Chapter 7
MAX
Loretta appears in my doorway, a storm cloud in sensible shoes. “You have a client on hold,” she blurts. “Sounds high society. Very determined. She wouldn’t tell me her last name.”
Hell. That’s never a good sign. “I’m not taking new consults today, Loretta.”
“Don’t test me this morning, Max. Or I’ll pop off like a can of biscuits. I’m already plumb worn out from trying to wrangle Bauer, Yamila, and some new guy in the mailroom. It’d be easier trying to get a litter of kittens to walk in a straight line.”
She’s not wrong.
“Just talk to her. She says it’s urgent.”
“They all say that.” I bark.
Loretta arches one perfectly groomed brow. “She also said she’s been told you can help her with a delicate situation.”
My jaw tightens. This could mean practically anything. But the way she phrased that statement has caused my curiosity and paranoia to play tug of war. “Put her through.”
The woman’s smooth, sophisticated voice pours through the receiver. It’s the kind that’s used to being taken seriously. “My husband has been cheating on me for some time,” she says without preamble. “I need you to access his email, social media, phone records. Follow him if nec—”
“No!” I don’t let her finish.
There’s a pause. Then a small, incredulous laugh. “I have it on good authority that if anyone can catch this despicable asshole, it’s you.”
I close my eyes, trying to rein in my annoyance. How had this socialite gotten through to my direct line? “Let me be clear. I’m not a private investigator. And I don’t hack into personal accounts for divorce leverage.”
She talks over me. “This isn’t about alimony.”
Sure it isn’t.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. I’m not interested in becoming a hotline for rich women trying to take their husbands to the cleaners.
Then her voice drops, her words sending red hot rage through my veins. “He’s abusing girls.”
My fingers still on the desk.
“Teenage girls. I don’t know the specifics, but I found pictures.
These aren’t some online photos. I recognize his hands, his shoes…
I can tell he’s there with them.” Her voice breaks, and I sit up taller in my chair.
“This isn’t about revenge. It’s about stopping him.
Before one more child gets hurt. And teenagers or not, it seems evident to me, these girls are still children. ”
Heat floods my face. I pull at my collar, suddenly unable to breathe. “You’re making a serious accusation.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
Silence stretches between us.
I decide to end the call before I can say something that would put me, my company, or her in danger. “Someone will be in touch.” I disconnect the call. There’s no need to ask for her contact information. I’ll do a deep dive into our company phone records, and hers, tomorrow.
I stare at my screen, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. Once upon a time, hacking was a party trick. A way to help my friends. Fix their love lives. Play the part of a digital magician.
Then it slowly morphed into a way to offer protection.
Monitoring the dark web to protect Gianni and his cousins, Luca and Matteo.
Keeping tabs on the monster their crime boss father had become once they walked away from the family organization.
Okay, so he was always a monster. But his venom was focused outside of his own family until they made it clear they wanted nothing more to do with him.
Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself I was still the good guy. That I needed to step up to help. It was a matter of justice. But I built a billion-dollar security company while quietly putting it all at risk for my own sick need for retribution. And now this.
Teenage girls.
I rub a hand over my jaw, trying to convince myself to let this go. But it’s useless. I know there’s nothing I can do or say to talk myself out of going after this man.
My mind wanders to that carefree summer two years ago. Familiar giggles filling the air as we race each other on jet skis, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind. My chest tightens. If only I’d known then…
I quickly redirect my thoughts before they spiral out of control. One way or another, I’m finding out if this woman is telling the truth.
And if she is, this bastard is finished.
I check my watch:
3:00 p.m.
I need a drink. Or five. Maybe the whole damn bottle.
If I leave now, I can shower, change, and arrange to take my private jet to the club. Maybe convince Gianni to have a quick scotch before the Angels and Sinners event begins. He’s the only person I trust with decisions that live in the gray. Him and his head of security, Anthony.
I grab my jacket and head for the door. If I’m going to drown this thought for a few hours, it might as well be somewhere loud, decadent, and full of distractions. Tomorrow, I’ll decide how deep I’m willing to go.
