Chapter 2
TWO
STORM
L oyalty.
People love to talk about it like it’s holy. Like it’s this sacred, binding thing. God, country, king. All that bullshit.
But real loyalty? It’s just currency.
Spent. Bought. Traded.
And no one knows this more than me and the man sitting in front of my glass-and-steel desk.
“I’ll speak on behalf of all of us and say I’m sorry for your loss,” I start, noting The Bear’s expression. Damiano “The Bear” Lorio arrived at the Stratos Global offices with six guards, a chip on his shoulder the size of Brooklyn, and a look so cold it could freeze my face off.
Granted, the head of the Lorio Family just lost his son in a tragic boating accident caused by bad business decisions last week, so his frostiness is somewhat understandable.
The Bear tilts his chin down in acknowledgement, his eyes going around the room as if surprised I’d meet him alone.
“However, Damiano,” I say, giving him a closed-lipped smile. “You have to acknowledge Luigi made some dangerous decisions —decisions he knew were incompatible with…continuing to exist in this dimension.”
Namely, he decided to undercut our million-dollar cocaine deal with subpar product, delivering shit cut with Fentanyl and some other trash.
“Luigi knew the terms of our deal, Damiano. He didn’t deliver on the agreement.
Think of the reputational harm. What do you think would happen if a princess from some small European country were partying with my people, only to drop dead because your son decided to give me bunk, street shit like I’m serving goods to Skid Row? Seriously, Damiano.”
The Bear’s deep voice could challenge Barry White’s.
“Are you suggesting the Lorio family knowingly delivered poor goods?”
I keep my eye on the Italian.
“Knowingly or not, the responsibility fell on Luigi’s head. Furthermore, he refused to make it right,” I say, trying, and probably failing, to be diplomatic.
I hate this shit.
“You tried to extort ten million from us, Sandoval,” he says, spitting my name like a curse.
“It was fair restitution,” I say, gritting my teeth but still smiling.
“Ten times the value of the shipment?” The Bear says. I note he’s more upset about the money than the fact that his son got got .
I splay my hands out, leaning forward when The Bear jerks closer to me over the table.
“You seem to have forgotten your place, boy. Your uncle?—”
“My uncle,” I say, my voice cracking like lightning, “isn’t the one you need to worry about.”
The Bear rolls his shoulders, jerking his neck from side to side as if gearing up for battle.
“The cost is inequitable. And that will have to be rectified,” he grinds out.
I go still, silent. Where he’s cold, I flame hot, feeling rage enough to burn everyone to the ground.
“I know what you’re thinking: An eye for an eye and all that machismo bullshit. You’re probably hoping to gun me down and take out the rest of the office building.”
I tap the screen embedded in the desk in front of me, pulling up the live feed of Lorio properties.
“But here’s the problem with that. I have enforcers standing by at each of your warehouses, every brothel you own in the city and in New Jersey, and—” I use two fingers to enlarge the drone view of the primary Lorio estate where Damiano’s wife kneels over her tulips in their garden.
“Teresa’s found quite a passion with horticulture, has she not? ”
The Bear growls, but I continue.
“But!” I say, leaning back in my chair and bringing my hands together in front of my mouth, resting my index fingers on my lips.
“We don’t have to escalate things to this point.
First, no one wants wholesale bloodshed.
It’s bad for business. Second, there’s another option, and I think you know this, Dami. ”
The Bear glares at me with cold malice.
“We don’t have to be partners, but we don’t have to be enemies.
I’m even willing to waive the additional seventeen million you now owe me due to late fees.
You only owe me the ten million, and I’ll even give you an hour to wire it to us.
” I tap the screen, then blink as The Bear’s phone pings.
He looks down at the screen and scowls at the message: wire instructions, as if we were closing on a home loan and not discussing blood money.
“But let’s look at it like this, Dami: You stay in your business, and I’ll stay in mine.
Once you run me the money you owe me, everything will be straight.
But if you don’t want to go that route, well…
” I tilt my chin toward the screen, where a red dot appears on the back of his wife’s hat-covered head.
The Bear looks infuriated, but appropriately cowed. Still, I don’t put anything past the Lorios. I know even if we both agree to be neutral to each other, this meeting is a turning point for everyone.
I’m gonna be looking over my shoulder for a long time where they’re concerned, but when am I not?
With a tip of his chin, The Bear leaves, clutching the paper with his crew trailing behind him out of my office.
