“Did you sleep here last night?”
“I’m overworked,” I tell him. “Brief me on the details of this project again.”
“Well, we still haven’t found a partner. And we don’t quite have the funds to build the property alone,” he says.
I stand and open up my closet to look for a clean suit to wear. “What’s the point of building something if you have someone else’s name attached to it?” I ask.
“You’re right, sir,” he says. “And we’d only enter a deal if your name was on the tower. But if you want to go ahead with construction on this, we need to raise money. It’s either that, or we lay off a hundred workers. It will not be pretty.”
“It never is, is it?” I ask, shaking my head at the tan suit in front of me. Why the hell did I ever buy a tan suit, anyway?
“No, sir. I guess—”
I wave my hand at him, and he stops speaking. “You don’t need to answer that. You don’t have to appease me all the time. You can speak your mind here. What do you really think of the project?”
He chokes for a second. All my workers are worthless when they’re around me. It’s like I’m their emperor. They feel like any false statement could cause the destruction of the company.
But I need answers. I need to know how the hell I can get enough money to end this hotel crap.
I motion for him to continue. “Spit it out. I want your real thoughts on this one.”
“I think you should work side by side with the Napolitano Family,” he says. “I saw that you met with Madison yesterday. I thought that was a powerful move on your part.”
“Powerful how?” I ask him.
Our meeting was a little more than business. It was our business. I didn’t even think about any deals until much later that night.
Work with the Napolitano Family? That sounds like an awful idea. Still, I listen to what he has to say.
“It’s a big statement, right?” he asks, eyes lighting up. “You two are coming together to connect all of Detroit. You could donate a certain amount at the end of the year, to Detroit education, or to the workers who were laid off in the last recession. You know, for philanthropic purposes. I’m telling you, this could generate some enormous buzz.”
I find a suit I can wear. It’s black with red threading. Looks good enough. “The Napolitano Family? Are you serious? You know who they are, right?”
“I’ve heard some things,” he says, nodding. “But they’re legitimate, right?”
“Who the hell knows?” I laugh. “Let’s just call it out in the open. They’re criminals. Syndicate types. When you’re in that business, you can’t get out. You’ll always have those connections.”
“I’ve, uh, seen the Sopranos, sir,” he says.
Did he just say that?
“Son, you’ve seen nothing. This is real life. Go do your research. We can’t do business with them.”
“Then why are you meeting with the daughter of the company?” he asks.
“It was… an option,” I lie. “But it didn’t pan out. Byron, the new owner, is not someone I’ve ever gotten along with.”
“I see,” the young man says. “Well, you must think of something soon. The city wants to see your plans as soon as next week.”
“Next week? Are you shitting me? Fuck, that’s soon.” I bite my tongue. I need to get started on this. “All right, thank you. I need to get ready. I’ll be in the next meeting in a few hours.”
He nods and shuts the door. At the peak of Detroit’s economy, the Napolitano family was one of the biggest organized crime families.
Nowadays, they only engage in legitimate business. Apparently. I’m not sure if I believe it.
Byron, however, is another beast entirely. Seeing him laughing at that fundraiser made me sick. He’s a shrewd business man, one of the worst to work with in all the world. If I were to go into a deal with that snake, he’d put his name on everything and direct all the money to him. Worst of all, I wouldn’t be able to see Madison again.
That reminds me. I have a meeting with her soon. I text her.
“Sorry about last night. I must have fallen asleep. Are we still on for today?”
I spend the rest of my time running from meeting to meeting. How can we move forward into the future? That’s what’s on the plate for today. The catch is I’m done moving forward. All I want to do is stay stationary.
It’s enough running the biggest hotel chain in all of Detroit. What else could I want? World domination? No, thanks.
I’ll settle with the Napolitano girl. She’s my prize, my one and only piece of ass. I can’t get her out of my head.
I check my phone again, but there’s nothing there. It’s past one o’clock, and I have my doubts she’s coming.
Hours later, still no response. By the time everyone has gone home, I’m still in my office doing paperwork.
I can’t believe it.
She stood me up.
Madison
The next morning, I don’t even have time to think.
A knock on my door brings me right out of my luscious dream with Mr. Morelli, and I’m forced to answer the door in my silk nightgown.
“What is it?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the sunlight.
Standing in the doorway is one of Byron’s men. Well, one of our men, technically.
Once my father passed, Byron turned the place into a surreal nightmare. He has a team of people waiting to serve him at any second. Most of them have little experience in the business. They sure have the muscle to intimidate.
The man stands, staring at my breasts. I cover my chest, glaring back. “Well, spit it out. You woke me up. It’s eight in the morning.”
“You’re to come with me, ma’am,” the man says.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Rudy, ma’am,” he says, without blinking an eye.
His suit is cheap. By the threading, I can tell it’s a knockoff. I’m not surprised.
“Do yourself a favor and never call me ma’am again, Rudy. You seem like a nice guy, but you’re overstepping your boundaries. Now, what do you need from me at this hour?” I ask.
