Max’s father had been left with enough money to live out his life in the manner to which he was accustomed, and Max’s trust fund insured he would never want for money, but Donald Cartwright had never been the same. He’d shrunk before Abby’s eyes. Then he’d died in a car accident somewhere between the city and Barstow and Max had joined the Army. Abby had cried saying goodbye to him, had hardly been able to bear the haunted look in his eyes, the fire that flared in them when he talked about Jason.
She’d emailed him every day, had Skyped with him whenever he had the chance, but when he came back, he was different.
He’d gotten even more muscular, his biceps straining at the long-sleeved T-shirt he’d been wearing when she picked him up at the airport, his thighs barely contained by the worn jeans that fit him like a glove. His once clean-shaven face was shadowed with five o’clock shadow that did nothing to hide the strong line of his jaw.
But it wasn’t the outward changes that had surprised her the most.
He was harder. Colder.
He’d been living life at full speed ever since, buying the land for his house, having it built to his specifications, risking thousands of dollars in the casino’s High Roller rooms, bedding every woman between the ages of twenty-one and fifty who would have him.
She’d been alarmed at first, had tried to talk to him about what had happened in Afghanistan. He wouldn’t have it. He was fine. He just wanted to get on with it.
To have a little fun.
And who was she to stop him? He was a grown man. He’d suffered the death of his father and Jason’s betrayal, not to mention whatever had happened to him in the military. She’d gradually gotten used to the new Max, the one who held her at arms length, who cracked jokes and acted every bit the rogue he could have been in high school but wasn’t.
Movement outside of her office caught her eye and she looked up to find Jason nodding at Rosie. He turned away and headed down the hall toward his office.
Abby checked her watch, not entirely surprised that almost ten minutes had passed. It wasn’t the first time she’d lost track of time thinking about Max Cartwright, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
They were, after all, best friends.
Four
Max was stepping out of the shower when he heard a car pull up outside. He toweled off and walked to the terrace off his bedroom. A black Town Car was parked next to his Porsche in the courtyard at the front of the house. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang.
What the fuck?
He’d opted not to enclose the property behind gates. He hated how the city’s wealthy segregated themselves from the people who cleaned and dealt cards, who slung drinks and drove cabs. He didn’t feel guilty about being rich, but that didn’t mean he had to be an asshole either.
He was still naked when he headed for the front door. Abby was working, and there were very few others who might come to his door at this hour of the early evening. It was possible one of his playmates had made her way back to his house. It wouldn’t be the first time. Then he would have to pour drinks and reassurances, explain again that his dedication to bachelorhood was in no way a reflection of the lovely woman in his living room. That he simply wasn’t capable of more, and that said lovely woman deserved someone who wasn’t a man-whore.
The possibility exhausted him.
The doorbell had just begun a fresh chorus when he reached the door. He opened it, the blast of warm air not nearly as surprising as the dark-haired man wearing sunglasses and standing on his doorstep.
“Can I help you?” Max asked.
The man removed his sunglasses, revealing dark eyes that scanned Max’s naked body impassively. “Perhaps, although not in your current state of undress.”
The man wore an understated but expertly cut suit and Italian loafers, but Max wasn’t fooled. He sensed immediately that the man was dangerous. That there was more to him than met the eye.
It was an instinct he’d honed in Afghanistan, taking the measure of a man in a split second, and he suddenly regretted coming to the door naked and unarmed.
“This is private property,” Max said.
“So the signs said.”
The man reached into his jacket and Max had to force himself not to run for a gun. Vegas was better than it had been in the bad old days when organized crime had run rampant, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think the city was clean. Home invasions still occurred, and the Mob was still there. It was all just more thoroughly covered with glitter than it had been before.
The man handed him a business card. “Nico Vitale,” he said. “I have a business proposition for you.”
Max glanced at the card: simple white card stock with the name in gold.
Nico Vitale
Nothing else.
Max handed it back to him. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m not in business, and I don’t invest in businesses either.”
Nico Vitale’s smile was patient, almost indulgent. “I can assure you I do not have the wrong guy.” He said the last two words with a hint of disdain, as if they were too informal for his liking. “This is about Jason Draper.”
Max forced himself not to flinch. He didn’t like to think about Jason, and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about Jason with the stranger who had appeared at his door.
“I don’t care,” Max said.
He started to shut the door.
“It’s about Abby as well. Abby Sterling.”
Max froze. His first instinct was fury — fury that this stranger thought he had the right to utter Abby’s name.
That he would dare.
The next thought forced him to open the door; was Abby in trouble?
“You’d better start talking,” Max said, his voice low.
Vitale nodded. “Of course. That’s why I’m here.” He gestured to the door. “May I come in?”
Max hesitated. “Wait here.”
He closed the door on Nico’s face, locked it, and stalked to his bedroom where he threw on a clean pair of jeans. He walked to the nightstand next to his bed and removed the handgun he kept there. Sliding it into his waistband, he covered the gun with the shirt’s hem.
