Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Adrian
S aints and Sinners has a neon sign in the entrance boasting Sinners Welcome. I’ve always thought myself a good man. One who toyed with the edges of the law, with right and wrong, but always in the name of justice.
Now I’m not so sure.
Because feeling Madi’s slick pussy after I spanked her has me wanting to peel back all her clothes and fuck her silly, until she’s screaming my name and begging me to stop, or for more. Until neither one of us can tell. But I don’t plan on fucking my smart-ass little wife until she begs for it. I already forced her down the aisle; I can’t add forcing myself inside her to that list.
Not if I want to pretend I’m not the worst type of man.
Like the ones of her family.
Speaking of Costello men, her uncle Damien greets me with a clap on the back.
“Ever been here before?” he asks with a sly grin.
To a strip club owned by his nephew that I frequently did business with? “Yes.” Not that I’ve ever enjoyed it, though. No, the women working here either look high as a kite or afraid as a mouse. No in-between. Except for the one John claimed as his own. Not that she works here anymore, now that she’s dating him. My understanding is she was only working here to find her friend who went missing, and after Marcus “disappeared,” she quit the club and has been with John ever since.
“It’s a good club,” Damien says. His arm wraps around my shoulder as he leads me through the space, past the stages of girls dancing with men leering at them, reaching forward to stick dirty dollar bills between the strings of their panties. “Good-looking girls.”
For a moment, I imagine Madi up on that stage. What would her body look like swaying in nothing but lingerie? The thought only lasts a second before I imagine someone’s grubby hands on her and anger fills the place of lust. I’d never let anyone touch Madi. No wonder John doesn’t let Zoe dance here anymore.
Damien leads me to a back room, where a few men are sitting, all ones I recognize as associates of Marcus and the family. There’s one girl in the center dancing as the men watch her body move.
“Out.” Damien snaps his fingers, and the girl stops her movements, shuffling away on her high heels as quick as she can. The men are slower to get up, but they all follow Damien’s order.
Once the room is clear, he gestures for me to sit across from him. I’ve been in this room before, as it’s where Marcus would hold all his parties, do business when he needed. He also had an office in the club, but he preferred to be here, watching a girl dance while he did his work.
“Cigar?” Damien offers me a box of Cubans. He takes one for himself and lights it up. I hate smoking; the smell of it makes me sick to my stomach, but I take one anyway, lighting it up and puffing. It’s in bad taste to decline an offer, especially when this man thinks he’s now the head of the Costello crime family. Which, I guess with Junior dead, Sam in prison, and Marcus missing — he’s the highest-ranking member left. Other than John, who actually has his grandfather’s blood running through his body, unlike Damien, who just married into the family. Not that I think he wants to hear my take on the technicalities of his reign.
“So…” He leans back on the leather booth. “Welcome to the family.” His grin is wide, showing off his yellow teeth, stained from years of bad vices. “How’s the new ball and chain treating you?”
I don’t like the way he talks about Madi, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I shrug my shoulders and look disinterested, not wanting him to know how damn interested I am in his niece. That she fills my brain every given second. That the scent of her sweet pussy lingers in my nose. That I had to jerk myself off in my office just to try to get relief from the thoughts of her. Not that it worked.
“Fine,” I answer.
He must not care about the answer because he moves on quickly.
“You’re part of the family now, boy.” The way he says the words is both sinister and belittling. In his mind, being a part of the family is an honor. It’s not, really. The Costello family is filthy. Built on piles of dirty money. And they’ll throw anyone to the wolves to protect themselves. Just like they did my father.
I push all of that down, though, as I nod and pretend that I’m happy to be here, to be a part of the family.
“An honor,” I say, puffing the disgusting cigar.
“Now that you’re one of us, there are a few things that need to be taken care of, and I think you’re the man to do it.”
I nod once more and lean forward in my seat like I’m hanging on to every word. “And that is?”
“Sam. My nephew.” Damien says the word nephew with clear resentment. “He’s causing problems.”
“Isn’t he in jail?” I ask, even though I know the answer. Sam Costello was arrested for murdering his father, a bold lie that most can see for what it is. A setup to get both Junior and Sam out of the game. With Junior alive, Damien would never be allowed to run this family, and with Junior dead, Sam is the rightful heir. So he took them out in one fell swoop. His original plan was to let Marcus run the family, and he’d stand by as a trusted advisor, one who pulled all the strings. But now, with Marcus gone, everything falls to Damien.
It’s a modern-day, mafia-themed Game of Thrones .
“Yeah, they’re holding him in Orleans Parish Prison until his court date.”
“And the evidence? Is it enough to convict?”
“It is.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“My other nephew, John, has always been loyal to Sam. They grew up together.” I know from Marcus that Sam and John are also the reason Damien’s daughter Lana is in New York City instead of married to a congressman that Damien had arranged. “We had a detective on the inside that was helping. He’s not useful now.”
“You think-”
“I know,” Damien sighs. “John turned him, so I had to take care of him.”
Take care of him is a fancy way of saying the guy is dead now. I sigh. I don’t love hearing about how my new family murders cops on a whim.
“And you don’t have another man on the inside?
“No.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
Damien takes a long drag of his cigar. “I want you to make sure my nephew never gets out of prison.”
“And how should I do that?”
“By whatever means necessary.”