Chapter 2
chapter Two
Saint
Nico
“Thank you all for coming to support the Sandra Wake Foundation for domestic violence awareness. Your generous donations help find homes and safe dwellings for victims of domestic violence,” the dark brown-skinned woman standing on the stage says.
Her words drown out as my thoughts stray.
The only reason I was at this fundraiser was for Tiffany.
Every year I make a large donation to a non-profit.
I charged my wife with choosing the non-profit this year.
She picked the Sandra Wake Foundation because not only did it help victims of domestic violence, it was ran and operated by a black woman.
I take a sip of my champagne, feeling the emptiness in my chest. Four days. Four muthafucking days, I haven’t been able to hold my son or lay eyes on my wife. My body gets hot and flushed just thinking about that shit. I haven’t slept since the day she left. The vein in my neck throb with my fury.
My crew searched everywhere. All her friends and family are monitored. I’ve even stalked her bank account trying to see if she uses her card anywhere. Nothing. I’m losing my fucking mind without her and my son back home.
“Niccolo Basille, the man of the hour.” I turn to find William Ingram walking up to me. His French bodyguard, Francois, not far behind him.
“Will,” I say in greeting.
William Ingram is the heir and now owner of the Ingram Family Group.
Once a major hospitality chain, IFG has since downsized.
Years of bad business deals, family scandals, and terrible reputations dwindled the nearly 600 hotels spread out globally down to a measly 163.
Poor Will has been fighting for the last decade to keep the remaining hotels open.
“What brings you out of the house?” he teases. “I thought you were too good to mingle with the common folk.”
A chuckle escapes me. “I am, but every now and again, I like to grace you with my presence. Give you muthafuckers something to strive for.”
He tosses his head back and laughs. When I first moved into the hospitality business, Will’s father and many others tried to convince him that I was his enemy. However, neither of us took the bait. We aren’t friends, but we damn sure aren’t enemies.
“How’s it going?”
I shrug. “I can’t complain.”
“By the way, I saw the write up in the magazine about that East River resort. That place is absolutely gorgeous.”
That warm feeling takes over me as I think about how great of a job Tiffany did on that place. Til this day, the best gamble I ever fucking made.
“Thank you. I have my wife to thank for that.”
Will grins. “Where is she?” He looks around as if she’s going to pop up. Fuck, I wish she would. “I’ve been dying to meet her.”
I shake off the longing feeling. My hand around the wine flute tightens; it’s a miracle this glass doesn’t break.
“She stayed home with our son.” The lie comes easily.
His smile lifts while he shakes his head. “You’re a lucky man, Niccolo. I’m happy for you. Although I want you to know I put a bid on that East River property before you. Unfortunately, my paperwork got hung up, and I lost the bid.”
I keep a straight face even though I knew all about his missing paperwork. Maseo held that shit up for months while mine worked through the system.
“Damn.” I shake my head. “You know how slow that shit can move sometimes.”
He nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, but it all worked out in the end. I ended up with a much better deal.”
Now this was news to me. I had heard nothing about IFG acquiring anymore hotels. Last I heard, they were fighting to keep the ones they had.
“Oh?”
Will leans closer, letting me know whatever he’s about to tell me has not yet gone public.
“You know Richard Hart is selling all of his resorts, right?”
Richard Hart owns twelve of the top golf resorts in the world. Twelve may not seem like a lot, but the Hart Resorts brings in hundreds of billions of dollars every year. Golfers love those fucking resorts, not to mention a lot of the pro circuit is played on his golf courses.
I turn to fully face William. “I’ve heard. I also heard the price tag on that sale is through the roof.”
I didn’t just hear about the price; Richard Hart came to me first about buying his resorts.
In my opinion, the price wasn’t worth the sale.
One of the reasons the hotels did so well is because Hart was a big golf enthusiast. His name and face made the resorts what they were.
He doesn’t want to sell his name rights with the hotels.
The moment the sale goes public, and the Hart name is no longer attached to the resorts, the bookings will slow down.
Will smiles, leaning up, his chest out. “I’m good for it. A lot of smart investments and patience have finally paid off for me. This will be big for the IFG brand.”
If he says so. I wouldn’t take the deal, but that’s just me. Plus, if he had the type of money to put into buying the Hart Resorts, he should’ve used it to upgrade and revamp his existing hotels. But this isn’t my problem.
