5. Adriano
Adriano
T he club is quiet on a Friday evening. It’s still early, and the real crowd hasn’t shown up yet. My security cameras flash through various images showing my staff getting set up and preparing for another packed house. I have a pile of paperwork, a minor headache, and a few dozen major worries.
My sister, Bianca, lounges on the couch and watches me with a bored expression. “Did I really miss the orgy again?” she complains. “I should’ve come home from Italy sooner.”
“You’re not funny.”
“What? You get to throw a bunch of sex parties, but I’m not allowed?” She tuts at me and grins. “That’s a double standard, brother.”
“It’s a double standard I fully endorse.”
“What happened to becoming a new kind of Don? I thought you were going to be progressive.”
“Progressive to a point. And that point is letting my sister get anywhere near an orgy.”
“Probably for the best.” She hops up and walks over to the bar cart, where she pours herself some whiskey.
I notice she selects the good stuff. Leave it to my sister to have a taste for the finest. She’s wearing all designer clothes, likely purchased during her little week-long jaunt to Rome, and her sleek black hair looks freshly cut. “I hear you record everything.”
“I’d never admit to that.” I wave for her to pour me a drink. “Did you visit with Papa yet?”
She brings over a glass. I take a sip as she sits in one of my guest chairs. Her expression hardens, and she looks away. “I sat with him earlier.”
“And? How was he?”
“Not good. You should’ve told me.”
“Would it have made a difference? Why ruin your trip?”
“Adriano, I can go to Rome any time.” She raises her glass, looking grim. “Here’s to Papa.”
“Here’s to him.” We toast and drink. “You know, it’s rare for people in our position to have fond memories of their father, right?”
“He was an exceptional man. Never once raised his voice at us. Never had to get physically violent. And still managed to churn out two incredible kids.”
I cover my face with my glass. “Well, one incredible kid. And one shopaholic.”
“Don’t be a prick, Adriano. I’m being serious.”
“I know, and you’re right. Papa did a good job with us. Sometimes I wonder—” I stop myself from saying it. I wonder if I can be half the Don he was. But that’s not really my problem.
“If you’re about to say you aren’t sure if you’ll run the family as well as he did, we both know the answer to that already.
” She taps one manicured nail on my desk.
“Revenue is up across the board. All our businesses are thriving. Our members are getting fat, rich, and happy. You’ve deftly maneuvered us into a position of power, thanks to our alliances. Papa would be proud.”
I nod to myself. She’s right, and that isn’t really my problem.
No, what I worry about is how soon I’ll end up just like my father.
I decide to change the subject. I’m not interested in opening up to anyone about how I feel. Not even to my sister.
“Now that you’re home, I need you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Plan my wedding.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Are you serious?”
“We could hire someone, but I have a feeling you’d enjoy the challenge.”
“I’m shocked and honored you’d give me this highly sensitive task.”
“Don’t joke around. Will you do it?”
“Consider it my wedding gift to you.” She takes another drink, smirking at me. “But I’m putting you in a white tux.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“It’s almost like you don’t know me.” She gets up, grinning to herself. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“I already regret asking.”
“Don’t worry. Your future wife will love it.” She glances back. “But you might not.”
I sigh and stare up at the ceiling. Bianca loves fucking with me, but she’ll do a wonderful job organizing this event. “Keep it small. That’s all I ask. Only important people.”
“You’re marrying a Willing-Morris girl. Important people means half the city elite.”
“Don’t go overboard.”
“Isn’t that the point of marrying her? Getting access to her social connections? You might as well make the best of it.”
She’s got a point there. “Fine, but do your best to keep the guest list tight. And don’t bankrupt us.”
“I couldn’t even if I tried, and believe me, I am.” She strides to the door. “I’m thinking four hundred people max.”
“Half that!”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Have you met her yet, by the way? I did a little digging when the match was announced. She’s very, very pretty, but she’s young.”
“Twenty-three,” I murmur, glancing down at my desk. “And no, we haven’t met officially.”
Which isn’t entirely a lie. The beautiful masked woman I fucked in my office a few days ago was pretending to be someone else. Which made our little run-in very off the books.
Still, I trust Bianca more than anyone else in the world, but I’m not telling her about that.
“Shouldn’t you at least have a conversation with her before walking down the aisle?” she asks, sounding almost impatient.
“What’s the point?”
“ The point is you’re going to be her husband. At least try to have some emotional depth.”
“We both know that’s not my specialty.”
“I said try.” She looks skyward. “Heaven help me. I swear, you better be a good husband to that girl.”
“What do you care?”
“Guess I’m a caring person at heart. Introduce yourself to the girl before the wedding, Adriano.”
I tighten my jaw. I’m about to tell her off, but I stop myself.
Normally, I’d never go along with what my sister says. She likes to be bossy, and it works for her on everyone else in the world, but I learned a long time ago to ignore her more controlling tendencies.
But I like the idea of dropping in on Lucy.
I can’t stop thinking about that night together. I wish we had more time, but a problem at another club pulled me away. I’ve been thinking about getting in touch, except I haven’t known how to do it without letting her know that I saw through her disguise.
This is a good opportunity.
“Set it up,” I say, looking down at my phone. “For sometime tomorrow.”
“I’m your secretary now?”
“Delegate to one of the guys then,” I say, exasperated. “Do you have to make everything difficult?”
“Yep, pretty much.” She beams at me and waves. “See you later, bro.”
