Saint: A Dark Romance (Saint and Sinners Book 1)

by Ruby Vincent

  “No,” Sinjin said clearly. “We’re not. Angelo’s not ready to break. Diego will get him there.”

  “He was never going to give up his gang for the death of those Kings and some bad publicity,” I said.

  “Course not,” Mercer said. He draped a leg over the arm of the chair, reclining with his glass of wine. “We’re not taking over the Kings unless we kill him. That was always the result. But one thing we can’t get if he’s dead is what he knows about Kieran.”

  “Who’s Kieran?”

  Sinjin stood up, standing before the television. “We said we’d be the law in this city. There’s someone who already is.”

  “Someone who is the law?” I repeated. “Who? This Kieran guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “No, but you’ve seen his work.”

  I made a face. “What? Stop talking in riddles, Saint. Who’s Kieran?”

  “You’ve heard of a fixer, haven’t you?” Mercer snagged my attention. “A kingmaker. Someone who sets all the pieces on the board in your favor.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Around twenty years ago, whispers started rising about a guy named Kieran. That’s it. Just Kieran. It was said you could bring any problem to him, and he’d make it go away. Mistress threatening to expose your affair and destroy your political career? Gone.

  “News of your embezzling about to break out? The police evidence disappears. Want to collect the insurance money on a building you own? Take a vacation and when you come back, it’ll be a pile of ash.

  “Kieran didn’t stop there,” Mercer said. “He made as many careers as he saved. Mayor Katz didn’t have a chance of winning until he was shot in a drive-by while playing in the park with his daughter. Sympathy catapulted him up the polls, and the rest was history. There was never proof, but some credit Kieran for him, and the power acquired by many others in our little slice of heaven.”

  “Wow,” I breathed. “So, you want to find this guy to... hire him? Have him hand you control of the city?”

  Cash made a harsh noise. “No, Redgrave. Let him finish the story.”

  “Kieran was formidable. Ruthless. Effective,” Mercer continued. “Everyone went to him, Adeline. Rich and poor. It’s unknown how many clients he worked with, and the number of secrets he’s created or kept hidden. What we do know is he kept meticulous records, receipts, and proof in his ledger, and once he had enough, he turned on all of them.”

  “He’s used that ledger to control the city ever since,” Cash finished. “Crowning himself the king.”

  “Oh my gosh. Again, how have I never heard of him?”

  “Where would you overhear talk about underground kingpins? While you’re shelling shrimp in Salvatore’s kitchen?”

  My glare was withering. “I’ve lived in rough neighborhoods. Been around more unsavory types than you have, Cash. The only Kieran I know was a kid in elementary school who put his boogers in his lunchbox.”

  “He prefers it that way,” Sinjin said. “He doesn’t want to be known. Doesn’t need to be. Kieran stays in the shadows, pulling strings as it suits him. That ledger gives him total power, Adeline, and while he has it, the rest of us are just peasants squabbling over the leftovers.”

  “Whoever owns the ledger,” I said, “owns Cinco.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Mercer confirmed.

  I shook my head. “But hold on. You said this was twenty years ago? How is he controlling anybody with scandals that are decades’ old?”

  “Just ’cause he’s closed up shop, doesn’t mean he’s out of the business. No one knows who he is or what he looks like. You could be spilling your life story to him in a bar and have no idea. He’s an expert at finding what he needs to know. He’s only added more to the ledger over the years.”

  “Don’t his old clients know who he is?” I asked.

  “Never dealt with him directly.”

  Sinjin retook his seat next to me. “We know one thing for certain. He was, or is, in the life. Mafia or gang—doesn’t matter. He got his start on the wrong side of the law.”

  “Where does Angelo fit in?”

  “The Kings are the oldest gang in the city,” said Cash. “They’ve survived for years. Virtually untouchable. More than one person has assumed Kieran and a certain ledger have contributed to their long lifespan.”

  “You think Kieran is a King?”

