CHAPTER TWO
AXEL
Everyone wants a piece of me—a nod of acknowledgment, a powerful handshake, or even a brief conversational exchange. Few ask for it though. It’s a respect thing, and fear and respect toe the same line.
If I show up at a guest’s table, meeting, party, or room, they’ve either made it into my inner circle or onto my need-to-watch list. There is a formal-request procedure for a reason.
If they want my time, they make a plea for it, and it’d better damn well be worth it.
For me. That’s not arrogance. It’s a by-product of running a resort that provides far more than hospitality.
In our world, the focus is on value rather than cost. Because the funds are available? Sure. But also because greed is plentiful and longevity is rare. Simply having me on their team is a life-changing commodity.
With my phone in hand, which currently has a string of texts from my brothers pinging through and a call I’m eager to take on hold, I cruise through the lobby.
Members huddle in a lounge area, composed of grand bookcases, ornate geometric chandeliers, and tufted leather furniture.
It’s a hub for upscale debauchery, where they share cocktails, secrets, and plans for both duplicity and celebration to the tune of jazz music and the fragrance of cloves.
Since it’s evident I have somewhere to be, no one vies for my attention. Bernard, our premier concierge butler and my most trusted confidante, already has the penthouse elevator open for me. He tends to anticipate my every move.
I step inside, let the doors close, and raise the phone to my ear. “Give me another minute to get to my office. Would you prefer I call you back?”
“No. I’ll wait,” Wells replies.
That is a tad unsettling. His plate is full, so waiting means he can’t risk my getting distracted and not returning his call immediately.
Wells and I have been friends for years—one might even say we bonded in another life.
I met him when my parents were still alive, when my interests were sports and leisure and being young.
And, yes, running my father’s empire. That was always a goal.
But I had time. And Wells had storms to weather.
A lot happened to carve us into the men we are today.
Our connection existing apart from those trials is one of the reasons I trust him more than anyone outside of my family and Bernard.
It’s doubtful he’s staying on hold as merely a friend. We’re also colleagues because my empire stretches far beyond what my father’s did.
My power is in La Lune Noire—the venture my great-grandfather began with a speakeasy for organized-crime syndicates.
My five siblings and I have grown it into a resort that practically functions as its own city, providing a refuge to the nefarious underworld.
We also own a worldwide hospitality franchise, and I’m a seat holder for a secret society called KORT—a cabal whose impact spans the globe and is arguably unmatched.
There are five primary seats, each of us contributing a different specialty derived from our individual organizations.
Wells has a seat too. As does his wife, Ivy.
The elevator deposits me directly in front of my penthouse door, so I hurry inside and beeline for my office.
I have one here for more confidential matters and one with the other offices to consult with staff.
It’s quiet at home today. Some of my siblings still live here, so it’s generally hopping with life.
“Go ahead,” I tell Wells as I shut my office door and stride to my desk.
“We’ve had another threat,” he begins.
So, I was wrong. He’s contacting me as a friend and a colleague.
It’s the murky middle we navigate. He has three men who are like brothers to him.
All are married. One of them, Ty, happens to be my brother-in-law—my youngest sibling and only sister, Rena’s, husband.
All four couples—Wells and Ivy, Liam and Celeste, Gage and Leigh, and Ty and Rena—live together in a grand French chateau about a half hour from here.
“It was subtle,” he goes on, undoubtedly shaken.
“Pictures, focusing on the girls and kids, after our last visit to you. We had driven through the French Quarter and grabbed some treats that Rena was craving. It was an oversight to have them anywhere public. We’d gotten too comfortable with the stretch of calm we had. ”
They’ve had someone taunting them since a security breach happened here a little over two years ago.
Someone came after them under my goddamn roof.
It’s the only one I’ve ever had in my nineteen years of running La Lune Noire.
They’ve been living like prisoners since.
So far, they’ve managed to keep their actual residence a mystery.
But that means no visitors and very few outings.
We still haven’t caught the person behind it.
Concealing my stress because he has enough of that, I keep my voice steady. “Any message with the pictures?”
