Chapter 17 #2
Her father could keep tabs on anyone in the world no matter where they tried to hide.
Gerald could also play fortune teller with world economy, in the right place at the right time to make a deal.
Brilliance in utter corruption. Especially since from what I’d read online, the Hamilton name had garnered respect for generations.
How fascinating that most innocent people believed the worst of humanity were the scum inside crime syndicates. Maybe once upon a time that had been true. No longer.
I raised my glass and tossed her phone aside. It wasn’t needed any longer as I’d already downloaded a number of her photographs to the laptop.
So many stunning depictions of a lovely wedding on an island somewhere off the coast of Italy. Charming.
Even still, Gerald’s power or wealth wasn’t the smoking gun. Her mother’s identity was, even though Gerald had done an excellent job of hiding her family from the world. She’d been the true catalyst of her husband’s obvious success.
All because of the blood running through her veins.
Her brother was none other than Sean McCarthy, leader of the Irish mob. And no doubt Gerald’s eager and willing henchman.
From what Dimitri had told me about the organization, he hadn’t given them enough credit for the power they now wielded. All because of what I would guess was an arranged marriage thirty years before.
Thirty years to nurture an underground power that could rival almost any regime.
Including the Chertov Bratva.
If even one of the other five Cosa Nostra families aligned with the Irish in New York, we would have a battle on our hands.
As I scrolled through the photographs, I was once again stuck by Vivian’s beauty. Even though I should be furious with her for keeping information from me, my dick was aching as it had done a hundred times around her. Besides, it wasn’t as if I’d been completely truthful with her.
A fucking Irish princess. I couldn’t believe it. Imagine the odds in Vegas.
Friend or foe?
Damn it. I needed to know. Now. Now!
What time was it? I had no idea how long I’d been sitting here. As soon as I lifted my arm, the ache in my shoulder caused a wave of nausea. Wincing, I had to blink several times before the face of my watch came into focus. A little after three in the morning.
Vivian Evangeline Hamilton. Born and raised in New York. Schooled at Duke University, graduating at the top of her class. Internship at Duke University Hospital before being lured back to New York.
Easing back, I grabbed my drink as I thought about what Vivian had said about the Ghost. Find the fucker’s weakness. I laughed, the sound bitter and hollow as I brought the glass to my lips.
My hand was shaking.
Fuck, my entire arm was vibrating both from anger and anguish. Weakness. Maybe I should concentrate on my own goddamn weakness.
My eyes shifted back to the screen, but I was forced to blink a few times with difficulty focusing. Maybe the fact I’d slept only a few hours in the last few days was the reason I had a bone-deep ache, a heaviness in my limbs that felt as if they were made from stone.
Beads of sweat were rolling down both sides of my face even though I was freezing to death. Fuck. I closed my eyes, unable to shove aside images of Vivian’s luscious naked body from my mind. She was perfect in every way.
A temptress.
A siren.
Dangerous. The woman was even more dangerous than the Ghost. Another laugh erupted from my throat and I threw my head back, staring at the wooden beam ceiling. Why was it that every security room had wooden beams? Didn’t they?
I needed to hunt the bastard down and I was playing house with a woman. What the hell was wrong with me?
A figure caught my eye and instantly, I reached for my weapon while shoving the chair back. The loud clattering echoed in my ears like a bomb going off. I swung around, ready to fire.
Where did…
A woman. I’d seen a woman.
“Vivian.” The whispered word surprised me. Wait. I was wrong. She couldn’t be there. I rubbed my arm across my forehead and lowered the weapon. Why was I so jumpy all of a sudden?
Vivian had gone to bed. She’d left me alone. After forcing Tylenol down my throat. A little Florence Nightingale, only she wasn’t.
Laughing, I rubbed my eyes. Maybe I’d willed her to come to me.
I took another swig of my drink. Then another. Anger continued to build while I paced the floor, every few seconds trying to focus on the laptop screen. When a screensaver popped on, I almost lost it, smashing my finger on the spacebar. I needed to both see and accept that she’d betrayed me.
The woman I’d had my dick stuck so far inside I’d almost lost myself had fucking lied to me.
To me! She’d lied. She’d… My true nemesis.
Another laugh while an entirely different kind of ache formed, a knot so large my stomach was distended. At least that’s what it seemed like when I knew in actuality it was anger. No, a wave of rage. I was enraged that I’d been duped.