  “No,” Sinjin admitted. “I think he was a King until he struck out on his own. Now the bastard’s middle-aged and basking in the penthouse-life with that ledger close by. Whipping it out when necessary to protect his former brothers.”

  “To find him, we have to tap old gangster’s like Angelo for what they know,” Mercer said. “He has to know something. Someone has to know something. We’ll find them.”

  “The ledger is that important?”

  “The ledger is everything.” Something in Sinjin’s voice struck me. “There’s no point to any of this without it. A puppet king is no king at all.”

  “A puppet king?” Ripples hummed under my skin as I peered in Sinjin’s eyes, and the boys in turn. “Kieran doesn’t have something on you guys... does he?”

  Silence pressed in on me.

  That’s an answer in and of itself.

  THE CONVERSATION WAS over after that. I couldn’t get more out of the guys on what Kieran held over him, or just how far they were willing to go to get that ledger. It turned out they didn’t answer because they planned to show, not tell.

  Kaylee and I texted while I prepped the artichoke-stuffed beef tenderloin. I told her the girls were rescued and authorities were working to find them safe homes. She asked me if their rescue had anything to do with the Castian Hotel, and the bodies piled in and outside.

  I was thinking of a response to that when Sinjin called me.

  “Bunny, get in here. My lap’s waiting for you.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “Your lap has to keep waiting. I’m buttering beef.”

  He stood—no doubt to pick me up himself—and the reporter floated to my ear.

  “—in Harlow. Multiple buildings on fire.”

  I snapped my head up. Sinjin was there, hoisting me around the waist to carry me where my attention had gone.

  The boys were seated in the living room. Mercer and Brutal watching. Cash splitting his eyes from the screen to his computer.

  “As you can see, firefighters are working tirelessly to put out these blazes. Between the timings and concentrated locations of these fires, early reports are pointing to arson.”

  “Saint, did you do this?”

  He plopped us both down on the armchair. “Yes, indeed.”

  I was too stunned to speak.

  “Fires,” he said. “I got the idea from you.”

  “You didn’t get any part of that from me,” I snapped. “I created fake fires to chase away child traffickers. Those are real!” The screen mocked me, displaying the burning warehouse in stark, HD clarity. “How many?”

  “Twelve,” Mercer replied like it was nothing. He was reclining on the couch again, sans the wine. “The phone you nabbed off Acker wasn’t a waste. He had the locations of the last twenty spots that hosted Angelo’s casino.”

  “Our friend in the basement gave us twenty-one,” Sinjin said. “The location it was supposed to be held this week. We burned it down too.”

  “Were there people in those buildings?!”

  He bobbed his head. “Yep. We burned little Tracy and her entire family alive.” He scoffed at my gasp. “Of course there weren’t people inside. Angelo chooses buildings with little foot traffic.”

  “Diego checked them in case,” Mercer assured me. “That’s why it was thirteen buildings and not twenty-one. The others were beneath clubs or restaurants.”

  “I just... This is too far.”

  Sinjin’s eyes hardened. “Have you changed your mind, Bunny? Are you out?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

&nbs
p; “Good. Because this isn’t far enough. Cash,” he said, though he looked at me. “Adeline’s going to help you with the rest. I’ll be downstairs.”

  Sinjin stormed out of the room.

  “Uh,” Mercer sighed. “I hate it when they fight.”

  Steaming, I spun on Cash. “What are you doing?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Cash held up a book. I recognized it immediately.

  “That’s the list of bidders.”

  “Names, numbers, addresses, and preferences,” he said as I joined him. “Angelo lost ten customers due to the Castian. He’ll lose a lot more when the people on this list get texts from Angelo, demanding they pay him half a million dollars, or he’ll reveal those preferences to all of Cinco City.”

  “Won’t they call to bitch him out? He’ll just tell them he had nothing to do with it.”

  Cash smirked. “And admit someone outside the Kings got their hands on this and is using it to fuck with them? Think that’ll sit better with them?”

  My smile matched his. “No, I do not.”