My sister leaves. I get five minutes to drink my whiskey and think about Lucy before Luca shows up at the door, breathless from the climb. He seems like he’s in a hurry.
“Adriano, there’s a man downstairs to see you.”
My eyebrows raise. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“He says his name is Demir Yilmaz. He says you’d know him.”
I sit very still. My heart rate quickens at the name. “Wait for me in the hall. I’ll be down in a moment.”
Luca seems uncertain, but he nods and steps out.
I pull a gun from my desk drawer and tuck it into my pants. There are about a dozen guards lurking around downstairs, all of them armed and violent, but there’s no way I’ll ever go to a meeting with the head of the Gray Wolf mafia unarmed.
I finish my drink, take a moment to compose myself, and step out. Luca walks at my shoulder as we head down the hall. “Who is that guy?” he asks.
“Demir Yilmaz is the head of the North American wing of the Gray Wolf mafia.”
“Never heard of them.”
“They’re a niche Turkish crime syndicate. Mostly, they operate in Europe and the Middle East. They specialize in black market artifacts. Byzantine art, Ming Dynasty vases, shit like that. Their legitimate cover does authentication and auctions.”
Luca grunts slightly, frowning as we take the stairs down. “Sounds like a good racket.”
“They’re dangerous. Demir especially. Most of the time, we have no reason to deal with them. The Gray Wolf is deeply embedded with high society, though.”
Which means I have a feeling I know what this is about.
Or at least who .
Luca stops talking as we approach the bar.
Demir’s waiting right in the middle with a glass at his elbow.
He’s a few years older than me, grizzled and tanned, hair graying and slicked back.
He’s in a gray sweater and a pair of jeans, and though I don’t notice a weapon bulge anywhere, I can’t rule out the possibility that he’s armed.
The rumors about Demir are very specific. He’s ex-special forces with a reputation for ruthless violence. The man is allegedly from the toughest slums of Istanbul, which makes him one mean bastard. How this brutal thug runs an art business, I have no fucking clue.
He turns to me and stands. “Adriano Marino,” he says, holding out a hand.
I shake it. “Demir Yilmaz. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well. I was just enjoying your club’s hospitality.” He grins. His teeth are white and straight. “Please, sit down.”
I join him at the bar. Luca stays a few feet away, watching. Demir considers me for a moment as I ask for a drink from the bartender. He seems sharp and charming, not at all the gutter thug I assumed he would be.
“I assume you’re not here to discuss acquiring some of my art collection,” I comment once my bourbon arrives.
He laughs lightly. “I didn’t know you were interested.”
“Art’s a good investment these days. I have some Rothkos stashed away.”
“Rothko. Very nice.” He waves a hand. “We do not deal in that modern stuff, no offense. But this is good; you know my trade.”
“I’m vaguely familiar. So what can I do for you, Mr. Yilmaz?”
“Call me Demir, please.” His charming smile slips slightly. “I confess, I’m not here for good reasons. I suppose you will not like what I have to say.”
A bad feeling runs down my spine, but I keep myself carefully composed. “When it comes to bad news, I like to get straight to it.”
“Very good. A man I can respect.” He rolls his glass, and the ice clinks.
“Ten years ago, I entered into a business agreement. It was an unusual arrangement, but my new partner desperately needed a loan, and I was willing to provide her the funds at a very reasonable price. However, ten years later, she still hasn’t paid me back what she owes.
And now the interest is very substantial.
So much so that I do not believe she can ever make good on her promises. ”
I keep my face carefully neutral. “Who are we talking about here, Demir?”
“Helena Willing-Morris.” He tilts his head to study me. “I assume you’re familiar with her.”
“We’ve met.”
He laughs and takes a drink. “I am here to warn you. Stay away from Lucille Willing-Morris. Do not marry that girl. Do not get involved with that family. My arrangement with Helena still stands, and I will not have her weasel her way out of it.”
I consider this. Anger swells in me. That old rat Helena never mentioned anything about the Gray Wolf mafia when I agreed to marry her granddaughter.
A rational man would pull out of the engagement right here and now. There are plenty of other high-society girls that can give me what I want.
Their name. Their connections. Access to their family business.
But Lucy is perfect.
The Willing-Morris family is desperate enough to need a man like me. Helena Willing-Morris is shrewd and ruthless to the point that she’d happily sell her granddaughter away for my family’s strength and money.
Their hedge fund is exactly what I need to grow my organization’s business influence.
And most of all, I want that girl.
We’ll never fall in love. I’ll never have a connection with anyone like that. But our one night together told me something just as important.
At least I’ll be able to stomach sleeping in bed with her.
“What exactly is the nature of your deal with the Willing-Morrises?” I ask.
But Demir shakes his head. “That is a private matter. Please, take what I am saying seriously. Do not marry that girl.” He finishes his drink and stands. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“This changes nothing,” I tell him. “You realize that, right?”
He seems grim as he nods. “Yes, I had assumed you would react that way.”
“I’m sorry you wasted your time then.”
“I am as well. I think we’ll be seeing more of each other.” Demir leaves, walking slowly, seemingly unconcerned.
There’s a sour taste in my mouth. No amount of alcohol will wash it out, either.
That bastard had the nerve to come threaten me in my own club.
Which means he’s fucking serious about this.
I glare at the bar, then shove myself up and storm back into my office.
Good thing I planned on paying a visit to the Willing-Morris family home tomorrow already.