Chapter 3
Three
JULIAN
“Why are you calling me at eight in the fucking morning?” I sit up in bed and scowl out the window to the backyard beyond.
“Why are you asleep this late?” Rome asks.
He’s one of my three best friends. The four of us run the underground of this city.
We’re known as the Kings of Vegas, but among the four of us, we’re simply brothers.
There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them, and vice versa.
We work well together, we help each other, and it’s been that way since we were teenagers.
“Because I didn’t get to sleep until about four hours ago.” I turn to the side of the bed and scratch my nails over my scalp. “What do you want?”
“Why is your son calling me, asking if he can have one of the apartments in my building?”
My eyes narrow. Rome owns Rapture and the high-rise building it’s housed in, just off the strip. Some of his staff lives in the apartments. Other apartments are used as luxury rentals for the members of the club that travel to Vegas to experience the opulent hedonism that it offers.
In other words, it’s fancy as fuck.
Of course my kid is asking to live there.
“I hope to Christ you told him no.”
“I don’t have any availability right now,” Rome replies. “But I could open something up if you want me to.”
“No. I kicked him out last night, and he needs to figure it out for himself. I told him to use his contacts, and I guess that’s what he’s doing, but this is still too close to home. Also, if he’s still in arrears in his membership dues, kick him out.”
Rome whistles in my ear. “The kid pissed you off.”
“He beat up his fiancé last night,” I reply, and I can just imagine Rome’s face on the other end of the line. Hard. Pissed. “Then he claimed that he owns her, so he can do whatever he wants to her.”
“Fuck.”
“He’s about to learn what being an adult is all about.”
“Good. It’s probably time for that, if I’m being honest.”
“I know.” I stand and pad into the bathroom to relieve myself.
“Are you pissing on the phone with me?”
“You’re the one who woke me up.” Another call beeps through, and checking the screen, I say, “I have to go. Sergei’s calling me.”
“Go piss in his ear,” Rome says before hanging up.
I flush and start to wash my hands as I answer Sergei’s call.
“Yes?”
“And good morning to you too.”
I roll my eyes and dry my hands. Looks like I’m up for the day.
“What can I do for you, Sergei?”
“Your son called me this morning.” Motherfucking shit. “He tells me that he’s now homeless, turned out by his own father.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business when he’s marrying my daughter. I won’t allow Natasha to be homeless the minute she marries your son, Julian. He also tells me,” he continues before I can reply, “that he was kicked out because of Natasha.”
“That’s not true,” I interrupt. “He fucked up, and now he gets to clean up his own messes. It had nothing at all to do with your daughter.”
“The wedding needs to happen in three days,” Sergei says. “And there had better be a decent home for my daughter to live in once they say ‘I do.’”
“Or what, Sergei?”
He’s quiet for a moment, but I continue.
“You’ll pull out of the agreement? Fine. Then you owe me a hundred and fifty million dollars.”
“The debt was one hundred million.”
“And if you pull out of the deal, I add on interest and fees for wasting my fucking time.”
He’s fuming on the other end.
“You’re the one with a fortune to lose.”
“And you’re the one who will have a war at his doorstep if you don’t take care of my daughter.”
“Elliott is the one marrying her, it’s his responsibility to care for her, but I’m telling you that she will be fine. If you don’t believe me, wire me the money and the deal is off, and we can go to war. You don’t scare me, Sergei.”
“Three days.”
“Why are you moving the timeline up?”
“Because I have business in two weeks, and I’ll be out of the country.”
He hangs up and I sigh, then dress in the usual black slacks and dress shirt and suit coat, and once I’ve fastened my Patek Philippe watch, I walk to the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee before I make my way to my office.
Thirty minutes later, Jack walks in, dressed the same as me, but with a white shirt rather than black, and sits across from me.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asks, eyeing me.
“Not much,” I admit. “Did you pay Johnny’s wife?”
“Yeah. She didn’t shed many tears. Sounds like he kicked her around a lot.”
I lean back in my chair. What the fuck is up with these assholes? My son included.
“Well, at least she’s taken care of now. Jack, we need to talk.”
He narrows his eyes and folds his hands over his lap.
This man has been by my side since we were kids.
A close friend to me since we were sixteen and he kicked my ass in a boxing ring.
He’s quiet. He’s fucking badass, and there’s no one I trust more to have my back.
This conversation is a long time coming.
“I was hoping that Elliott would get his shit together and become worthy of being my number two, but it’s plain to see that’s not going to happen.
You know this business inside and out. Shit, you grew up in it with me, and you’re the one person in my organization that I trust implicitly. You’re being promoted.”
His eyebrows climb. That’s a huge fucking display of emotion for this man. He’s more stoic than me, and that’s saying a lot. “I pretty much already do the job, boss.”
“And now you have the title to go with it, along with the pay raise.”
“I don’t need more money.” He’s also incredibly stubborn.
I tilt my head. “Are you passing up an additional five million a year?”
“Fuck no. I’m not stupid. I’m telling you that I’m your number two whether it’s official or not. I don’t need the title.” His face hasn’t softened at all, but his eyes hold emotion as he stares back at me.
This should have been his position from the beginning, and we both know it.
“And that’s why you’re my number two. Effective immediately. Now, we need to plan a wedding for three days from now.”
“I thought it was in two weeks.”
“The timeline has changed.”