Damn it. I needed sleep. I was even dizzy, which wasn’t like me. I took another swallow before I noticed the glass was empty.
With a heavy exhale, I returned to the desk, trying to locate the bottle in the darkness. There it was. I poured more into my glass, half laughing as it splashed on the desk’s surface. What the hell? It wasn’t my desk and this wasn’t my house.
And the woman in the bed down the hall wasn’t my wife.
I had no wife. I had no family. I had no real home. What I had was a house with four walls and roof. With no art. Certainly not like the artwork covering the walls in this house.
Paintings with whips and chains and cages. And beautiful women. Men in masks. Discipline.
That’s what she needed. Discipline. Harsh punishment for lying to me.
Another sip and I almost dropped the glass. Fuck it. I didn’t need liquor. I needed peace. I needed answers.
I needed to kill the son of a bitch who’d almost hurt my family. Not my family. My…
Vivian Evangeline Hamilton. She might as well go by her mother’s maiden name of McCarthy.
Why? Because she would easily get a table at any restaurant in town. My guess was she wouldn’t need to live in a shitty ass apartment any longer. In truth, she wouldn’t even need to work. Why was she working? Why the fuck not just follow along in her uncle’s footsteps?
That was a good goddamn question.
I turned away, sick to my stomach from seeing the fucking pictures my search had turned up.
Beauty. Brains. Bullshit.
The three Bs. Another laugh and I stumbled backward. Maybe a little too much to drink.
She’d need to be dealt with. She’d tricked me.
Into what? How did she trick you, asshole?
With her gorgeous body. “She lied to me.” In saying the words out loud, I turned toward the door, half expecting to see someone. Well, shit. I still had the gun in my hand. With my hand still shaking, I managed to ease the weapon down, backing away as soon as I did.
Can’t you see she’s trying to live a different life? She’s not her uncle.
“Bullshit!” Bullshit. She was… A perfect, precious daughter.
A plan. That’s what was needed. I had no doubt the fucking Irish were at least funding the Ghost. That made sense. She’d been on the flight. Of course. I’d been such a fool to fall for her act.
Now what? What could I do to take control? I could use her. How? She was worth money. She was special. She was mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I rolled the glass across my forehead, my body swaying as I tried to think about what to do with her. Yes, a plan was needed. The Ghost. I had to find the Ghost.
Where was he hiding? In plain sight? Had he somehow managed to infiltrate Dimitri’s operation?
I had to know. I had… to know. I had such an urge to break something. To destroy something.
To kill. After another swig, I had to wipe my mouth. Dimitri needed to get his fucking ass back here.
Where was my phone? I searched through the items on the desk, barely registering a sound. I’d knocked something off. Fuck it. There it was. I slid the glass onto the desk and eyed the screen, blinking profusely as I tried to remember his number. Oh, yeah. I’d programmed it in.
Under X. For X marks the spot. I leaned against the desk as I dialed the number, the ache in my chest increasing to the point I was panting like some dog.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Jesus, Kirill. What the hell are you doing working so late?” Dimitri’s question was followed by a laugh.
Hissing, I controlled my temper. Barely. “That’s what happens when you’re lured into a trap.”
“So I heard. I’m surprised you allowed that to happen.”
Of course he’d heard. There were no damn secrets in the organization. “You need to get the hell back here.”
When he didn’t answer right away, as he should have, I was furious.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, Kirill. I heard you. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not fucking drunk. I’m working. A plan is needed to hunt down the Ghost. We don’t need another fucking hotel.”
“O-kay. I get it. I also know you have a guest. Is that necessary? There are plenty of beautiful women in New York.”
“It’s not like it was my idea. Besides, my guest wasn’t interested in playing by the rules. But she will soon learn.” I could kill the bastards for telling him.
“A little coincidental, her being the doctor on the same floor the unknown assailant had determined could provide safety.”
When my hand fisted, I brought it to my mouth. What the fuck did the man think he was doing, goading me? “Yeah, exactly what I thought, which is why she’s a carefully protected guest.”
While I’d almost thought about tying her to the bed, I’d found a soft spot that wasn’t like me.
“You need to be careful, Kirill. I don’t think I need to tell you that. We laid a trap for the Ghost and instead, he or she ended up playing us.”
The bastard was telling me what to do? Me? The second in command? “Us? You know what I think?” I tossed out. “If you’d been doing your job instead of taking time off, you’d know that Vivian Hamiliton is a key player.”