  “Angelo hasn’t made the call yet. He will after this.”

  I flipped the notebook open, finding where Cash left off on the list. “Saint missed the mark if he thought this would punish me. I’m more than happy to co-sign tormenting child molesters.” I grabbed his hand as he reached for the computer. “As long as we carry out the threat. All of Cinco finds out what they are.”

  “Mercer’s got a journalist friend dying to break the story. This was only going to end one way.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  That night and early into the morning, Cash and I drafted individual texts to those on the list who slipped the net at Castian. The names that came up were sobering.

  Politicians. Business people. Musicians. A former actor. One woman was the board of a children’s charity.

  The texts were written, number spoofed, signed with the name Angelo, and sent at four on the dot.

  Task done, I rolled into bed for a few hours of sleep. I was up again to make, and burn, breakfast when Saint decided our tiff was over and he carried me upstairs to bed.

  The call didn’t come on Thursday.

  Friday came and went without a ring.

  By Saturday, I was pacing the kitchen

  “Why hasn’t he called?”

  “Should I pop over and ask him?”

  “I’m serious, Saint.”

  He was relaxed on the kitchen stool and lazily trying to catch me as I went by.

  “What if they all handed over the money and he’s sitting pretty counting his bills? He’s probably laughing at us right now.”

  Saint finally snagged the hem of my peplum top. He towed me in and tucked me between his legs.

  “First rule of dealing with blackmailers,” he said. “Never pay them. Everyone knows it doesn’t stop after the first payment, and Angelo could drain them dry with what he knows. No, Bunny, I’m sure they’re not paying him. What they’re doing is hiring a hitman for a fourth of the cost to take him out permanently.”

  I blinked. “What? But then— What about Kieran? I thought you wanted that talk with Angelo?”

  “I’ll get it.” Sinjin swept my hair over my shoulder and followed it down my back. “If a hit is put on him, Angelo will find out an hour after it’s done. Once he looks into what the hell is going on, he’ll make the call.”

  Resting my chin on his chest, I asked, “What happens after? After you take down Angelo? After you find Kieran?”

  “Cinco is mine, Bunny. You know that.”

  “I mean what happens to us?” I whispered.

  Sinjin’s phone rang. Fishing it out, he showed me the screen.

  Angelo.

  “Angelo,” Sinjin answered. “What can I do for you?”

  “The day has come.”

  The room temperature dropped ten degrees. Corbin thought his shouts and threats were intimidating. He must not have truly pissed Angelo off. If he had, he’d know this was real menace.

  “You and I will meet to discuss this attack on my business, and how it will come to an end.”

  “Gladly. Mind if I pick the place?”

  “I insist on it,” Angelo replied. “I want to know where you feel safe, Sinjin. Where you lay your head. Where you eat, drink, and piss. I want to know what brings you joy, and then I want you to watch while I return the favor, and burn it to the ground.”

  “We bring one,” Sinjin continued like he hadn’t spoken. “One man, or woman, with you. Show up with fifty guys and I disappear.”

  “Where?”

  “Twenty-Five Cinco Casino. VIP room. Ten o’clock.”

  “Leave your mask at home.”

  Click.

  I shuddered. “He’s not a guy you want to meet in a dark alley. You don’t want to meet him in a brightly lit alley either. Who are you taking with you tonight?”

  “You.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Cash, Brutal, and Mercer will be outside stopping whatever plan he’s got to kill us the minute we step out the door.”

  “Oh. Makes sense.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Saint

  “I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense,” Adeline went on. “The place is called Twenty-Five Five Casino. Why not call it Twenty Cinco? How did no one catch this?”

  Adeline had hold of my chin, keeping it pointed at the road. “Are you blabbering because you’re nervous?”

  “I don’t blabber, jerk. I’m easing you into the conversation. When you smell a real one coming, you snap up like a clam,” she said. “You had this place ready to go. Why? What am I walking into?”

  “You’ll find out in two minutes.”

