Beg Me: A Billionaire Syndicate Romance

by Penelope Woods

“Prison will suit a man like him,” he says. “Hate to say it, but it’s true. Don’t worry. I’m on your side.”

  “Thanks, Ricardo.”

  I pat his shoulder, and he grabs the bag of money, headed toward the front door.

  He stops right before grabbing the handle, turns around, and asks, “Why exactly are you doing this? Just business? Or is it something else?”

  I glare at his sunglasses. “Did they really put needles in your eyes?” I ask him.

  For a moment, he’s silent. “Who told you that?”

  I shrug. “Some people. I heard the Syndicate cut your pupils out.”

  He smiles and shakes his head, chuckling. “You son of a bitch.”

  “I guess some things are better left unsaid,” I say.

  He walks out the door and leaves me to my solitude.

  Byron better watch his back.

  I’m coming for him.

  Madison

  We’re standing on pins and needles, waiting to exit the plane.

  We shouldn’t be here. This was never part of the plan. But sometimes you have to make quick decisions when things get out of hand.

  As we exit, Byron’s men escort us to the hotel grounds.

  “I’ll kill you if this doesn’t work out,” Dasha whispers. “Seriously, I have a daughter to think about.”

  “You agreed to this trip,” I say. “Besides, it’ll work out. Stop worrying, or you’ll jinx us.”

  “Well, if it doesn’t,” she says. “I have my own plan I’ve cooked up.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I hiss. One of the men turns his head, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

  We both shut up immediately.

  Byron pushes open the doors and greets us. “There are our lovely ladies! Welcome, welcome!”

  “Hello, Byron,” Dasha says.

  He blushes when he sees her.

  Bowing, Byron takes her hand in his, kissing the tops of her knuckles. Dasha’s face is akin to getting the stomach flu.

  “I’ve missed that sweet face of yours,” he says. “Isn’t she gorgeous, Madison?”

  “She’s wonderful,” I say, voice monotone. “So how is this going down? What do you need from us?”

  I need Rocco. If he’s not here by tonight, I think I’ll die. I don’t want to see Byron have his way with my best friend.

  “Tonight is the fundraiser. We have plenty of time. I thought we could go out for a drink first,” he says. “How does that sound? Are you too jet-lagged to have a little fun?”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I say. “Lead the way.”

  My phone is on silent. I don’t want to take any chances. If Byron finds out we’re attempting a coup, he’ll go over the top.

  I have no idea what will happen.

  I have to wonder, would he kill us? Would he have someone else kill us? I can feel my heart beating against my throat as we walk to the nearest bar.

  “How are you feeling, doll?” he asks, wrapping his cold hand around my waist.

  I smile and try to act my best, something I hope I’ll never have to do after this.

  I act peppy. “I’m good!” I say. “I’m very excited to be in Boulder.”

  “Good, that’s what I like to hear,” he says.

  The city is beautiful, actually. It’s humbling, really.

  In Detroit, it’s much different. Wherever you go, there’s some kind of ruin. Sure, there are some trees. There are nice homes. But the streets are what govern Detroit, and Byron owns those avenues.

  When we get to a bar, we meet with some of our top donors. No doubt they’ve put a lot of money into this new hotel project and now they want to see their dreams come true.

  Tonight, people from all over will arrive to put money down on the development. If I know Byron well enough, it won’t be a very good investment.

  “Dasha and Madison, this is Haruki Tanaka and Ayumi Watanabe,” Byron smiles.

  I bow and hope I’m following Japanese tradition. “It’s a pleasure.”

  When two men laugh, I blush.

  Haruki says, “No formalities needed. We’re here to celebrate, right?”

  I feel a little embarrassed, but I agree with them. Let’s just get this thing over with.

  Byron smiles, skin creasing. “We’ll all take a whiskey soda.”

  The bar tender smiles huge as Byron hands the guy a hundred-dollar bill. “Coming right up, boss.”