“Byron needs to see you in his office, right away,” he says, holding his hand out for me.
Sighing, I swing the door open. “I am not going to the office looking like this,” I scoff. “Give me ten minutes. Come in, make yourself at home.”
I run to my bedroom and throw something easy on. There’s no time for a shower. Byron hates it when people don’t show up on time. It’s his thing.
I walk out of the room wearing jeans and a cut off t-shirt. It’s not professional at all, but it’s what I could muster right now. If Byron is going to send in his goons to wake me from my wonderful dreams, I’m not about to put any effort into my office attire.
Rudy eyes me up and down, and smiles.
“You look good,” he says. “But Byron will not be happy.”
The guy has a slight accent. I’m willing to bet all my money his name isn’t Rudy. It’s Joey or Tony, or Vincent.
“Well, I’m not in the business of making Byron happy, am I?”
No response.
We drive to the place in a Hummer, which seems out of place for a five-minute drive. Hell, a taxi would’ve suited me just fine.
The drive itself is silent and boring. I keep checking my watch every five minutes. It’s close to 8:30.
In and out. That’s all I owe Byron. Then I can go to Rocco’s office for some in and out of my own.
A valet parks our car. Two different men escort me to the elevator inside Byron’s building. It’s not needed. I know the way.
I used to have an office here myself. Byron put an end to that.
Again, once dad died, Byron offered me some time off to grieve. When I declined, he insisted.
He took the company and made it into his own. This is Ricky Napolitano’s son we’re talking about here.
Who’s Ricky Napolitano? He’s Detroit’s worst nightmare, a t
otal basket case, who ruined the Napolitano name. For a while, he was a king. Then he disappeared.
Ding!
The elevator stops and jolts us forward. I walk out the door, and the two men stay behind. I can see Byron’s office at the end of the hall. His name plate is surrounded by two gold dragons.
Two more men stand in front of the door, acting as guards.
I don’t say a word to the men. I grab the door handle, but they push me back.
“Excuse me. I’m here for a meeting,” I say. “Please move aside.”
I check my phone again. It’s nine.
“Is Mr. Napolitano expecting you?” the ogre on the right asks me.
He’s tall, very tall, and when he looks down at me it’s like the complete opposite of how Rocco makes me feel.
“I’m a Napolitano too, you idiot,” I say. “You called me here. Can you get his attention and tell him I’ve arrived?”
A voice echoes behind me, and I soon hear the click from heavy boots against marble. “My men aren’t idiots, Madison,” the voice says.
I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. I pivot, only to find Byron staring back at me, smiling.
“Byron,” I sigh. “Hello.”
He’s a shorter man. He used to have platinum blonde hair, but after years of going to bad salons, his hair has turned a grayish hue.
He’s covered in gold.
Around his wrist is a gold watch, his necklace is gold, his rings are gold, and he even has one gold tooth. In short, he’s the new face of the company.
Very modern, right?
“Darling,” he says, kissing both of my cheeks.
I shudder when I smell his breath. It’s like a mix of old food and alcohol.
“How are you?”
“I’m holding up,” I tell him. “Why’d you call me in today? What’s the news?”
“I wanted to speak to you about some private matters,” he says, opening his door. He puts his hand in front of himself, motioning for me to enter the room first. “Sit down, sit down.”
I sit in one of his “luxury chairs,” and ask him, “What sort of private matters?”
He closes the door and locks it, winking. It’s a habit for him to lock any door he’s behind, but it doesn’t make me feel too great.
“It’s embarrassing to speak of,” he says, showing off his gold tooth. “But I need to know why you are hanging around that Rocco Morelli character. You must understand he’s our competition.”
“Everyone in this sector is competition.”
I sigh. Great. Now I have to defend myself and my actions. How the hell did he find out about us?
I continue. “Rocco’s company doesn’t make what we make. We are Detroit. Everyone equates us with the city’s boom. As for him, he’s just another guy who wishes he could be at our level, but never will be.”
It’s the best lie I can come up with, and I hope it sticks.
“Yes, but that’s the point. Isn’t it?” he asks. “He wishes he could be at our level. Sometimes, all it takes is a wish. Correct?”
“I suppose,” I say.
The look in his eye turns less jovial by the second. There’s a fire inside of him that’s stirring. Fear rushes through my chest.
“Are you making a deal behind my back, dear?” he asks.
“No.” I tremble. “I have no interest in making any deals. You know that.”
“Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. He puts his feet on his desk and lights a cigar. “Because you’re not allowed to do that.”
“Excuse me? I have about the same rights as you, Byron,” I remind him.
His gold tooth gleams. “Not entirely. We decided at our last board meeting that the powers of the company will now be directed to me.”
“Why wasn’t I informed about the board meeting?” I ask. “This is my company too, Byron. My father made sure I’d hold a big stake.”
He takes another puff of cigar. “I think you may have been out to dinner with that Morelli boy when it happened. Yes, I believe you were!”