  Stupidly named though it was, Twenty-Five Cinco Casino stood out. Theaters, restaurants, shops, and another casino surrounded it, but your eyes were drawn to the neon lights shining brighter than the rest.

  I turned into the parking lot knowing somewhere nearby, Cash and the guys were staked out waiting for Angelo to make his move. I helped Adeline out of the car and escorted her inside certain he already made it.

  Twenty-Five Cinco was alive on a Saturday night. Bells, chimes, and clacking chips sounded on a looping soundtrack. It was the only music I loved listening to.

  We went through security. Both of us patted down, sent through the motion detectors, and her bag checked.

  On our release, I led Adeline to the bar by the hand. She wasn’t wearing pants for me to hook my finger through the belt loop. I reached to do it automatically and her hand was there, ready and weaving her fingers through mine.

  I glanced at the linked hands as we went. I noticed others looking at us too. The attractive couple.

  Couple?

  The loving boyfriend and girlfriend.

  Love?

  Minds made up, their glances and quick smiles decided the answers to the questions. What was my answer?

  That they could not tell me.

  “Two bottles of Armand de Brignac,” I told the bartender, “and whatever the lady wants. Send it to the VIP room.”

  “Right away, my man.”

  We continued on to the back, skirting the tables and servers carrying drinks. I dropped out of her grasp. She took it back.

  “Angelo and his man might be watching. Don’t want them reading into the hand-holding,” I explained. “He’s looking for a weakness.”

  A smile played at her lips. “Am I your weakness?”

  “I can’t go more than an hour without dousing up on that pussy, so the evidence is sound.”

  She laughed. “I hope your weakness extends beyond your dick?”

  She’d been doing that a lot lately. Trying to steer me into making a definite statement on what I felt about her and our being together. Was this a girlfriend thing?

  I stopped it with those in high school when I figured out how easily I could get the sex without the commitment. Why bother with anything else?

  Of course, nothing was that simple with
Adeline.

  “You also make a mean prime rib.”

  She fell silent—eyes drilling a hold in my head and pouring that fire inside. That was why it couldn’t be simple. She was like no one else.

  Always fighting. Always pushing back.

  Gold and red velvet doors peeked through the crowd. A guard stood watch. He threw out his hands when he saw me.

  “Sinjin,” he crowed. “Been a long time.”

  “Hey, Jalen.” We shook. “Work’s kept me busy. This is Bunny.”

  “Addy,” she corrected. “Let me guess, you’re a long-lost foster brother? Sinjin’s uncle? Maybe his fraternal twin? I’ve walked into so many surprise family reunions this month.”

  “Nah. I’m just the guy opening and closing the door.” He cut to me. “Which I did for two gentlemen an hour ago. They’re inside.”

  I nodded. I expected this.

  “Send him in within the next twenty minutes.”

  “Will do,” said Jalen.

  He did his job, letting us inside.

  The VIP room made its name for privacy and luxury. There were no windows in here. Squares where windows should be were made of silver grating and a dark red back lighting. Different tables were set up around the room—for poker, blackjack, and the private meal two men were enjoying in front of a big screen playing yesterday’s soccer game.

  I picked Angelo out of the two without trouble. I knew what he looked like. Knew he favored silver wingtip shoes and his face tattoos covered a scar with a hidden story.

  “Ah,” Angelo said. “You must be Sinjin.”

  “I must be.”

  “Full name.” He wasn’t asking.

  I wasn’t holding back. “Bellisario. Both parents dead and I have no siblings. If you were planning to kill my entire family, I’m afraid you’ll have to jump back in time.”

  He tsked. “Shame. Orphans add a layer of difficulty in our business. I’m sure you’d agree.”

  “I do. They’re a bitch.”

  Angelo waved that away. “We can discuss that later. We haven’t finished introductions. This is Tony.”

  Tony was two hundred pounds of lethal muscle awaiting the signal to kill me. We shook like new friends.

  “And”—Angelo fixed on Adeline—“who is this?”