Chapter 2
Chapter two
Jericho
Ireadjust the expensive blood-red cufflinks on my dress shirt before inspecting my appearance in the mirror. The designer suit projects an image of a sophisticated, wealthy businessman, concealing the killer within.
Exactly how I’m supposed to appear when meeting with the head of the Moretti family. Anyone watching would see me as a typical wealthy businessman aiming to collaborate with Alessandro Moretti. Not one of his favorite hitmen.
While I technically outsource my services to people willing to pay my hefty fee through the dark web, my favorite client is Alessandro.
He gets me. Even within the dangerous Italian Mafia, the Moretti family is held in high regard for their established rules, loyalty, and ethical principles. Something I can respect.
Alessandro recognizes that I’m the best of the best, and there’s a reason he comes to me first when he needs someone taken care of discreetly.
My track record allows me the luxury of selecting my targets.
Sure, I don’t go after women and children, but it’s more than that.
Alessandro is the only one who knows my secret.
I only take cases that involve the world’s dirtiest scum.
And I don’t accept jobs that target the innocent.
The Cleaner is not just a moniker; it’s who I am.
Glancing at my watch, I check the time before descending the stairs in my two-story house.
Efficient time handling is one of many habits from my military days.
It’s why I have a spotless reputation. I’m a huge fan of discipline and organization.
Every detail is meticulously planned and executed.
And I sure as hell have contingency plans for my contingency plans if shit hits the fan.
My hand grazes the gun in its holster as I retrieve my wallet and phone before locking up behind me.
Luckily, this late in the evening means city traffic doesn’t slow me down.
I make good time. The exclusive casino is bustling with nightlife, as people gamble and drink around me, but I pay them no mind as I make my way to the private room Alessandro uses for business meetings.
The two guards at the door give me a nod before quickly patting me down.
It’s all for show. Neither man does anything as they skim past my gun as if it isn’t even there.
Usually, Alessandro’s men strip anyone of their weapons before walking into this room, but for some reason, Alessandro trusts me. Just like I trust him.
“Jericho, thank you for coming.” Alessandro greets me at the door with a firm handshake before guiding me toward the table. As I take a seat on the plush chair, I note the look on my friend’s face while he urgently addresses his head of security.
Although he’s looking sharp in his usual designer suit—one that puts mine to shame—his posture is stiff, and he looks on edge. Alessandro’s normally neat hair is messy, suggesting he’s been running his hands through it because of stress.
The look concerns me. It’s something I’m not used to seeing on the calculating, brilliant man.
Alessandro has recently taken over as the head of the family.
His mob boss father recently stepped down, thanks to his poor health, essentially handing over the reins to his eldest son.
Taking over for the family has always been Alessandro’s goal, but tonight, I wonder if it might be too much.
“Something’s wrong,” I state as soon as the other man leaves, clicking the door behind him.
He nods and glances around as if to ensure we are alone. Strange. We always pick this meeting spot because the casino is Moretti-owned. The room is off-limits to the public and is constantly swept for bugs.
So what has him this paranoid?
Alessandro slides a photograph across the table, and I pick it up.
I recognize the man instantly. Franko Warner, aka The Director.
He’s well known in the porn industry as both an actor and a director.
Not only is the man a multi-millionaire, but he also has a reputation for being shady as fuck.
He’s rumored to physically and sexually abuse his actors, but his power and reach keep anyone from coming forward.
It’s men like him that make me eager to kill. Even now, my fingers itch, and I have to refrain from reaching into my jacket and triple-checking that my gun is still on me.
I glance down at the image again. It’s a photo of The Director with his arm wrapped around a beautiful young woman.
Fucking hell, she better be an adult. My hackles rise instantly.
The woman is pretty, stunning really, in an elegant red gown that hugs her small curves.
But what’s unsettling about the image is not only her youthful appearance, but the fact that she’s sporting a nasty black eye.
“Franko Warner is your next target. I’ll pay you triple your usual amount.”
I arch a brow. Alessandro is a wealthy man who has money to spare, but triple my price? There’s more to this than meets the eye. “What did he do?”
