Chapter 10
Jaxon
“You let me fucking handle this,” Sinclair barked. It was the second time he’d done so.
I couldn’t blame my brother for being pissed off.
“When was the last time you talked with Carmine?” I asked while watching him pace the floor.
“Weeks. Months. Hell, I don’t know. We’ve both been busy.”
Nodding, I shifted my pen back and forth in my fingers. “Has he mentioned Sergio?”
My brother finally stopped moving, his sigh as exasperated as every other action he’d taken since storming into my office. “No. They aren’t close. That much I do know.”
I rapped my fingers on my desk. “Well, you can handle this although we have the corporate meeting in the morning.”
“Yeah, I know. I left a message for Carmine but he’s in surgery.” He glanced at where I was sitting behind my desk. “Let’s keep this as quiet as possible until we discover all the facts.”
“Don’t worry. That’s what I intend on doing.”
“Fuck this shit,” he growled as he headed out.
At least I could finally take a deep breath. What a shitty last twenty-four hours.
Well, not every hour. I chuckled as I briefly closed my eyes, seeing my angel’s face. My lovely ballerina. “Who are you, lost angel?” And why had she suddenly dropped into my life?
Why the hell was life so damn complicated?
Where had the girl come from and more important, why was it I couldn’t get her off my mind? I hadn’t mentioned the mysterious girl to Sinclair, sensing the other news had pushed him into overload. The woman I could handle.
I’d put in a call to Irina Novikov and had yet to receive a return call. If the woman didn’t honor my wishes, I’d head to the theater. At least I knew the location where the mystery girl had gone was legitimate, the street she’d been looking for where the dancers rehearsed.
Even though at least a portion of her story checked out, my instinct was never wrong. She was hiding something.
“Fuck,” I hissed, fighting the urge to track her down like some stalker.
I’d tried to find anything out about the girl online but without knowing her name, it had been useless. Even the social media page for the ballet had nothing about the new hire.
The entire situation had nagged me more than the issue at the damn warehouse.
Because perhaps they were connected.
Adrenaline burned as it rushed through my veins, refusing to let up from the morning’s activities.
I paced the floor of my office, glancing at my computer screen every so often.
I’d been doing the same damn thing for several hours, not only going over employee records but also various sets of financials to ensure there weren’t any discrepancies.
With a meeting already established for the morning, I wanted all my ducks in a row.
Sergio Russo. What was the kid up to?
Of course the informants suddenly knew nothing else. Maybe the tidbit of information had been dropped on purpose. Not unheard of either. But why the woman?
“Asshole. Stop thinking about her.” As if speaking out loud would cause that to happen. I needed to think this through.
At twenty-four, Sergio was still at the age when sowing his wild oats still seemed appropriate, even exciting.
However, he was old enough a tic in the back of his mind reminded him on a daily basis he was required to follow rules.
His brother, the Don’s rule. Carmine wasn’t known for indulging in frivolity, considered an impatient and brutal man.
While every crime syndicate had a legacy to embrace and continue, including various acts of loyalty required by every member from foot soldier to lieutenants, only a few allowed reckless behaviors as a choice of accomplishments.
And I’d consider taunting the Prince family as careless as it got.
Given I wasn’t a man who believed in coincidences, I’d spent some time scouring the social media sights and the internet in general to see if there were any pictures of Sergio with the woman from before.
A girl I couldn’t get out of my mind.
There was no chance in hell in a city the size of New Orleans that we’d accidentally run into each other on three separate occasions.
I just couldn’t figure out her angle. If only I’d taken a picture, I could have my computer experts use face recognition software.
Maybe she had a record that would make her easy to find.
My inner voice laughed at me. She was a fucking ballerina. Wasn’t there some movie where ballerinas were used as the perfect femme fatales? Wow. My imagination was getting the better of me. And there went my dick again, twitching to the point of a continuous dull ache.
On our third meeting, the fancy dance around our recognition of each other had intrigued the hell out of me. Once again, I’d seen a blip of terror shaded in the darkness spooling in her eyes. However, she’d allowed her annoyance of my insistent personality to cover her primal fear.
