Chapter 55 Stan #2
“They’ve been planning this for months, maybe even years.
No matter what they’d like us to think, they obviously believed the Bracktons were a threat to the Five Points’ long-term goals if they intended on crippling the family financially.
” She argued with herself, “Or they wanted leverage on his Super PAC. Either way, would a little transparency be too goddamn much to expect? Fucking men.”
I’d have laughed at her tirade if I could—I loved my sister but she was the last person who could talk about ‘transparency.’
“What does that mean? I’m not good with figures,” Brackton bawled.
What a baby.
“It means your money is invested with firms we own and that, at the snap of our fingers, we can crash and burn. You might have a billion dollars remaining at your disposal, son, but we have tens of billions to push you around with. You want any access to your money, it’ll be through us.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Instinct had me digging my thumb into the brand at the same time as I sunk the blade deeper into his cheek. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“I want guarantees,” he blurted out, rolling over with such haste that I was almost disappointed.
Enough that I shoved the crybaby away from me like he stank of shit.
It was, after all, time to postulate a theory—one I hadn’t even discussed with my siblings.
I crooned, “Why should we give you guarantees when you’re actively helping our enemies?”
A nerve in his eye twitched. “What are you talking about?! I don’t know what you mean—”
“Don’t you think it’s interesting that his father was in bed with the Albanians, but Baby Graham always played in our playground?
” I stirred the shit, almost giddy when he whined in distress.
“The last time you were at Russu—yeah, I checked. You haven’t been around in a while.
You helped the Albanians get into our club.
Tell me why we shouldn’t just take your money and let you rot. ”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I didn’t want to help them.”
“Pezz’i miedda,” Rory snarled in my ear. “How long have you been chewing on this?!”
I ignored her. “You might not have wanted to, but you’re complicit.”
“They threatened to hurt me.”
“‘They threatened to hurt me,’” I mimicked. “Jesus, do you hear yourself?”
He flushed. “They said they’d cut off my hands!”
“Bullshit. Why would allies do that?” I snagged him by the collar.
“You’re a treacherous, duplicitous piece of shit, Brackton.
Being your father’s son was enough to protect you before, but Daddy was murdered and you don’t know who paid the tab for that, do you?
I can tell you it wasn’t us. That leaves a whole host of enemies gunning for you. ”
His eyes, desperate and full of fear, darted around the room. A mastermind he was not. “Isn’t anyone going to stop him?!”
“Why should we? What do you have to offer us?” Aidan rumbled, hands in his pockets as he propped his ass on the desk and kicked out his legs.
“I don’t know! What do you want from me?”
Luc’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “For you to be our bitch, of course.”
His mouth gaped in horror. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Deadly. You think the worst we can do to you is cut your hands off?” I barked out a laugh. “You do as you’re told, jump when we say jump, and not only won’t you die but you won’t be poor either.”
I flicked a look at my brother, who steamrolled past the fact I’d derailed this conversation with:
“What return will he see on his investments if he stays true to us, Finn?”
“On top of avoiding tax on his KinoBit stake, there will be a nine percent return on his bonds.”
“Generous.”
“We’re generous people where our allies are concerned.”
Brockton gulped. “I-I’ll help if you sort out my finances and don’t hurt me, but there’s something else I want—”
“Before you start bartering, you should prove your worth first.”
He blanched then, hilariously, stepped from side to side like my niece did when she had to go potty. “My uncle is the head of the Russian Bratva—”
“I knew that already. Uninteresting. What else?”
Brackton gulped. “He’s already developing a new establishment to replace the one you took over in Nolita.”
Luc stiffened then, smoothly, prompted, “Tell us more…”
After five minutes of nonstop talking, he managed to piss even the Triads off—the Krestniy Otets had a warehouse earmarked on their turf.
“Is that enough?” the dipshit rasped.
Zhao answered for me, “That’s enough.”
He sagged with relief but only for a handful of seconds before spite twisted his features. “My wife recently went missing. I want you to find her and bring her back to me.”
I arched a brow. “That’s it?”
“That’s a part of it,” Brackton conceded. “I can’t find her. I want her back.”
“Wives aren’t like socks. They don’t go missing unless they choose to be misplaced,” Finn grated out.
Luc lifted a hand. “How about this for a deal, Graham? We’ll find her and ask her if she wants to come back to you.”
“No. I want her here with me,” he snarled, and this time he did stomp his foot.
“I’ll kill him,” Rory growled in my ear.
My brother slowly dipped his chin. “Fine. Your mother’s and sister’s conservatorships will be passed over to me before the week is out.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Brackton agreed.
Luc got to his feet and fastened the buttons on his sports jacket. “Pleasure doing business with you, Graham. I’d shake your hand but I don’t touch vermin.”
With that, he walked out.
I followed him, keeping close as the maid opened the front door.
On the brownstone’s top step, I warned, “He’s abusive. I’ve seen him at Russu with his hookers. You can’t bring his wife back if she escaped—”
“We’ll handle it.”
I gritted my teeth at his surety before I cleared my expression as we turned at the bottom step and waited for the others to pass us by.
They all shook hands with us before heading off to their respective cars, until only we remained behind.
Luc turned back to stare into the house as the front door remained open. Brackton blanched at my brother’s stare and then released the softest whimper as, with his finger, Luc marked the sign of a ‘V.’
“Tell my twin moron to stop playing with his kill and to get back here so I can ream you both new assholes.”
My lips curved at my sister’s growl.
Suddenly, Brackton’s jeans gained a wet spot…