Dirty Empire

by Nina West

  “We’re already in a partnership with them,” I remind him. One that could get us killed if any of us talk.

  “Yeah, well, the clock is already ticking on that one. Plus, we don’t have to deal with them on the regular. Can you imagine those two in our faces every day? Answering to Merrick, with his snotty little bitch attitude?” He snorts. “We wouldn’t last two weeks before I’d beat the shit out of him.”

  I smirk. “Or he beats the shit out of you.”

  “Not a fucking chance. End of discussion.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, fine. For now, anyway.” I check my watch. It’s twenty minutes to ten. Our little chat with Bruce went longer than expected, leaving us little time to prepare for the larger Perri clan. “I got a call from Diesel just before dinner. Three of Puff’s guys are missing. Cousins of his.”

  Caleb curses. “Cartel?”

  “Assume so.”

  “Dad’s going to love hearing about that van of body parts,” he mutters dryly. The elevator doors open to the pulse of dance music and female laughter. Loitering around the bar are three Vegas showgirls, all in sparkly silver costumes that barely cover their assets. I spot three more dipping their toes into the pool.

  Normally, my dick would twitch at the sight. Now, I merely shake my head at my brother. “Are you kidding me? We agreed to waiting until after for your entertainment to arrive.” Thank God Mercy isn’t here to see this. He’s making me a liar.

  “We didn’t agree to shit. You talked, I didn’t listen. America, the beautiful!” Caleb throws his arms out as he steps off the elevator, heading for the blond—America—in the silver thong bikini. He always spends at least one night humping her on every trip to Vegas. I don’t know why I expected this time to be different. Oh, right, because he’s been busy humping my girlfriend’s best friend.

  Caleb embraces America in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor to spin her around. “How long has it been?” comes his muffled question, his face buried in her perky tits.

  “Three long months.” She coils long dancer legs around his hips. Her ass is a beautiful thing, ripe for bouncing quarters.

  “That sounds about right.”

  “What happened to your face, baby?” Her flawless forehead furrows with her pout as she peers down at him.

  “It’s nothing. Just a little disagreement. I’m still pretty though, right?”

  She giggles, smoothing her palms across his jawline. “So pretty.”

  He grins slyly up at her. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too. I brought some friends, like you asked.”

  “I see that. Thank you.”

  Mercy is going to be so pissed if America’s still here when they get home. I feel an unexpected flare of anger on her behalf. But this was inevitable. Caleb wasn’t about to settle down with Michelle. He’s incapable of committing to anyone.

  Besides, with T minus twenty minutes to being in a room with Camillo and Miles Perri, the best place for Caleb’s head to be is buried in a woman’s breasts. Otherwise, he’d be pacing the suite like a caged lion with a loaded gun, ready to attack.

  I pass the ladies with nothing more than a passing glance—the brunette on the far left looks vaguely familiar; I’m pretty sure I fucked her the last time I was in Vegas—to reach Farley, standing sentry by the games room, keeping everyone in and out. “All set?”

  He nods in answer.

  “How long has the entertainment been here?”

  “They just got here. Caleb told us to let them up.”

  “Of course he did.” I know this is really about Vince’s dig earlier at our lack of pussy. My brother saw it as a challenge. He’s a Neanderthal like that.

  “We took their phones and patted them down for any wires,” Farley confirms. “None of them have left my sight.”

  I sigh. The last thing we need tonight are witnesses. “Get rid of them before Camillo and Miles arrive. Send them to the club. The concierge should be able to get them a VIP table. No one comes up until after.” I know how Caleb rolls. This group is the first of many for the night. He had serious debauchery planned for last night, back when Felix and Finn were supposed to be here. Now that they’re gone, he’ll be dialing it up ten notches in their honor.

  My stomach clenches with the thought of our friends. It reminds me that we still have another big problem besides this impending meeting with the Perris. With that in mind, I take the stairs two at a time, up to my bedroom, sliding my burner phone out of my pocket on the way.

