23. Silver Dollar Sam
Chapter twenty-three
Silver Dollar Sam
Kazimir
The sleek silhouette of the Silver Specter Inn rose before us, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.
Emily had managed to slip my shirt back on. The fabric hung big and loose over her curvy frame. Meanwhile, she tied Maxwell’s jacket around her waist.
I couldn’t help but steal glances at her, noting the way the moonlight danced across her face.
Behind us, the convoy of SUVs came to a halt and vomited my men out. Maxwell, Tisha, and the others all wore their exhaustion like a second skin.
I exited the car. Gravel crunched softly under my feet.
I held the door for Emily and offered her my hand.
She climbed out, her bare feet barely touching the ground before I scooped her into my arms.
A soft protest escaped her, her body tensing as she sought to assert her independence, even in such a small way.
“Stop it.” Although I kept my voice gentle, it was a clear command. “You have been through a lot, and you are barefoot.”
She looked up at me, and those eyes held defiance.
“Just enjoy the ride, mysh .”
With a sigh, she relented and leaned her head against my shoulder.
My mouse’s surrender was always a gift.
I moved forward, carrying her towards the inn. Her warmth seeped into my bones.
We stepped inside and I finally got a chance to really scan the place. The other times I’d come here tonight, I had been in a rush.
Even at this late hour, the murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air, mixing with the rich scent of polished wood and aged whiskey. The plush carpet underfoot and the gleam of gold fixtures added a tactile richness to our entrance, enveloping us in the inn’s lavish embrace.
She scanned the space too—the plush carpet and gold fixtures.
The first thing that struck me about the inn was its perfect attempt at encapsulating the lifeblood of New Orleans.
Jazz.
Gold framed portraits of legendary musicians graced the walls, their expressions capturing the soul and passion of their craft. Where there were not images of jazz legends, large cases hung filled with vintage saxophones, trumpets, and trombones. Not just decoration but a homage to the city’s great musical heritage.
The inn provided an upscale restaurant along with two bars, all constructed to allure tourists with deep pockets and a penchant for the city’s darker tales.
I smiled. “King David told me the history of this place.”
Emily quirked her brows.
“The hotel is connected to the New Orleans Mafia from long ago, specifically to Silvestro Carollo, known as Silver Dollar Sam .”
Tons of my men flanked me.
I gazed down at her. “Have you ever heard of Silver Dollar Sam?”
She shook her head.
“Surely the US has more important gangsters than him.” I took us toward the elevators. “Regardless, in the 19th century, Silver Dollar Sam’s rise to power had been marked by cunning brutality.”
Emily watched me.
“According to King David, Silver Dollar Sam had acquired the property in a lavish gesture for his secret mistress.”
Emily frowned, probably not liking that he was cheating.
“The hotel was their sanctuary, hidden from the prying eyes of his wife.”
She raised her hand and pointed at my head.
“What?”
Then, she formed her hand into a gun.
A dark chuckle left me. I gently touched her hand, smoothing her fingers back out. “I would never cheat on you.”
Satisfied, she laid her head back down on my shoulder.
“Their tale took a dark turn when Sam discovered that she had fallen for his brother.”
Emily snickered.
One of my men pushed the button for the elevator.
“What occurred next was a night of violence. Sam—consumed by betrayal and rage—murdered his lover and brother.”
The elevator doors opened.
I carried her on.
Several of my men followed.
The rest remained there to wait on the next ride up.
As the doors of the elevator slid shut, I continued, “After that, Sam went mad, and his empire crumbled.”
Emily formed her lips into a smile.
“Yet, the most chilling aspect of it all was that modern day guests have claimed that the ghosts of the secret lover and Sam’s brother haunt the hotel’s halls.”
A few of my men stirred in front of me.
The elevator rose.
“Due to the ghost rumors, King David actually checked with Baba on whether he should book this place.” I set my view on the closed doors. “She approved of the inn.”
However, King David’s decision to book this place had nothing to do with its gangster history or elaborate opulence.
Perched atop the inn like a crown, a large landing pad sat with three of my helicopters, awaiting my orders. That offered more than just convenience—it promised a swift escape should the need arise.
Then, there were the secret VIP tunnel exits under the inn. Silver Dollar Sam never wanted anyone to know when he entered or left this place. Therefore, his people created passages for clandestine movements and quick disappearances.
Should potential threats ever darken our doorstep, I could whisk Emily and my boys away either through the hidden corridors or the helipad.
Nothing could happen to my family.
The elevator jerked with a soft, mechanical hum and then stopped at the top floor.
The doors parted slowly, revealing a plush, dimly lit corridor that seemed to extend towards infinity.
With their guns out, my men filed away dutifully like shadowy silhouettes against the soft radiance of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Their footsteps echoed along the polished marble floors.
