with large eyes who seemed to be around twelve.
And in the middle—like she was in charge—a petite woman in black jeans, a long black sweater, and combat boots.
“You’re not Max,” Dominic said, his gaze fixed on the woman in black.
She wore her strawberry-blond hair in a blunt bob. Chunky pink glasses dominated her face. She had her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and black tattoos peeked out along her arms. She was like a little rock ’n’ roll pixie.
“Astute observation.” The pixie’s eyes were down, as if she couldn’t be bothered to raise them. “Max told you he’d send his best. That would be me.” She really didn’t sound happy about it.
“Thanks for making the trip,” Dominic said, voice dripping in sarcasm.
She hummed noncommittally.
The huge guy tilted his chin in a lazy greeting. “You’re Crane, right? I’m Tanner. Here to keep an eye on things.”
“And I’m Priyanka,” the twelve-year-old squeaked. “I’m Sylvie’s assistant.”
So that was the pixie’s name? Sylvie?
Dominic stepped back to let them all inside. He was trying not to be offended that the women had brought a bodyguard along. Did Max honestly think they wouldn’t be safe around him?
Sylvie dumped her bag onto the ground. Tanner leaned against a wall, taking a peek at his phone. At least the bodyguard didn’t seem to expect Dominic to attack at any moment. A minor vote of confidence.
Dominic crossed his arms over his chest. “Will the install take long?”
“Shouldn’t.” Sylvie unzipped her bag, then stood. “Where did you…” Her blue eyes finally lifted to his.
And it was like an electric shock passed through her.
She’d frozen in place. Her full lips opened slightly. A pink flush spread in her cheeks.
Her eyes flicked downward, and Dominic didn’t miss the way her gaze lingered on his chest. His arms. Then lifted back to his face, her focus softening.
He knew that look. He’d seen it in plenty of other people before.
Sylvie was checking him out. Like, a lot.
Huh. She’d seemed annoyed to be here, but she was cute. And after months without any sex to speak of?
It wasn’t like he minded some female attention.
He put his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight, angling his head.
Dominic let his eyes rove over her right back.
She had a boyish figure, not many curves, at least none that were visible beneath her baggy sweater.
He wondered what other tattoos she had. She was intriguing, not the typical person he’d have expected to work for straight-laced Max Bennett. He wanted to know her story.
“Anything I can do to help, Sylvie?” Yeah, he was turning up the flirt. And he was rewarded when she sighed, gaze settling once again on his snug T-shirt.
This was turning into a straight-up eye fuck.
“Sylvie?” her assistant prompted. “What’s first?”
“Uh, right. Let’s see.” Sylvie’s voice had gone all high and funny. She gestured vaguely at the wall. “Should we do it right here by the door?”
Priyanka giggled.
Dominic tilted his head the other way, fighting a smile.
“I mean the panel.” Sylvie coughed. “The security panel.”
“Wherever you want it is fine by me,” Dominic said, leaning into the innuendo. He couldn’t resist teasing her.
Priyanka giggled again, and even Tanner snorted.
Come on, Sylvie. Don’t you want to laugh? A little?
But her expression shut down. “Do you want the panel by the door,” she snapped, “like the old one you’ve got here?”
He shrugged. “That works. You’re the expert.”
“Great,” she ground out, narrowing her eyes. “If only all my degenerate-murderer clients were so accommodating and helpful.”
Sylvie wasn’t eye-fucking him anymore. Her glare was more of a fuck you. Like she wanted him as far away from her as possible.
He couldn’t understand these mixed signals. Did this woman actively dislike him, even though she’d just been giving him a serious once over?
His mind repeated what she’d said.
Degenerate murderer?
He forced out a laugh, like he couldn’t care less what she thought. But he was quickly feeling that the joke was all on him.