  Stanley answers on the second ring. “Nothing yet,” he says by way of greeting, his voice gruff. “I had a lead, but turned out to be a dead end.”

  “Where the fuck are they, then?” I kick the door shut with my heel, my frustration mounting. We’ve already turned all of Peter and Vic’s usual spots, and Stan is tracking their credit cards. “Maybe Bane already got hold of them.” If that’s the case, it’s a toss-up whether we’ll find them or not, and in how many pieces. It all depends on Vlad’s directive—make an example of them or make them disappear without a trace. Bane’s skill with either is unparalleled.

  “I think we have to start assuming the worst-case scenario. I haven’t been able to confirm anything, but it’s a possibility.”

  “Shit.” Bane finding them would be best-case. Worst-case is that Peter has gone running to the Feds for their protection. And the only way the Feds will give them that is if he gives them something.

  Namely, us. That sneaky fucker knows enough to put us away for life and could probably do it in a way so as to leave his own business interests intact.

  Tension trickles down my spine. “If that’s the case, you need to find that safehouse.” Caleb will swallow a bottle of anthrax before spending a single night in Fulcort. I can’t say I’d be too far behind him.

  “Already scouring. But you’ve got a bigger problem right now, Gabe.”

  A bigger problem than my murderous uncle trying to kill us? “What’s that?”

  “My source tells me that the Feds have a CI on you.”

  “Yeah. Fucking Peter.”

  “Nah. Someone with you right now.”

  My stomach drops. “What do you mean? Who?”

  “Don’t know. All they said is this person’s firmly in place and feeding them intel.”

  “In place?” That must mean they’re with us here, in Vegas. I pace around the bed, wracking my brain. We’re fucking surrounded by possible traitors.

  A six-man security team.

  Merrick and Vince Perri.

  Mercy.

  She wouldn’t do that to me… Would she?

  Fuck. What if she would?

  A hollow, sickly ache stirs in my chest.

  “Is it male? Female?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Well, fucking find out!” I bark.

  “I’m working on it!” Stanley barks back. He’s one of only a few who dare, and he knows he’ll always get away with it because he’s the best at what he does, and we need him far more than he needs us.

  I take a deep, calming breath.

  “Just watch yourself, and make sure that insane brother of yours doesn’t do anything crazy with witnesses around.”

  “Yeah.” I push aside thoughts of Mercy betraying me for the moment. “Did you get any leads on surveillance around the airfield?” One of those cameras must have caught something.

  “Everything was seized before I could get to it. Still working on my contact inside.”

  My anger flares. As if the Feds are going to do anything productive with evidence from those video feeds. They’re just as likely to sit back with bowls of popcorn and watch with glee as our family takes each other out. “Okay. Call me with an update in the morning.”

  I end the call with Stanley, my fist clenching around my phone, a tornado of emotion erupting inside me.

  Caleb asked me earlier who I trust.

  The truth is, I trust Mercy. Talking to her just comes naturally to me. I can’t help myself. I’ve told her
things about our family that I’ve never told anyone else. I’ve told her things Caleb would beat the shit out of me for spilling.

  The shit she knows? She could throw it like chum into the water to draw in the Feds like sharks. She could bury us, if she wanted to.

  But I’ve given her everything she’s asked for, and then some. Has it not been enough?

  Am I just a fucking chump in all this?

  If Mercy’s informing for the Feds…

  I’ll deserve everything that’s coming to me, I think to myself bitterly.

  My phone rings. The last thing I want to do is talk to another person, but there are too many balls in the air to ignore a call, especially from Donny. That’s three calls from him in the last twenty minutes. The first two I missed while we were working on Bruce Cohen. That’s worthy of an answer. “What do you want?”

  “You told me to let you know if anyone tried reaching out to Vlad through the guards,” he says over the buzz and metal clang of prison doors closing sound in the background.