Ignoring them, I murmured softly into Emily’s ear, “I enjoyed your pussy in the car.”
She smirked.
“Once you get your voice back, we will have to try that again.”
Lust pulsed through me. I’d just had that sweet pussy bouncing on my cock less than an hour ago, and still I yearned for more.
I could never get bored of my mouse.
When we got to our suite at the end of the hallway, I let Emily slide down gently onto her feet but kept my arm wrapped protectively around her waist.
I pulled out the old brass skeleton key and opened the door. “If you do not like this suite, let me know. We will move to another in the morning.”
She nodded.
The suite’s door swung open with a soft click, revealing an elegant interior.
Opulence wasn’t a stranger to me, but the grandeur of this three-bedroom suite was a sight to behold. It had lofty ivory-colored ceilings, embellished with detailed swirling moldings. Velvet turquoise sofas and mahogany tables greeted my eyes. The rest of the décor represented artisanal furnishings that ran in deep, seductive red hues, bellowing the vibrant spirit of a jazz club at the peak of the Roaring Twenties.
The expansive windows offered sweeping views of the animated French Quarter below.
All whispered of a lavishness that could captivate even a seasoned traveler like myself.
I walked down a long hallway, losing myself in the charming vintage birdcages and more floor-to-ceiling windows, framed by sumptuous fabrics.
Emily remained in the living room as I headed to the back and did a quick check on the kids.
Paolo and Emilio slept in their rooms with nannies near and guards posted on the outside of their doors.
I grinned with pure joy.
My cubs.
Their childhood would be vastly different from mine.
Many times, I’d shared the bed with Valentina, Pavel, Tisha, and other cousins who had been dropped off due to their parents rushing out in the night to steal. It had been a small, cold room with thin walls that barely kept out the freeze of Siberia—cracked windows, critters crawling, and a mattress on the floor.
Tonight, Paolo lay in a king-sized bed in a room that was a sanctuary of design cloaked in the most exquisite linens.
Art adorned his walls, showing tranquil views of the Mississippi River.
Perfect.
I nodded at my son’s guards, and went into Emily and my lavish bedroom, and assessed our huge bathroom. It was an enclave of marble and gold with a freestanding bathtub for at least five people.
I pictured my mouse and I lounging among bubbles with glasses of fine bourbon.
Perhaps we could stay here for another night. . .just to enjoy ourselves.
I returned to the living room.
Emily hugged herself and stood in the center of the massive space.
I watched her, noting the way her eyes took in the surroundings—the slight tilt of her head as she absorbed the details, the subtle relaxation of her shoulders at the suite’s warmth.
Then, something else caught my attention.
“Hmmm.” I walked deeper into the living room. “This was not here when I came into the suite earlier.”
Emily followed me over.
Against the far wall of the living room, bathed in chandelier light, stood a large canvas on an easel. A huge selection of paints and brushes sat on a nearby table, arranged neatly around the easel in a rainbow of colors, ready to bring the canvas to life.
A note lay next to the brushes.
I picked it up and read the words out loud, “Emily, I love you dearly. Tonight, paint it all out. Sincerely, Baba.”
Emily went over to the canvas and stood in front of it.
I set the note down. “Delphine said you should not eat, but would you like some tea?”
Still staring at the canvas’s vast whiteness, she nodded.
I went over to the suite’s opened door and gestured to one of my men. “Have the hotel bring tea up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Right when I was going to close the door, I spotted Tisha in the hallway, heading my way.
Ever since we were kids, he had this nervous gesture of tapping his hand on his right hip over and over as if he was trying to summon some hidden strength.
What is wrong now?
I stepped out into the hallway to meet him.
When he got to me, he frowned. “Our people. The ones that were assigned to clean up the bodies at the Alligator Don’s compound. . .”
“What about them?”
“They were attacked by Cartel.”
“I brought the best. Please tell me they succeeded.”
“They did. All forty of the Cartel members are dead.” Tisha kept his voice low. “However, many said that the attackers were highly skilled. Snipers. A couple had grenades.”
“They were not just merely stopping by to pay a visit.”
Tisha nodded. “They knew something had occurred and came armed.”
“And fast which means the Cartel already has people and weapons in New Orleans.”
Tisha bobbed his head. “I have Misha’s people searching for their location. My men are on it too.”
“No one sleeps until it is found.” I considered the dead Cartel members. “What are they doing with the corpses?”
“Burning the bodies along with the Alligator’s dead men.”
“No.” I sneered. “Return them to the Cartel with a message, ‘Stand back, and do not fuck with the Lion.’”
“The problem is that I don’t know which Cartel backed the Alligator Don—”
“Then, you still have a busy evening.” I left him there with his mouth open and entered the suite.