Was it possible my sister had set us up? Well… That was an interesting concept.
My instincts were screaming it wasn’t only me she was afraid of. And her life was none of my goddamn business as long as she didn’t interfere with mine.
Groaning, I glared at the ceiling. Maybe I was making too much out of running into her.
I’d caught a glimpse of her inside Indulgence, chatting with someone.
I had every intention of asking my sister if she knew the girl, but Emmeline had been busy when I’d passed through, barely offering me a wave.
My sister was a little matchmaker.
At least I’d asked the question. Now, what in the fuck was Sergio after other than money for drugs? With several hours already passed, Sergio should be on edge at this point. Unless he was hopeful we’d be the ones on edge.
I’d scoured the club, searching the existing liquor boxes for false bottoms and finding none.
There was no drug paraphernalia of any kind.
I’d also spent three hours going over several of the security videos, especially ones including the employees, to try to locate the person on the inside only to see nothing out of the ordinary.
The only oddity had been the woman’s appearance. Damn it. Now who was the one doing the spiraling?
Just thinking about the ballerina’s rebellious nature was enough for my balls to tighten. Christ. My eyes were strained from watching a hundred damn videos so the colorful images of the stunning girl flowing through my mind heightened the ache in my temple.
I wasn’t used to being distracted. My personality was on point, refusing to allow any aspect of business to get to me.
When thoughts of the mystery girl continued to pop into my mind, I closed my eyes, pressing my thumb against the bridge of my nose. There was absolutely no reason for me to have a headache, but I didn’t believe in coincidences.
Who the hell was the girl and why couldn’t I get my mind off her?
There was every reason for my dick to ache. The girl was fucking beautiful. In an unassuming way. A caterpillar ready to turn into a magnificent butterfly. Our night had been close to perfect.
Tall and slender, the ridiculous gray running gear she’d worn hadn’t taken away from her voluptuous body. And her rosy porcelain skin had caused her bright green eyes to punch me right in the gut.
Some would call them doe eyes, but they were knowing, sadness ripping through them from years of torment. When you coupled that with the fading bruise on her cheek, all the classic signs of abuse were there.
In a world where violence had once been an everyday fact of life, I’d learned to become immune to anyone’s pain. Taking it all in meant heartache and what was the point? There’d only been two times in my life I’d allowed my emotions to get the better of me.
Once had been when my father had been murdered. While I’d suffered in silence as the Prince brothers tended to do, that didn’t mean I didn’t go through a vast array of emotions.
The other time had been much more difficult to deal with, coming at a time in my life when I’d challenged everything, including my father’s power. I’d been ill equipped to deal with the rage and need for revenge.
If it hadn’t been for the closeness of the family, my guess was that my ass would have been tossed in prison for a few years.
The rambling thoughts on past tragedies were not the best foils against the increasing anger I had for the Italians. We’d mostly considered them nuisances, but as with all enemies, they expressed their need for power from time to time.
Which was why the woman suddenly running into me on the street continued to nag at a portion of my mind. She’d looked at me as if out of recognition, straightening her spine, lifting her head in a gesture of annoyance and defiance.
Even after catching a moment of true fear in her eyes, the steel in her bearing had captured and kept my attention.
When she’d noticed blood on my sleeve, I’d seen instant recognition, yet she hadn’t backed down.
Given my state of mind, I’d accomplished shit.
I shifted to the window, staring out at the street below.
I was the only one who frequented the offices in the building housing our various Indulgence operations.
While we had a staff here as well as in our other set of corporate offices, being here afforded me a level of quiet I didn’t have in the other location.
Sighing, I rubbed my eyes and studied the people coming and going.
What did I know about the girl? A ballerina now with New Orleans.
That checked out. She was at least ten years younger, but what had snagged my curiosity and concern more than anything was her accent.
Decidedly Italian. Not New York Italian either and certainly not the crude accent I’d heard from the Russo family members.
She was tried and true, born to a family of wealth and power. How did I know that? Because in learning various languages, I’d learned about different dialects for different portions of Italy and beyond. I longed to hear her speak fluid Italian. That would be even more telling.
Fuck.