“Well, congratulations,” I say instead. “When will it go public?”
Will smirks. “Thank you. We are a couple of months away from the final process, but definitely by next year.”
I pat him on the back in congratulations.
“Now, when IFG resorts start taking all of your business, I hope we can remain friends.”
At this, I laugh and place a hand on his shoulder. “You will never be my competition, William, or my friend,” I say jokingly.
He and I both laugh. I spot Ghost, my right hand and bodyguard, moving through the crowd over toward me. By the look on his face, I can tell that my time of being Niccolo Basille is over. I was going to have to become Saint.
“Excuse me,” I say to Will and Francois.
I move through the crowd, meeting Ghost halfway.
“Time to go. Just got word Salv and Kaz landed.”
I place my champagne down on the closest server’s tray. “Didn’t we tell them to let us know when they took off?” I make my way through the crowd. Ghost is at my side, his head on a swivel. Roc, my second bodyguard and driver, appears in front of me, moving through the gathering easily.
“You know Salv never listens,” Ghost says. He had a point.
“Any luck at the warehouse?”
We walk through the front doors of the ballroom, down the manicured front lawn, and out onto the sidewalk.
“They’re still working.” He glances around, his attention on everything at once.
Roc secures my SUV, and we all pile in. I lean my head against the headrest as I wait for the meeting with my brothers.
Standing in the middle of my warehouse, with my hands tucked in my front pockets, I stare off into space. The sound of liquid hitting a metal bucket echoes through the room. Muffled groans are ignored as I wait for my brothers to arrive.
The metal grinding sound of the warehouse door opening alerts me to company.
Mason Maxwell walks into the building. His black wool trench coat is open, showing off his cream cashmere turtleneck sweater and dark gray slacks.
His dark brown hair is cut short and combed back off his face. He was always the polished businessman.
His bodyguard, Grant, is behind him. The six-foot, five-inch bald black man is a constant at his side. Both men look to the center of the room briefly before turning back to me.
“Didn’t you have a fundraiser tonight? You look like shit.” Mason stops beside me. Grant dips his chin at me before going over to join Ghost in the middle of the room.
“Thanks for pointing that out,” I reply dryly. Even though I was in a custom-designed tuxedo, I looked as if I hadn’t slept in days. Which I haven’t.
“Where are my nephew and sister?”
I love Mason. He is truly the definition of a protective big brother, but sometimes he made me want to kick his ass.
“I don’t know, Mase. If I knew where they were, I wouldn’t be here looking as if I hadn’t slept in days.” I run a hand down my face. My five o’clock shadow prickled my hand.
He stares back at me, unbothered by my snippy reply.
Out of all of us, Mason is the calmest. I’m the hot head of the bunch, with Salv a close second.
Even Kazimir, who hardly ever gets riled up, is more likely to act out than Mase.
However, don’t let the coolness fool you.
When Mason goes off the deep end, shit gets ugly.
“I’ll have my people step in. They’re military trained to find people.”
I’m shaking my head before he finishes his sentence. “You got your own shit going on. I can handle this.”
“I’m not making an offer, Nic. I’m telling you, my guys are stepping in.”
I sigh. It’s useless to argue when he gets this way. Mason has always been the problem solver.
“Have you checked her cellphone records and email account to see if she’s reached out to anyone?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “She didn’t take her phone, but I checked to see if she communicated with anyone before leaving. Nothing.”
The groaning from the center of the room grows louder, causing Mason and I to glance in that direction.
“And you’ve thoroughly vetted all friends and family?”
I nod. “Yes. They all cleared. But Tiffany is smart. She wouldn’t tell anyone I know or I’ve met where she is.”
Look, I’ve thought of all this. Did he think I’ve just been twiddling my thumbs for four fucking days?
“Well, who haven’t you met?”
I open my mouth to tell him I’ve met everyone, but a light bulb goes off in my head. There is one person in Tiffany’s life that I haven’t met. A person she doesn’t normally deal with, and I know she dislikes. A person who would be her very last resort.
“I might have a lead I need your guys to look into.” I scratch my chin as a new seed of hope blooms.
Mason dips his head. Just then, the creaking of the metal door draws our attention again. Salv and Kazimir walk into the warehouse.
“Yo, yo,” Salv sings in greeting.