Chapter 2
CASSIAN
Idon’t linger after she’s gone. I’ve said all I came to say.
Every set of eyes is on me as I walk out of what was once Alaric Moretti’s house, the crowd parting like the sea parted for Moses.
The silence is heavy, our footfalls loud on hardwood and echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
It’s as if they’re all holding their breath.
Angelo and Enzo fall in line beside me. “Unexpected twist,” Angelo says. Angelo is my uncle, my father’s brother. Enzo, his son, glances at his father but remains quiet. My cousin has always been the strong, silent type.
“I’m full of surprises, Uncle.”
Once outside, I watch the taillights of the SUV carrying Allegra Moretti disappear. Something shifts the moment the vehicle is out of sight. It’s subtle but it’s there, a nameless thing.
I came here tonight to deliver my message to Michael Moretti.
I didn’t intend on taking his sister. I’d never given Allegra Moretti a thought before she walked into her father’s study.
Before the moment she laid her full weight against that door and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours.
“You going to see your father?” my uncle asks.
I nod once, turn to face him.
“Let me know how he’s doing.”
“I will. Find out what you can about Malek Lombardi, will you?”
“Of course.”
“Boss,” Enzo says, opening the back door to my SUV.
“Thanks, Enzo.” I climb in, then turn to face him. “Go to the house, will you? I can handle this. I don’t want anyone mishandling her.”
He raises his eyebrows, chuckles. “Sure thing.” He closes the door.
“Blackstone’s,” I tell the driver. Blackstone’s is the club where I’ll be meeting my stepbrothers, Jethro and Severin Blackstone, and Sybil, my stepmother.
My father was supposed to attend, which was the only reason I agreed to dinner, but when I was informed at the last minute that he didn’t feel well enough, I didn’t see the point.
I take my phone out of my pocket and settle into the seat to check my messages.
Three snarky texts from Sybil, a gif of someone smashing his head repeatedly against a wall from Jet, and radio silence from Severin.
I can just imagine his sour face as he sits there nursing the single whiskey he’ll drink all night long.
A message from Vivi comes in before I put the phone away. I click on it. It’s a picture of Gage, my nephew, in his Halloween costume. Spiderman, muscles built in. I smile.
Vivi is my almost sister-in-law. She’d have married my brother, Seth, if things hadn’t gone south like they did. I’m the only member of our family that she will have anything to do with now.
Me: He’s spending too much time at the gym to get those muscles
Vivi: He went to sleep in it.
She sends a follow up text with Gage in his bed, hand clutching the handle of a plastic pumpkin which is loaded with candy.
Me: Pick out the Snickers for me.
Vivi: You get the coconut ones. They’re gross. Happy Halloween.
She goes offline and I tuck the phone into my pocket as we approach Blackstone’s.
“I don’t plan on staying long, so stick around,” I tell the driver. I’m just going to run up and check in on my father. I want to get home. I’m anxious to see the Little Moth.
I walk toward the entrance of the Blackstone’s, the private club my stepfamily owns.
Well, the club my father and I now own forty-nine percent of.
The clientele are the elite of Devil’s Peak and it’s what brought my father to this town.
It’s where he met my stepmother, Sybil, the Blackstone heiress.
Or at least she was one before they lost all their money.
Now she’s Sybil Blackstone-Trevino and Severin and Jet manage Blackstone Holdings.
The club, which had been in her family for generations, was nearly bankrupt when she met Dad.
In addition, during her brief time at the helm of Blackstone Holdings, Sybil had purchased several casinos in Atlantic City of which only one remains.
By the time she met my father, the club and the casino the family was clinging on to were in desperate need of a lifeline.
They were hemorrhaging money and given that Devil’s Peak is just a few hours north of New York City and a lot of wealthy, influential people, some even legitimate, have second homes here, saving the club made for a good investment for us.
Although we do not have any holdings in the casino itself, we own the building that houses it and the hotel.
“Good evening, Mr. Trevino,” the doorman says.
“Mitch. How was your granddaughter’s field trip?” I ask.
“She loved it. Thanks again for fronting the money, Mr. Trevino. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it,” I tell him. Mitch is a good guy.
He works hard for me. An ex-convict who struggled for years before I hired him as the doorman here, much to my stepmother’s dismay because he’s also an extra set of eyes for me.
He’s supporting his twelve-year-old granddaughter on his own.