  It’s the little things that count.

  The donors are pleased by the gesture, and we get our drinks fast.

  Our job is to sit and smile, and look as nice as possible. That’s it, really. But I keep checking my phone under the table.

  It’s dangerous, but I need to know if Rocco is okay. I still don’t know when he’s set to fly in, or how. All I know is that he’s got a guy working on something.

  That’s it. Really.

  I break my own rule by texting him.

  “I love you. Please be safe. I’m worried about this entire thing.”

  Ten minutes later, there’s no response, so I decide to shut off my phone.

  “Everything all right, dear?” Byron asks.

  “It’s perfect,” I say. “Just shutting off my phone, so I can be more attentive.”

  My heart is beating a million miles a minute. When he looks at me, he stares straight into my eyes. It’s like he’s analyzing my every move.

  I swallow my drink slowly and eye Dasha. She smiles and puts on a charming act.

  “What got you into the business?” Dasha asks Haruki.

  “Money,” the man laughs.

  “I can agree with that,” Byron exclaims, slamming his palm against the table. “Bartender! Another round of drinks, please.”

  Byron leans over the table. “Let’s get down to business. We’re here because of what Haruki just mentioned. Money. And I want you to know that I’m very confident in my company name. We’re starting big, right?”

  “Very big,” Ayumi says. “It’s a huge step to start our foundations in the West. This is your first hotel here, correct?”

  “Correct. We’ve never built anything in Colorado before,” I speak up.

  Byron glares at me. “That’s not entirely accurate. We helped build the golf course in town,” Byron lies.

  My father donated some money once, but that’s it.

  He continues. “That project was a huge success. But now we’re going bigger. We’re always looking for opportunities to expand our business. We know you’re the same. You want money. You want to pay your employees well. You’re good people. This hotel is the first step in a large plan to expand this city into something wonderful.”

  “Well, you couldn’t have picked a better city,” Dasha says. “If you’re expanding, you can count me in. I’ll donate all the savings I have.”

  “You see,” Byron exclaims. “She’s ready to donate the last of her pennies. It’s beautiful what we can achieve when we expand our horizons.”

  The schmoozing goes on for almost two hours, and even though I’m getting tipsy, I want to get out of here. Out of this city and into the arms of the man who loves me.

  Overhead, I hear a jet’s engine roar. Every time I hear that sound, I can’t help but wonder if Rocco is on one of those planes.

  The silence between us is killing me.

  Dasha can see how worried I am. I guess it’s written all over my face. Before we leave the bar, she leans over and says, “Cheer up. Everything is going to be fine.”

  I nod and smile, but it’s difficult to imagine this going smoothly. I feel awful sitting here, tricking these men into pouring all their money into a hotel that might not ever open. It’s a crapshoot with Byron. Sometimes it works out. Other times it doesn’t.

  Of course, that’s when Dasha makes the ballsiest move I’ve ever seen. While the men are talking about business and are drunk enough, Dasha reaches into her purse.

  She pulls out a packet of laxatives.

  My eyes widen. “No,” I mouth.

  But s
he ignores me and pours the contents into Byron’s drink, sneezing loudly as a distraction.

  Byron smiles and kisses her cheek. “Are you okay? We don’t want you getting sick before the big celebration.”

  “I’m sorry, this bar is sort of dusty,” she says. “I’m okay now.”

  Byron takes a sip from his drink. Then another.

  Another.

  He drains the entire glass.

  My eyes are wide with horror, and I don’t know whether or not I should laugh or run.

  “Okay, folks. I think we should get to the fundraiser. I should prepare my speech,” Byron says.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I mutter, stepping out from my chair.

  We exit the bar and walk outside into the setting sun.

  “Whoa boy, my stomach feels funny,” Byron whispers to one of his men standing outside. “I might need you to take the reins for a while,” he says to me.