  My pulse skips a beat. I hadn’t expected anything. “Who? When?”

  “Peter, about an hour ago, through Anthony.”

  Anthony Fasilli. A lowly wannabe-mobster guard that my father has tucked in his pocket. He doesn’t have much clout around Fulcort, but I swear the guy would shave my father’s saggy balls with tender loving care if Vlad so desired. Peter knows that. No wonder he went to him when he couldn’t reach him by phone.

  “What’d the message say?”

  “That they weren’t behind the hit.”

  I snort. “Yeah, bullshit.”

  “That’s what the message said.”

  “Nah, I meant… Never mind. Did he say anything else?”

  “Just that it wasn’t them, and that Vic and Alexei have nothing to do with the other thing.”

  So Peter’s accepted that his days are numbered, regardless, and is begging my father to spare his idiot sons. The psycho has a heart after all, however small and shriveled it might be. Too bad he didn’t show as much consideration for his nephews when he tried to kill us. Dad won’t let that go.

  I pinch my nose, feeling the beginnings of a throbbing headache forming behind my left eye. “What was my father’s response?”

  “Radio silence, as far as I know.”

  Which is as good as a kiss of death, coming from my father. Even if Peter’s telling the truth about the bomb, he still betrayed him.

  “Let me know if anything else comes through.” I end the call before Donny has a chance to respond, my mind swirling.

  I dare to let myself consider the possibility that Peter is telling the truth, that it wasn’t him who blew up our plane. I allow myself a moment to embrace that possibility. My thoughts quickly head down a dark and disturbing path. That crazy fuck has never denied a hit in his life. In fact, he’s always worn them with a badge of honor. When he torched Perri’s restaurant, inadvertently killing Camillo’s mother, he strutted around with his chest puffed out. When he took our shifty turncoat cousin on a one-way trip out to the desert, he described with pleasure how the guy pissed his pants begging for his life.

  That he’s not owning up to this now sounds a few alarm bells.

  If it is true, then it puts us right back to square one with possible guilty parties: the cartel or the Perris.

  And the plane wasn’t this cartel’s MO.

  What if, like my ever-suspicious brother suggested from the start, this is all one big fucking setup by the Perris to officially wipe the Eastons off the map? What if we’re a bunch of fools, falling for Merrick and Vince’s act, rolling out a red carpet to invite the wolves in? Has our father, with his idiotic push for an alliance, led us like fucking sheep to slaughter?

  I check my watch. The wolves are set to arrive any minute. Everything is going to shit and fast. I need to talk to Caleb now.

  Pausing long enough to fish another clip for my gun out of my bag, I throw open the door.

  And startle at the sight of Mercy standing on the other side, her hand midair as if reaching for the doorknob.

  11

  Mercy

  Five scantily clad women in silver sequin showgirl costumes strut past us and into the elevator as we step out. They’re giggling—drunk, is my guess—and they barely spare us a glance.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Michelle mutters, her emerald green eyes locked on the terrace. She looks ready to vomit.

  I follow her gaze and my stomach drops. I’m ready to vomit, too.

  A man sits on the couch ahead with his legs splayed, his black pants bunched around his thighs. From this angle, it’s impossible to tell whether it’s Caleb or Gabriel because of the topless blond woman riding his lap.

  Just the possibility that it might be Gabriel—that he could look me in the eye and spew all kinds of lies about how he feels about me—causes a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. Am I throwing away a chance to save my father for a man like that?

  Farley stalks over, sparing a heavy glare for his righthand man before turning to me. “Gabriel asked that all guests visit the club for the next hour. We can get you on the VIP list—”

  “I’m not a guest, and I’m not going to the fucking club,” I snap, my anger flaring. “Is that him out there?” I stab the air with my finger.

  Farley and Moe exchange a glance. “No, ma’am.”