Lies. More lies I tell myself, hoping I’m delusional enough to think I still have a choice in this. Because I already know. I decided to cross this line the second that woman said teenage girls.
The Devil’s Playground shouldn’t be relaxing.
The place is fraught with temptation at every turn.
But, for me, it’s never been a place for endless one-offs with beautiful women or debauchery as it is for many of my peers.
This swanky club is merely a safe space to hang with my friends.
Where there’s total anonymity and security at every turn.
The place is buzzing with energy. Gianni holds a large, exuberant party whenever he introduces new women into the mix. And tonight has already proven to be one for the record books, with a bevy of women roaming the floors, dressed to impress.
I was able to meet G for a drink on the second floor before joining the rest of the guys in our usual VIP section. I’m actually amazed he was able to get away with all of the moving parts required for a party of this size. But then again, he has this place managed like a well-oiled machine.
As we descend the winding staircase to the main floor, I manage to catch Ben Banks and his new wife at the entrance to the VIP section.
“If it isn’t the lovely Mrs. Banks,” Gianni greets.
Her eyes sparkle in response. I’m not sure if it’s at Gianni’s use of her new title, Mrs. Banks, or if it’s him.
Hell, I may be as straight as a ruler, but this man is hot enough to need a public safety warning.
He’s dressed in one of his favorite bespoke three-piece black Armani suits, his smile bright, and eyes twinkling with unbridled flirtation. The man just can’t help himself.
Ben gives my shoulder a firm slap before extending his hand to shake. “Looking good, Mr. Wilde.”
I run my palms down the lapels of my suit.
“Thank you. Not too shabby yourself.” Tonight I chose a crisp white shirt and black tie, which I paired with my dark gray Tom Ford dinner suit.
I even traded my glasses for contacts for the night.
It’s far from my usual attire of casual business wear.
Hell, most days, I blend in with the crowd instead of looking like the billionaire cybersecurity CEO I am.
“Had to dig this old thing out of the back of the closet.” Ben snorts.
It’s customary to dress up for these events.
Hell, it’s how G’s Billionaire Boys Club finally came together.
As each new uber rich member joined, Gianni personally extended an invitation to contact him with any concerns.
It was during these private meetings he formed a friendship with each of us, eventually obtaining permission to introduce one to another.
Privacy is paramount in this setting.
For everyone.
But particularly for men of this degree of wealth. They spend enough time in the press. They don’t need their personal lives shared with the world.
Yet, not all members are here for depravity.
The exclusivity and security of the club are as appealing as the variety of entertainment inside the building.
Gianni shared recently that there had been an increased number of women applying to become members.
“They want to enjoy the same atmosphere as their male counterparts, both to meet like-minded individuals as well as to have the chance to experience new things in a safe environment,” he’d said.
And many of the men bring their girlfriends and wives.
As if on cue, Dr. Weston arrives with his stunning wife. And trust me, that man only has eyes for her. “Gentlemen,” he greets. “You all know Poppy.”
We all nod, and she returns a dazzling smile.
This blue-eyed blonde has this billionaire surgeon wrapped around her little finger.
From what I recall, he was all about the job until she arrived on the scene.
Not sure what type of magic she possesses, but I’m staying far far away from any of that kind of voodoo.
“Your drinks, sir.” A pretty young server deposits two flutes of champagne on the table before Ben and Grace, all the while her eyes are trained on her boss. I believe her name is Lala, if I remember correctly.
“Gentlemen, what would the rest of you like from the bar? Lala, could you help my friends with their first drink of the evening?” Gianni asks.
Oh, I was right.
Lala beams. But this isn’t merely the look of a devoted assistant. I worry this girl has stars in her eyes. And I’m not certain G has any intention of dating seriously, much less someone who works alongside him in his club.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
I pull my phone from my pocket and look at the screen.
“Excuse me for a moment. Frank’s here.” I head toward the front entrance to collect my friend.
While Ben and Broadie bring their wives to enjoy the evening, my plus one is a loud spray tanned guy from Jersey who spent most of his teens and early twenties at the shore.