  I turn to Dasha, lip quivering with near-laughter. Tonight is going to be a fucking train wreck. I know it. At the very least, I’ll get some entertainment out of it.

  “I’ll meet you guys inside,” Byron says, holding his stomach. “Give me ten minutes!”

  Yep.

  Tonight is going to be one hell of a ride.

  Rocco

  I stand inside my old friend’s hanger, staring at the small jet. I’ve got a bad feeling in my stomach, but there’s no backing out now.

  “Ricardo, did you find anything?” I ask.

  “What the hell do you think?” he asks. “I’ve found a bit too much, if you know what I mean.”

  “Spell it out for me,” I say, stepping onto the plane.

  We’re ready to go. By the time I get there tonight, this whole thing will be blown wide open.

  “He hasn’t paid his taxes for the past three years,” he says.

  I grab my pistol, make sure it’s loaded, and tuck it in the back of my pants before I sit for the flight.

  “Figures,” I say. “How the fuck did he get away with that?”

  “The usual loopholes. He’s got major problems. To be honest, you probably didn’t have to pay me to do this. Sooner or later, he’ll face an audit. The man is a ticking time bomb,” he says.

  “What else?” I ask him. “Anything illegal?”

  “Addiction problems, but you already knew that,” he says. “The guy buys escorts every week. I don’t know if you can get him on any legality issues, but it’s all there in my reports. You’ll see his browser history too. He searches you a lot.”

  “He searches me?” I scoff. “What the fuck is wrong with this guy?”

  “That’s not the whole of it either,” he says. “That hotel project he’s got going on in Colorado — well, he doesn’t have the funds available to open. He can’t pay any of his workers.”

  I feel the plane start to rumble. “You know that because of his bank statements?”

  “Sure, his bank statements show that. But it’s not only that. He’s said it himself,” he says. “In his emails. Check it out for yourself. The guy is dirty. He flat out said this hotel is going to be a dud. A lot of people are going to lose their savings because of this guy.”

  “Do I have your blessing to take the man down?” I ask him, smiling to myself.

  “Hell fucking yes you do,” he says. “Guys that prey on the innocent deserve the worst. Take. Him. Down.”

  “Good. Listen, we’re taking off. I gotta run. Thanks for everything. I owe you one.”

  “See you, brother,” he says. “You paid me, so you’re good. No owing needed.”

  As the plane takes off, I hang up the phone. Below is Detroit, but in front of me is the rest of my life. There’s so much I want to do now that this is going to be taken care of.

  I reach into my coat pocket and take out a small box.

  Inside is a diamond ring. It’s simple and not over the top.

  I could have spent millions, but my gut tells me Madison isn’t a woman to gush over money. It’s the gesture that counts.

  She’s the one I want to spend my life with. I’m sure of it. And I’m going to propose to her right after Byron falls.

  I just hope the plan works out, and that I get there in time.

  Hours later, the plane lands.

  Boulder is nothing like I imagined. It’s luscious and green, and everything you’d want in a city. Well, except the elevation.

  When I step out from the plane, I can barely get any oxygen. At this rate, I’ll be crawling to the hotel fundraiser.

  I check my email at the nearest coffee shop. There’s still time to waste, and I’m not about to blow my cover.

  I scroll through all of Byron’s emails.

  One email reads:

  “Boulder? Are you kidding me? We’ll never make a cent there.”

  The reply is what gets me.

  “Tax loopholes, my friend. If the development doesn’t pan out, we’ll be fine. We’ll still get the hype we need. It’s the brand name that matters, right?”

  I scroll through his bank account statements. There’s at least fifty grand I can make out going to “Angel’s Escorts,” based out of Detroit.

  Fifty grand of the company’s money.

  Even if I can’t get them on the legality, I can expose them for the frauds they are.

  Chuckling, I head toward the fundraiser ball.

  I can’t help but think about the night I met Madison Napolitano. That one ended so well.

  I can only hope this one ends the same.