I make sure she has the extras she needs to have a better shot at life than he or his family has had.
I walk inside, take off my coat and hand it to the girl at the coat check.
“Shall I take it to your office, sir?”
“No, keep it here. I won’t be staying long,” I tell her and head toward the elevator.
She clears her throat. “Um, Mr. Trevino?” she starts, and I turn to her. “Your family asked that you stop in to see them when you get here. They’re still in the dining room.”
I’m tempted to correct her. Remind her they’re not my family, but I don’t. “Fine.”
I paste a smile on my face and stroll toward the dining room which takes up most of the ground floor.
It’s a large, beautifully appointed space with polished marble floors, mirrors along all the walls and enough chandeliers that you’d be able to see it from fucking space if they were lit to their full potential.
The tables are set at enough distance from each other to offer privacy to the patrons.
I spot the three of them in their usual place at the far end, the round table set before the bullet-proof floor-to-ceiling windows, dad’s doing, overlooking the pristine golf course.
Jet sees me first just before I reach the table. He’s leaning back in his seat looking bored and I’m glad to see empty dinner plates all around.
Severin and Sybil stop their conversation at my approach, Severin’s eyes narrowing as he picks up his nearly empty glass.
“Dinner was at eight,” Sybil chastises as if she wanted me here.
The waitress brings me a tumbler of whiskey. “I’m sure you missed me.”
Severin snorts.
“We have a problem, Cassian,” Sybil says.
“And I handled it, Sybil.”
She leans back in her seat and takes a cigarette out of a gold box like she’s a fucking movie star. “How exactly did you handle it?”
“The less you know the better, isn’t that right, Sev?
” I ask, shifting my attention to the older Blackstone brother.
His jaw ticks. He hates when I use the shortened form of his name.
Severin is now head of Blackstone Holdings.
Sybil doesn’t have a head for business as much as she may delude herself into thinking she does.
“Go outside and have your cigarette, mother,” Severin tells her. “I’ll handle this.”
She draws in a tight breath, and I wonder for the millionth time what my father saw in her.
I mean, she’s beautiful, obviously, but it’s fake.
Her face is so full of injectables it doesn’t move.
Her hair comes from hours at the hairdresser every three weeks, and the rest of her time she’s either with her personal trainer or shopping.
She is a woman who contributes nothing to the world.
A waste of space. He certainly didn’t have to marry her to fuck her, and yet he did, and she’s been a thorn in my side for the last seven years.
Severin waits until she’s out of earshot before turning to me. He’s a few months shy of thirty. Our birthdays are only a few weeks apart. Jet is two years younger. I often wonder if he was an accident. Sybil doesn’t hide the fact that her affections for her sons varies.
“Feds came by the casino this week, Cassian.”
I know this. “And?” I sip my whiskey.
“I don’t have to tell you it doesn’t look good for a casino to have Federal investigators poking around.”
“No, I can see that, but it’s handled. Problem solved. They won’t be back.”
“Not good enough. It should never have been a problem to begin with.”
“Well, shit happens, and if I recall, I own the building that houses the casino, so it impacts me as much as it does you.”
“No, your father owns it,” Jet says.
I turn to study him. He gives me an entertained smirk and swallows the last of his whiskey. When Jethro stirs the shit, it usually means he’s bored.
“Stay out of it, Jet,” Severin tells him.
Jet doesn’t bother to acknowledge his older brother.
He’s unreadable as ever but he’s been a friend as often as he’s been a foe, and he has his uses.
“Your business at the Moretti house? That how you handled it?” he asks me.
He’s always been too curious about Trevino business for my liking although if it irritates Severin, that’s a win.
I don’t answer. I won’t need to. I watch the brothers.
“Jet, I told you to fucking stay out of it,” Severin snaps.
“Yeah, Jet, stay out of it.” I lean toward him. “Keep your hands clean. Oh wait, too late.” I shift my gaze to Severin. “They got dirty the minute you took our money to save your necks.”
Severin’s gaze shifts from me to Jet. He pushes his chair back loudly and stands. “I’m here to tell you I don’t want fucking Feds near the casino so handle your shit however you fucking need to handle it or else—”
“Or else what?” I ask with a smirk. He wants a fight. Severin always wants a fucking fight. And sometimes I really want to give it to him. He’s not stupid though. I can read his hate in his glare, his fisted hands.
“Jethro. Let’s go,” he barks as he turns to leave.