I count backward.
Three.
Two.
The light on my desk indicates that the upper level is clear of all Lorio family members.
I turn in my seat. Nightfall hits the city as I stare out the windows at Manhattan below.
Broad Street is usually full of tourists and sharks who obsessively check their Rolexes and walk fast, even for New Yorkers. It feels cold and sterile, like the narrow-minded focus of the money men on the street.
Shae would hate it here.
I suck in a breath, my chest getting tight. I’d question why I’m thinking about her now, but when am I not? Whether I’m awake and going through my day or deep in sleep, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about Shae.
This is my curse and my blessing.
Even after all this time, I see her soft smile, her brown, expressive eyes that seemed to see the world in a way so different from anyone I knew then and know now.
If I sit still enough and breathe in slowly, I can catch a whiff of her citrus scent.
The landline rings, a sickly pain settling in my gut. Lakeland’s virtual presence sitting next to thoughts of Shae just feels…wrong.
Unholy.
I pick up the phone and continue staring out the wall-to-wall windows overlooking Broad Street with the Hudson in the distance.
For all the things he is, Lakeland is a creature of habit. He always calls me on Wednesday evening at six p.m. Eastern time. So, I make it a point to always be waiting for the call.
I prove my loyalty every time I answer the phone.
“Nephew,” Lakeland drawls. “How are things in The Big Apple?”
He always does this—starts with pleasantries as if he were a loving uncle and not The Antichrist.
“Same shit, different day,” I reply, my voice gruff. Over the line, the unmistakable squawk of seagulls competes with the dull roar of continuous waves hitting a shoreline.
“Where in the world are you now?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light. I smile, even though Lakeland can’t see me, to channel the voice I want to use.
Don’t tip him off. Don’t let him suspect a thing.
“Ah, nowhere important,” he says, but I can guess. He’s on Isla Cara, his playground.
I hum in response.
“I’ll be back in New York at some point,” he volunteers. “I’ve got some things to handle back in the Midwest, though.”
I raise an eyebrow. I want to ask him for more details, but I know he won’t volunteer them.
“Oh? Need me to step in?” I offer, keeping my voice light.
Lakeland makes a dismissive sound.
“Just the little brat,” he sighs, and my eyebrows go damn near to my hairline. He rarely, if ever, acknowledges the “little brat,” also known as his daughter. Shit, I don’t even remember her name, and I know I can’t ask him that information.
My palms itch, though, as I think through ways I can exploit any news.
“She’s a teenager now, yeah?” I throw out, trying to sound casual, if even a bit distracted.
Lakeland huffs.
“Yes. And she’s old enough to know what she’s good for, and yet…” he sighs as if he were a tired parent having to deal with a rebellious kid. “I’ll get her straightened out. It doesn’t take much to make her fall in line.”
I hum in response.
“She’s testing boundaries, but she knows who she belongs to,” Lakeland adds.
Revulsion slides into my gut at that ominous statement.
“Did you handle that situation with the Lorio family?” Lakeland asks, and I change my position in the seat, somewhat grateful for the subject shift.
“Of course,” I reply. “Handled. And as for the other thing—I pulled out of Sebastian’s deal and scooped up another position in a stock I’ve got…an eye on.”
I crack my neck from side to side. Who cares about the SEC and insider trading? The way I’ve got Stratos locked down and with Lakeland’s connections, no one touches us.
I could be disgusted by this fact, but instead, I choose to use it.
Exploit it.
Hold this truth in my back pocket until I can use it to my benefit…and destroy Lakeland.
“You’ve got the Midas Touch, nephew,” Lakeland says, and I grit my teeth.
“If that will be all…” I trail off, very much wanting to get off the phone. My palm itches with the need to leave here and check the secured folder I have access to on the encrypted device Axel, Riale, and I use to communicate.
“There’s one more thing. Well, maybe two,” Lakeland says, and someone in the distance on the other end of the phone releases a howling laugh. More people join in.
“I’m listening,” I say. Lakeland pulls the phone away from his face, his voice muffled when he says something to someone, and more laughter follows.
I grit my teeth, wanting to reach through the phone line and strangle him just for existing.
Time. With time, Storm.
“Lakeland,” I grind out, raising my voice, and he’s still chuckling when he returns to the call.
“Yes, two things,” he says, taking a deep breath. “There’s a business opportunity that’s being roadblocked. I need you to clear the path.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Oh? Have any more details than that?” I ask, but then there’s more laughter.