  Madison

  “Welcome, welcome!”

  Dasha and I greet the guests that have come to check out the new hotel.

  I check my watch. Rocco is nowhere to be found. He should have landed hours ago. “Where is he?” I whisper.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “He’ll come.”

  People are lining up in droves just to talk to Byron. He’s being presented as a tycoon, or a mogul. They have no idea who he really is.

  Byron runs from the toilets to the main hall. Dasha shrugs.

  “I can’t believe you,” I hiss. “What if you were caught?”

  “It was a last-ditch effort,” she says. “Besides, I never get caught. I’m an angel in that guy’s eyes.”

  “True,” I say. “It’s disgusting.”

  She laughs. “How do you think I feel? Anyway, it seems to be working to our advantage. How is anyone supposed to trust a man who looks like that?”

  We both turn and glance at him. He’s doing his best to shake the hands of wealthy individuals from the city, but he looks absolutely miserable. His face is dark red, and his lips quiver.

  We burst out laughing at the scene.

  Dasha grabs a small glass of champagne from a caterer. “Where’s your man, anyway?”

  I glance at my phone. There’s nothing. “We agreed not to call or text each other. You know, in case we were around Byron. I hope to God he’s coming.”

  She nods. “Let’s hope he’s a man who doesn’t break his word.”

  “He isn’t,” I say.

  At least an hour passes before I see him walk through the side entrance. My pulse quickens. All he gives me is one nod, before I see him disappear upstairs.

  “He’s here,” I whisper. “Everything is going according to plan.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Dasha says. “I’m too antsy. I’m freaking out.”

  “Stay calm,” I tell her.

  Someone taps on his or her glass with their spoon and people from all over the ballroom begin shouting, “Speech!”

  Byron waves them away, pretending to be shameless, but we all know he has something planned. He waits until he’s edged onto the stage.

  “Okay, okay. The people have had their say,” he shouts. “How is everyone doing tonight?”

  Satisfied, the investors clap.

  “Well, I didn’t have a speech planned, but since this is a momentous time for all of us, I’ll say a few words.”

  “A few words,” I scoff.

  He smil
es, languidly. “When I was a boy, I had a dream. It was a big dream, yes. But my mother always told me to dream big, despite our living situation. We grew up poor. Sometimes hungry. So forgive me for wanting more than a piece of bread. Forgive me for wanting a better life for myself.”

  He makes a face, and I know those laxatives are messing with him. Dasha laughs a little, forcibly covering her mouth. I smirk too, but he keeps it together somehow.

  People clap at his little better life moment, and he continues. “I taught myself the way of sales at a very young age. Most teenagers don’t have to think about their future until they’re much older. They sit at home, playing their PlayStation, and life is good. Well, my PlayStation was the corner I grew up on. I’m not proud of some of the things the people that surrounded me have done, but I am proud of the tenacity that the streets have taught me. I built my first hotel with the help of the Napolitano family. But unfortunately, my business partner passed away not too long ago. His beautiful daughter is here tonight. Give her a round of applause, everyone.”

  He points and the room erupts with cheers and whistles.

  I grab Dasha’s glass of champagne and hold it in the air, mouthing, “Thank you.”

  I’ve had enough of this stupid “poor boy learns the ropes” speech. These people are eating it up and they need to know the truth. They need to know he’s ruthless, paranoid, and altogether incapable of running a business.

  He will squander their money.

  “Anyway, folks. It’s been great to meet with all of you. I wanted to show you something else before we take anymore donations. We have high hopes for this city. We want to transform it into something modern and different. It starts with one hotel, but with your help, we can expand on everything,” he says, turning to the sound booth. “Can you turn on the projections?”

  With a click of a button, everything changes. Rocco pops his head out of the booth and looks right at me.

  I check my phone.

  “It’s about to be over. Get your popcorn out.”

  “Look at this plan we have, everyone,” he says.