“No, but …” He hedges, likely deliberating on how to drop the next bomb.
“It will eventually escalate, so we’re taking the investigation up a notch.
We need to expand beyond the members who were there that night because our well of leads is running dry.
Anyone who comes in and out of your establishment will be a suspect.
We want someone in there to get an inside view. ”
I don’t love the sound of that. I’m protective of what we’ve built here. “I qualify as someone on the inside. Tell me what you need.”
That suggestion doesn’t suit me either. I hate when my worlds collide.
“Maybe someone slightly more removed.” He chuckles, but it’s mirthless.
He’s weary. “Even we’re too close to this, Axel.
I’m concerned we’re missing things because there’s so much on the line.
I’ve got a guy I’m consulting with. He’s got a good sense for people.
Maybe he’ll find something that can’t be found with traditional research. ”
I saunter to the bar, pouring myself two fingers’ worth of Glenfiddich 30 Year. “When are you thinking?”
“Soon.”
I sip my whiskey, willing the comforting burn to clear my head. “Is this KORT-approved?”
“Of course,” he booms, and the lift in his tenor suggests he’s about to deliver news he wants to cushion. “I ran it by Jared and Payne. They’re in favor. In fact, their concern was amplified by something else we’d found.”
Jared and Payne are the other two seats with KORT. He spoke to them before me, which could only mean one thing. I make him spell it out anyway.
“What was that?” I sit at my desk, set my drink down, and spin my luck on my Jacob & Co. Casino Tourbillon watch, following the ceramic ball flying around the pockets.
Most days, I go with one of six numbers that I prefer—or the colors that represent them. Two are black, the other four are red. But today, I focus on the green zero.
Without delving into complicated roulette rules, green is the outlier, the representation of the house edge.
The other numbers all fall into categories—red or black, odd or even, high or low.
Green stands alone. It’s a beacon to a newcomer and kryptonite to most. An all-in bet.
High risk. High reward. Unlikely chances.
Which is precisely why my breath catches when the ball jumps to the emerald pocket, in utter contradiction to this conversation.
“There’s been speculation that you’re the new chair.
” He pauses, and my stomach twists. I’ve only held a KORT seat for a couple of years.
Very few know, which is for the best since I also run the world’s largest safe haven for the corrupt.
Some would find it to be a conflict of interest. And that’s why the rest of his admission comes as no surprise. “There’s a new hit out on you.”
That’s to be expected. Hits on someone in a position like mine materialize often.
There’s always a lot of meaningless chatter in the underworld.
Posturing. It’s not a concern unless it’s ordered by a group that will ruthlessly follow through and picked up by someone with the skills to carry it out, without fear of retaliation from my members.
“What’s new?” I quip with a hefty dose of nonchalance, but we both know this is different, so I pose the question I’m not sure I want the answer to. “Only me?”
If it’s a KORT issue, there’s one person who would be the ultimate mark, causing a ripple of pain through three of the chairs.
My sister, Rena, is too connected at this point.
That family she’s now a part of has two KORT chairs in it.
And I—the man who raised her since she was six, since our parents perished in a fire and I took guardianship of all my siblings—have another.
If someone wanted to wreck KORT, she’s the way to do it.
“All of us, of course. But … yeah. She’s been mentioned. So, with the pictures …” He trails off, allowing me to surmise.
I swill my drink, contemplating outcomes. “And if the threats continue and your investigation turns up nothing?”
“We’re not there yet,” he protests, but the yet has my muscles clenched in rage.
“You can’t take her from us. She needs us, and we need her. And the babies …” If he wasn’t a dear friend who loved my sister, Ty, and their children, I’d be embarrassed by the desperation seeping into my tone, despite how gruff I attempt to deliver my demand. “You can’t.”
Ty and Rena have twins, who are nearly fifteen months and call me Papaw because she views me like a father and I treat her like a daughter. The thought of life without them is unbearable.
The emotions threading his reply mirror mine in fierceness and anguish. “I will do everything in my power to prevent that outcome, but more than that, they are my family now, so I will devote my life to protecting them. Let’s hope those two things don’t come into conflict.”