“Keystone Financial. Used to be owned by the Braxton family, but they fell on hard times. The son, the CEO, happened to be a crackhead and, well, you know how that goes.”
As ironic as it is, seeing as we finance more than half of the American drug trade, I do know how that goes. Most people in the financial industry would be considered high-functioning cocaine addicts, but there is always a point where they go from functioning to non-functioning.
Most of them end up in a rehab outside Calabasas, but every once in a while, families who want to make an example, or are tired of the financial waste that comes along with supporting their drug-addicted family members, will make a public spectacle of kicking them out of the will.
“All right, so you want to buy Keystone?” I ask.
“Not exactly. I still need the deal to go through, and the exec board’s proving... uncooperative. Too many bleeding hearts and watchdogs slowing things down. You, on the other hand, know how to make people see reason,” Lakeland says.
I blow out a breath.
“All right. Where are they headquartered?” I ask, scribbling on the paper.
“Chicago,” Lakeland says, and I know he’s finally listening well to catch my reaction.
But I won’t let him capture how my heartbeat trips over itself, or how my leg starts to bounce up and down.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” I ask, my mouth dry. Lakeland hums.
“Shouldn’t be more than two months if you do things right,” he replies.
Fuck. Me. The thought of two months in Chicago feels like torture and a hit of pure dope after a long stretch of sobriety.
“Why so glum, Nephew?” Lakeland asks, picking up on my hesitation like a shark scenting blood in the water.
I grit my teeth.
“I’m fine. I’ll get it handled,” I reply, and Lakeland does that infuriating hum again.
“You worried about going home? You should feel like the king of that city,” he says, his tone light. “Unless you’re worried about something back there. Some old ghosts, maybe?”
The statement lands in my lap like a grenade, but I can’t react.
“Such as?” I ask, knowing the answer, but wanting him to say the words—wanting him to give me fuel to tear him limb by limb.
But only when the time is right.
“That pretty little thing you were chasing after,” he says.
I play his game a little more.
“Bambi? No, she’s married,” I throw out, keeping my tone casual.
“Nah, I know you weren’t clocking for Bambi, no matter how much your mama and daddy wanted you to lock that down.”
Pain cuts sharply in my heart, the blood in my veins burning hot.
“Was her name Chantal?” He snaps his fingers a few times. “No, it was Shae. Right, Nephew?”
Static casts over my vision, blurring the high-rises in front of me.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, trying like hell to act unaffected. “I barely remember her. Nah, that’s real old news.”
Another. Fucking. Hum.
“Right, right,” he says. “Well, anyway. You’ll get this Keystone shit handled.”
He doesn’t say it as a vote of confidence in my abilities, but as a clear command. Get this done. Or else.
“All right,” I say, keeping my tone cool.
“And that leads to the second thing. There’s a gala at the end of the week, also in Chicago. You remember Trance Jackson, right?”
“Of course,” I reply. My father worked with Trance before he died.
No. Before my father’s brutal murder.
I grind my teeth and listen to my parents’ killer drone on.
“It’s a charity thing, so be sure to smile nicely for the cameras.”
A pause, the implication being I’m going to this gala whether I want to or not. Just more proof that Lakeland’s in control.
Not for fucking long.
“Got it,” I grind out.
“Excellent!” Lakeland says brightly. Then, with more laughter on the other end, the call abruptly ends.
I drop the phone onto its receiver and sit for a few minutes, breathing deeply and trying not to crash out over the fact that I’m going to Chicago.
A place I’ve avoided religiously.
The place where Shae resides, last I checked.
“Fuck,” I say, already feeling my chest getting tight and my skin starting to buzz.
Shae. I’m going to be in the same zip code as Shae. What if I see her? What if I run into her?
What if I don’t see her at all?
Get it the fuck together, Sandoval.
Spinning in my seat, I assess the massive CEO office space oh so graciously gifted to me by Lakeland.
Like the rest of Stratos’ east coast office, it’s all sleek lines and exactly what you’d expect from a Manhattan financial services firm.
If only people knew the silk Persian rugs and Hermès desk sets were paid for in blood.
Soon. Soon, I’ll be able to put all of this to rest—bury it deep in the ground along with Lakeland’s rotting corpse.
I blow out a breath and stand, grabbing my keys in my free hand.
Yes, I’ll finally win this long war—as long as I don’t get distracted.