He half-expected Nico Vitale to be gone when he returned. To find that the other man had been some kind of apparition, a symptom of his hangover.
But he was still there, standing on the wide stone porch in his suit, the afternoon sun beating down on him without a drop of sweat beading his brow.
Max opened the door wider. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
Nico nodded and stepped into the house. Max watched him take it in, his gaze lifting to the triple-height ceiling in the foyer, the Spanish-style staircase leading to the second floor, the polished mahogany banister.
“Very nice,” Nico said.
“Thanks.” Max led him to the den. “Drink?”
“Scotch,” Nico said.
Max poured. When he turned around, he found Nico scanning the books on his bookshelves.
“Hmmm… Balzac,” Nico said.
Who the fuck was this guy?
Max handed him one of the drinks. “Clock’s ticking.”
Nico took a drink, then made himself comfortable on the leather sofa. Whoever he was, he was one cool bastard. Max had to give him that.
He took the chair opposite the sofa and waited.
“Your friend Jason Draper — ”
“Jason Draper is not my friend,” Max said.
Nico nodded. “I imagine that’s true. However, it might interest you to know he’s running operations with the Mob in the city.”
Max forced a blank expression. The accusation surprised him, but Nico Vitale didn’t need to know that. Besides, Max didn’t even know Jason anymore. Not really.
“So? What Jason does is none of my business.”
“I’m assuming the same can not be said for Abby Sterling?” Nico asked.
Max’s blood began to boil again. Who did this fucker think he was?
“If yo
u’re here to tell me Abby’s working with the Mob, you can leave now,” Max said.
Nico finished his drink, set the glass on the coffee table between them. “Abby isn’t aware of Jason’s… activities. But that doesn’t mean she won’t be affected by them.”
Max thought about Abby, about her office down the hall from Jason’s. About the working lunches they shared, the business dinners and late nights in the executive suite on the top floor of the Tangier.
“I think it’s time you got to the point,” Max said.
Nico leaned forward. His eyes seemed brighter now, and Max had the sense of a jungle cat going in for the kill.
Calm. Assured in its success.
“Jason Draper is running Darknet poker games out of a house on Echo Peak Lane.”
“Poker games?”
Max tried to put the words together in a way that made sense. He knew abut the Darknet — the secret web marketplaces that sold everything from women to weapons to counterfeit identification.
But what did that have to do with poker?
“He gathers criminals from all over the world, but they don’t play with currency,” Nico said.
“They play with… what, trafficked girls?” Max’s blood had turned to ice in his veins. “Illegal guns? Drugs?”
“All of the above and more,” Nico said.
It didn’t make sense. “How does Jason make money if they’re not playing with currency?”
“They pay a fee based on the value of what they’re trading,” Nico said. “The money is washed through the casino.”
“And this is run through the Mob?” Max asked.
“Not the poker games,” Nico said. “That’s Jason’s sideline.”
“Some sideline,” Max said.
Nico nodded.
“If he’s not running it through the city’s organized crime families, why did you mention the Mob?” Max asked.
Nico leaned back and crossed one leg over the other knee. He removed a speck of something Max couldn’t see from his trousers. “You said to get to the point. I have several, but the games are the most important, the thing that could have the worst implications for Miss Sterling.”
Max drained his glass. “You better start at the beginning.”
Nico looked at his watch. “I’m afraid our five minutes is up.”
Touché, motherfucker.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Max said.
“I work for an organization called the Syndicate,” Nico said. “In short, we oversee the organized criminal enterprises of almost every major city in the world. A couple years ago, the Syndicate’s former leader was incarcerated, then killed. It was a… difficult time, followed by a period of reorganization. Some of the families formerly supervised by the Syndicate took advantage of the absence of leadership. We’ve been slowly bringing them back online.”
Max shook his head. “So you’re a member of the Mob?”
“A member?” Nico asked. “No. Not exactly. And we prefer to use the term Syndicate to describe our activities. The Mob was used to describe a business model we hope to make obsolete.”
“You’re a criminal who hopes to make crime obsolete?” Max asked.
“That would be impossible. Human beings are creatures of opportunity — the smart ones anyway. There will always be those who seek to circumvent the rules. The Syndicate’s mission is to profit from it under a new paradigm, one that eliminates some of the activities traditionally associated with our business.”
“Like what?” Max was intrigued in spite of himself. Not because he had a fascination with crime, but because he’d never given much thought to the Mob beyond what he’d seen in movies and the news. He’d always pictured short, aging Italians with New York accents.
Nico Vitale looked more like an investment banker.
“Selling drugs to kids, for one,” Nico said. “Trafficking, for another, which is why Jason Draper’s enterprise offends us. And, full disclosure, he’s rejected an offer at working with us under the auspices of the Syndicate’s rules, as has the DeLuca family that currently runs this city. Instead, they choose to work together, without any of the rules and guidelines that are necessary for an operation to be associated with the Syndicate.”