  Overwhelming relief swarms me, followed by pity for Michelle. The delusion of a charming Caleb has been officially cracked. I feel bad for my best friend, but frankly, it’s for the best. She doesn’t need to fall in love with an Easton and have the FBI breathing down her neck, pumping her for information. It’s not fun. I can now officially speak from experience.

  “Where is Gabriel?”

  “In his bedroom.”

  My stomach does another swan dive.

  Is he alone? I open my mouth, but I can’t bring myself to ask the question.

  Charging past Farley, I storm up the stairs. Moe is hot on my heels.

  Just as I reach for the doorknob, the door flies open.

  12

  Gabriel

  Mercy lets out a small squeal of surprise and jumps back.

  “What the fuck are you doing here!” I snap, my mind in overdrive as I take in her beautiful face. Have you betrayed me to the Feds?

  My gut rolls at the thought.

  Moe stands behind her. I glare at him, not bothering to guard my tone. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

  “She wasn’t feeling well,” he answers in that cool, unbothered tone, as if I hadn’t given him explicit instructions to keep her away. As if I’m paying him to use his goddamn discretion.

  Mercy’s mouth hangs open for a few beats, as if I just slapped her. But then she clears her throat. “What’s wrong? You don’t want me here for your important meeting with your showgirls? I’m sorry, am I hampering your style, you fucking pig?” Her voice cracks over her words, fire in her eyes as she searches the room behind me.

  She’s looking for a woman, I realize.

  Ah, shit. The girls. They must still be downstairs.

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, despite the tense situation. Those women are the last thing on my mind, but Mercy’s right to be angry. If roles were reversed and I came home to find her with a bunch of men after she insisted she was having a girls-only night in, I’d shoot first and ask questions later.

  And Mercy is pissed.

  Pissed is good, though. There’s no way she’s the confidential informant with the level of rage she’s channeling over just the suspicion that I’d be cheating on her. I don’t know who it is, but it can’t be her.

  Relief slams into me. I would throw her onto our bed and prove to her how much I’m not thinking about the other women, if I didn’t have this other pressing dilemma. “Mercy, I don’t have time for this right now—”

  “You’re making time, you asshole!” She storms into the bedroom and shoves me back with two hands against my chest and more strength than I ex
pect, especially from a sickly woman. Throwing the door shut in Moe’s face, she turns to focus on me, her eyes wild like I’ve never seen them before, glistening like she’s about to burst into tears.

  “Mercy, it’s not what it looks—”

  “Are you in love with me, Gabriel?” she blurts.

  I falter. “What?” That question, I did not expect.

  Tears begin streaming down her cheeks. “It’s a simple question. Are you in love with me?”

  Jesus Christ. I don’t have time for this conversation. “We can talk about this later.” Hopefully. If these walls haven’t been turned into a Jackson Pollock painting, the medium being my blood. “Caleb invited the women. I haven’t touched them. I don’t want to touch them—”

  “I know,” she snaps, closing in on me. “Yes or no, Gabriel. I need to know, right now. Do you love me, yes or no—”

  “Yes!” It comes out in a roar, my heart racing as I admit that to a woman for the first time in my life. “Why are you asking?” Why now?

  Her shoulders sag, and all the fire disappears from her eyes, replaced by resignation. And fear. “Because the FBI is trying to use me to get to you, and I want to know if you’re even worth throwing my life away.”

  13

  Mercy

  Gabriel listens to me, his jaw hard, barely blinking as I download everything Agent Lewis threw at me today. My words are a jumbled mess, barely coherent as they tumble from my mouth and tears stream down my cheeks.

  Through it all, I can’t miss the dark storm brewing within his eyes. “What have you told her?” he asks, his voice overly calm.

  “Nothing. I swear! I played dumb. But she’s figured stuff out. Or parts of things. She knows Diego didn’t kill himself. She’s threatening to charge me with conspiracy to commit murder.”

  “That’ll go nowhere,” he says dismissively.