Alessandro’s jaw flexes. “The asshole is a rapist who owes us money! What more information do you need? I want the guy dead, and I don’t want it tied to my family. It’s why I hire you. If I want you to kill him, then you kill him.” Alessandro stands and starts pacing the room.
Clearly, I’ve hit a nerve. Alessandro is never like this. The mafia man is usually composed, irritatingly so. But tonight, he has a hair-trigger temper that’s completely out of character.
“I need to know why I’m going after the guy, and what makes him worth paying triple for.
” I bite back the urge to remind Alessandro that I don’t work exclusively for his family.
I have the right to refuse any job, no matter the reason.
It’s what we agreed on. But I get the feeling that telling him off right now might be my own death sentence.
Studying the girl’s appearance and the dark bruises on her face, I know she has to be the reason Alessandro is acting like this. I tap the photo. “Who is she?”
“My little sister,” he replies, jaw flexing. “Sienna.”
Oh, fuck. Does Franko have a death wish? Going after a Mafia princess, especially with his reputation, is suicide. Forget the fact that he’s in the porn industry. If the man is half as fucked up as his reputation suggests, it’s no wonder Alessandro wants him dead.
This time, Alessandro slides a manila folder toward me.
I pick it up and start reading. I’m surprised how thick the file is, considering Franko Warner is notorious for being hard to find.
He’s never easily spotted by the paparazzi, fans, and even others in the same industry.
Looks like Franko owes the Morettis a lot of money.
According to these documents, Franko became the wealthy man he is today by begging Mr. Moretti for a loan.
Alessandro’s father and Franko went into business together.
Since then, the man has worked his way up in the porn industry until he opened his own studio and adopted the stage name, The Director.
A little pompous and lacks imagination, if you ask me.
He paid Mr. Moretti back, plus interest, but according to the contract, Mr. Moretti owned fifty-one percent of The Director’s empire.
But as soon as Mr. Moretti retired, Franko stopped paying.
They estimate Franko owes the Morettis at least fifteen million dollars.
Besides the contracts and estimates, there’s a lot of information here.
Ranging from Franko’s work schedule, the times he enters and leaves his studio, to his food and drink preferences.
Franko owns several properties here in New Vernon, Los Angeles, and New York, but spends most of his time in New Vernon, according to logs on his private jet.
Now, it makes sense that Alessandro has all this information, since The Director wouldn’t exist today if it weren’t for Mr. Moretti.
As if reading my mind, Alessandro scoffs. “My father is a fool for going into business with that piece of shit.”
I close the file and toss it back on the table.
“Yeah, well, looks like your family earned millions of dollars thanks to The Director. That’s a stupid fucking name, by the way.
” I appreciate it when he doesn’t take the opportunity to make fun of my nickname, not that I go around announcing it, like some douchebag.
For the first time tonight, a small smile tips onto Alessandro’s lips. “True. Not everyone can earn a living using their birth name, like your pretty little Skylar King. Now, can they?”
Heat floods my face. I knew Alessandro kept tabs on me, but this confirms it. I have an unhealthy obsession with the stunning porn star, and if anyone looks through my browsing history, as seems to be the case, they’d find my preferences have focused on one man. And one man alone.
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. I never discussed my sexuality with Alessandro, but if he’s going to have a problem with me being gay, he’d better get over that shit real quick or find someone else to do his dirty work. “What can I say? I’m a man with particular tastes.”
Alessandro shrugs and mimics my posture by leaning back in his chair.
That small smile spreads wide, reminding me of the calculating, yet charming mafia man I’ve grown used to.
“I never pegged you as a man with those particular tastes. If I had known you craved to be manhandled and pounded into the bed, I might’ve offered you a nice thick dick to ride. ”
A laugh escapes me as soon as I grasp his meaning. “Even if I were a man who liked to bottom, which I’m not, you wouldn’t fuck me. I’m not pretty enough for you.”
“True.” Alessandro chuckles. “I might be bi, but I also have particular tastes. But now I’m curious. If you don’t bottom, why the obsession with Skylar King?”