“And without any of the profit sharing,” Max said.
Nico Vitale might have been a smooth criminal, but he was still a criminal. He was just trying to dress it up.
Nico nodded. “That is another problem.”
Max tried to picture Jason involved in something as dirty as trafficking and illegal weapons sales. In college, he wouldn’t have even considered the idea, but Jason’s betrayal of his father, his hostile takeover of Cartwright Holdings, his utter dismissal of everything Max’s father had done for him, made anything seem possible.
And what about Abby? Was Jason exposing Abby to something dangerous?
“I’m not saying I believe you,” Max said, “but assuming I did, why come to me? I haven’t spoken to Jason for years.”
“I’m aware of that,” Nico said. “But you’re still the closest thing we have to an inside source.”
“That’s my point,” Max said. “I’m not inside, and I don’t want to be.”
Nico met his eyes. “But you could get in.”
“And do what?” Max asked.
“Get us information on the games. Information we can take to the FBI,” Nico said.
“You’re insane.” Max stood to refill his drink. Fucking-A. This was not what he expected when he woke up this morning thinking his biggest problem might be making breakfast for his Flavor of the Week before hustling her out of the house.
“It surprises you to know we work with the FBI?” Nico said.
Max turned to face him. “Shouldn’t it?”
Nico shrugged. “Not really. The FBI is as aware of the failings of human nature as we are. Like us, they are willing to accept a certain level of illegality to avoid one far more dangerous.”
“So they let you operate, and in exchange, you keep hands off certain…. enterprises?” Max asked.
“More or less.” Nico stood, walked to the bar and poured himself another drink. “And let’s just say they aren’t onboard with Draper’s enterprise.”
“Then why don’t they put a stop to it?” Max asked.
Nico turned toward him. His glass had another inch of amber liquid in the bottom. “Rule of law demands evidentiary procedure. In other words, they need cause to execute a search warrant at the house on Echo Peak, and right now, they don’t have it.”
“And that’s what I’d do?” Max asked. “Find your evidence?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Then what?” Max asked the question even though there was no part of him that was considering accepting the offer.
“Then the FBI arrests Draper and his associates, and the Tangier is sold after RICO proceedings, along with Draper’s other assets,” Nico said.
Max couldn’t deny the rush of anticipation in his body. He wouldn’t cry any tears for Jason. Not after what Jason had done to his father.
“And the Syndicate?” Max asked.
“We take over the territory under our new business model,” Nico said.
“What’s in it for me?” Max asked.
He didn’t really care. He had everything he wanted, but he needed time to process everything Nico had said, to process the potential danger to Abby and his response to it.
Nico turned to face him. He was backlit against the setting sun, his features in shadow when he spoke. “Revenge,” he said. “And getting Miss Sterling away from Draper. Isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t know,” Max said.
It wasn’t true. He would do anything to protect Abby. Was already resisting the urge to storm into the Tangier and tear Jason apart for exposing Abby to such filth.
Assuming it was true.
Nico crossed the room and extended his arm. His business card — the one Max had returned to him at the door — was in his hand.
“I’ll be in town for two more days.” It was the first time Nico Vitale had seemed weary during their conversation.
Max wasn’t even aware of taking the card, but he must have, because a moment later, Nico was exiting the room. His voice traveled down the hall and into the den.
“I’ll see myself out.”
The front door closed a moment later.
Five
Abby hurried through the casino, passing by the gaming tables and slot machines on her way to the parking garage. The sounds soothed her — the beeping of the machines and click of the roulette wheel, the slap of cards on felt and clink of glasses at the bar, the low murmur of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter.
The Tangier itself was special, too. She had to give Jason credit for his vision. It was a sumptuous and exotic den of pleasure reminiscent of the markets and rooftop restaurants of Morocco. She never grew tired of the patterned textiles, imported from Africa and India, the sumptuous cushions and latticed brass lamps.
A proprietary scent was pumped lightly through the ventilation system: sandalwood and patchouli and frankincense. She didn’t notice it often anymore, but every now and then it would hit her. Then she could almost imagine that she was in a crowded market in Marrakech or lounging on pillows on a rooftop overlooking Tangier.
She continued into the parking garage, her heels clicking on the concrete, and replayed the end of her day. She’d gone over the reports with Jason and had made a few changes to the capital budget they were developing for renovations in the coming year. Then she’d used her executive bathroom to change and freshen up for drinks with Max.
Fridays were her favorite night of the week, and while she told herself it was because it was the end of the workweek, she couldn’t deny that some of it had to do with her standing date with Max.
It was one of the reasons she piggybacked her least favorite errand of the week with their Friday night plans.
She got in her car and breathed in the scent of new leather. She’d planned to buy a used car when she’d traded in her trusty, fifteen year old Honda, but Max had encouraged her to buy the newest model. He’d told her she deserved it, and when she saw the way he looked at her, she almost believed it.
King of Sin: Las Vegas Syndicate Book One Page 3