Smoke circles into my nostrils, forcing me to cough.
“You never told me about any meeting. This isn’t fair,” I say.
“You know, if you put in half the effort around here that you give to that man, you might have more control,” he hisses and leans forward. “But you don’t care, do you? All you care about is having fun with our competition.”
“No, it’s not like that. You told me to stay home. You said I needed to grieve. You—” I can’t believe he has the nerve to cut me off.
“The odd thing is, I don’t see you grieving,” he says. “I see you running around town with that man, perusing his establishments, funneling in more money to his company. If I had any balls, I’d oust you right now.”
I try to remain calm, but my vision is shaking. I can feel the tears start to swell against my eyelids. I’m losing this fight, and it’s killing me.
“You can’t do that. I have done nothing wrong,” I say.
“This is why we have our board of trustees, correct? We can settle with them at a later date,” he says, looking comfortable. “I just wanted to bring it to your attention that you’ve been a very nasty girl.”
Those words, nasty girl, put a gross taste in my mouth.
A big shiver rolls through my spine. I jump out of my seat in disgust. I don’t even want to be in this building, let alone near this man.
I head for the door without saying a word, trying my best not to pounce on the guy and claw his buggy eyes out.
He chuckles, satisfied. “Bye-bye, Ms. Napolitano,” he says.
“Fuck off,” I whisper.
“What was that?” he calls out.
I’m already in the hallway, walking toward the elevator. I reach out and press the button for down. I need to get out of this place.
“What was that curse you muttered under your breath, young woman?”
I know I need to hold it together, but I’m already bawling. My stupid mascara is running down my face. I look so weak when I should act strong, but I feel like everyone in this family is out to get me.
I press the button for the lobby.
On the way down, two different men accompany me. It’s silent and awkward. I feel claustrophobic. No doubt Byron has updated them about his ill feelings toward me.
At any second, they could turn on me. I’ve never felt fear going into work, but I do now.
I walk outside and catch my breath, leaning forward. I make my way to a bench nearby, sit and try to calm my nerves.
“Bastard,” I cry.
I look up and see Byron’s back turned toward the street. He’s smoking his cigar, gazing into a mirror. I feel dizzy, like I’m having a panic attack.
Okay, so what just happened?
He’s ousting me. That’s what’s going on.
This was just his first move. He knew this would end in one giant, fucked up, emotional explosion.
I skip my “appointment” with Rocco. I just can’t do it.
I turn off my phone and hyperventilate for ten minutes. Then I take the bus back home.
Even with all the crazies on my route, no one matches Byron’s insanity.
I need to think of a plan.
Rocco
I get it. You fuck someone a few times, and you just want to be done with a person. A few times is enough.
I understand how she feels. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Madison was different. Compared to most, she grew up very different. She suffered through the crime-associated name, Napolitano.
I’m offering her a way out, for good, but I’m not sure she’s going to take it.
Maybe I was naïve to think she’d call back. Instead, it’s starting to feel like she just enjoys pushing my buttons.
Sighing, I pace around my house.
I have more than a few buildings in this city, but I enjoy my little home on the hillside. It’s not even the nicest built, but it offers a unique view of Detr
oit. This city has a lot to offer people.
If only the bloodsuckers believed it.
The business is starting to wear on me. I can’t deny that. Even the view from my window seems lackluster.
I can’t stop comparing my time alone to my time with Madison. Why the hell did she stand me up? Am I that much of an asshole? I’m too arrogant for her?
Am I not good enough?
I check my phone so much I eventually have to just set it down in the other room. I head for the bar in the living room and rummage through the countless bottles of alcohol I have.
This place was always perfect for a one night stand.
I smile to myself, thinking about when I was younger, when I would invite women over for drinks. I was cockier then. A total playboy.
I did well for myself, but now I’m here, alone. I’m waiting for the one beautiful woman to change my entire life.
Well, I found her. She changed me. And now, she’s gone.
I grab a bottle of Jameson and pour myself a glass. As I take a sip, the smooth burn swivels down my throat. I give a sigh of relief and sit down on the leather couch.
It’s been a long fucking day. Too long.
My doorbell rings.
I glance at the security video and see… wait, I see Madison. She’s breathing hard, appearing flustered. She takes another look behind before ringing the doorbell again.
I open the door. “Madison. What a pleasant surprise,” I say. “Come in.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I’m, uh, sorry about earlier. I’m sure it makes me seem like a real bitch.”
I shrug and grab her hand, leading her inside. I’m hurt, but I don’t need to dwell on it. She’s here, and that’s all that matters.
“Don’t worry about it. I get stood up for appointments all the time. I knew I’d see you again,” I say.
She looks hot. I can’t help but notice, even if she also looks worried. She’s wearing a loose, cut off shirt and a tight pair of jeans that hugs her waist.
Yeah, I can’t stop staring. I want to rip the denim right off her and go to town on that body. It’s hard restraining myself at a time like this.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Beg Me: A Billionaire Syndicate Romance Page 6