The Syndicates: A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Raven Scott

  These men were brothers, but they fucking despised each other . . . or they were really good actors. Either way, it was almost impossible to breathe under all the testosterone in the air.

  “So, what are we doing about this issue, Carlyle?” Glancing up from the edge of the table for the first time in almost half an hour, I tried not to stare too hard at Oran. He was clearly the kind of guy that liked to ride a motorcycle, but only drinks expensive champagne off a pair of natural tits. He leaned back gracefully, propping his lean arm behind his head, and if I looked close enough, I could see his father in his face. “Obviously, the suspicion is enough. Something clearly happened to make these idiots think they could get away with this.”

  “If they’re idiots for trying, what are we for being fooled for so long?” The sagely question earned a gruff snort, and Carlyle set his silverware down with a soft tink as his father sighed. “It’s a smart plan, Oran, and you shouldn’t underestimate that just because it makes you look bad. Personally attacking someone because they got the better of you is distasteful.”

  “I won’t know how long it’s been going on until I have your files, but it’s safe to say that it’s been a while. I only just noticed the discrepancies a few months ago, which is telling in itself. It doesn’t really matter why, either. Now that we know without a doubt, the question is ‘how are we going to deal with it?’.” Carlyle spoke with authority, and he clasped his hands on the table to nod to himself. “Obviously, I’m going to kill them. The trick here is to avoid them doing it somehow while not raising suspicion. We can’t just drop them all, but we clearly can’t keep them involved in our business.”

  “Obviously.” Jutting his chin out, Oran glared at his brother like Carlyle was an idiot himself. Nothing he said hadn’t already crossed all minds in the room. Frowning slightly under furrowed brows, I stabbed a piece of steamed broccoli in the charged silence. “Get to the point, Carlyle.”

  “We’re not set to require all of them in one place until Christmas. This is the obvious route to go, but I’ve got a better idea.” This was the first time I’ve heard of this ‘better idea’ and Carlyle glanced warily at me. “I understand that we’re not patient men. I want to get them together to ‘interview’ a new translator for me.”

  The fine hairs on my neck and back stood up as Carlyle put me on the spot, and I pursed my lips thinly against my frown. His look was barely a second, but all attention was suddenly on me anyway. Setting down my fork, I straightened my shoulders and made a point to chew him out later.

  “Her?” A sudden sense of caution swept through in a powerful wave, and I clenched my jaw hard at the disgust in Oran’s tone. “Why would you trus— ”

  “Shut up, Oran.” Carlyle was the boss, here, and Oran clamped his mouth shut as ordered even though he didn’t look happy about it. “Drop the almighty God act. Just because you’re pissed you’re not the smartest person on Earth doesn’t give you the right to be a dick. I brought her on not because I trust her, but because I believe she can get the job done. She’s a means to an end. When this is over, I’ll decide how much I trust her.”

  “It’s surprising what you can find in the gutter, isn’t it?” Speaking up from directly across from me, George stared with a gaze that reminded me of dead fish eyes. Suppressing the shiver that burrowed between my shoulder blades, I hid my hands under the table, but I knew he’d seen the tremor that raked them. “It’s definitely a much speedier and stable plan than waiting for Christmas. With all those people around, it’d be a difficult thing to execute.”

  “I don’t understand why you insisted we come to this shit-stain when you have it all figured out, Carly.” I held my breath as Carlyle became physically agitated at his brother’s slight, but I couldn’t take my eyes off George’s. Something in there seemed almost like familiarity, as if he knew me, and I didn’t look away until he did when Carlyle stood up. Rounding the head of the table, he strode confident and in charge to Oran, and I jumped with a squeak of shock when he unceremoniously shoved his brother right out of his chair.

  Carlyle stepped his heel on Oran’s cheek, pinning him down, and Oran didn’t try to fight it. Watching it was like watching animals scuffle for dominance, and Carlyle only lifted his Italian leather shoe when Oran went limp on the floor.

  “Don’t insult me in my own home. I won’t warn you again, and you know what happens when I get pissed off.” Flapping his jacket to make his point, Carlyle walked around the rectangular table to stand behind my chair. My lungs burned with stale air, but I didn’t dare inhale or even blink as he set his hands on the back rung. “I insisted you both come here because this was a conversation we needed to have in person. Whether or not you approve, I’m doing what I think is best. I won’t let five people call into question everything we’ve done. This will get out— that’s a certain. What we can’t let happen is avoiding the ripple effects.”

  “Very well said, Carlyle. We indeed need to set an example. The Syndicate would be gripped in upheaval if we don’t deal with this the right way.” The Syndicate? No one answered my silent question, and Oran sat up to adjust his glasses with his head hung low out of the corner of my eye. “Our tendrils spread far. There’s no telling what the bugs at the bottom would try if they were confident enough.”

  George’s words rang through the dining room, and Carlyle nodded above my head before leaving my chair to take up his own. Finally, I managed a shallow breath, and he cleared his throat roughly before speaking up.

  “So, although I have this planned, my question is this. I want to know what you think is the best way to deal with them? From what I’ve been able to gather just on my end, there’s about seven million in unaccounted money that’s been stolen. I want to know what you think is worth all that.”

  “Shouldn’t we leave that to the experts? My only suggestion is that whatever we do, we live-stream it.” Goosebumps washed my arms at that flippant consideration, and Carlyle nodded firmly at his dad. “Of course, you already know that, Carlyle.”

  “I do. Since this affects all of us, I wanted your opinions anyway.” The notion that Carlyle was planning something incredible that he didn’t want anyone to know about hit me right in the gut. This was all a distraction from . . . from something. Frowning under brows furrowed in confusion, I turned my stare back to the edge of the table and fiddled with the cloth that lapped over to brush my lap.

  “What about you, Mateo? You’ve been awfully quiet. What do you think about this whole ordeal?” The moment slid by on pins and needles as Mateo sunk into his seat and grumbled nonsensically, and I couldn’t help the disgust that coated my tongue. “Come now, surely you have something to say on the matter?”

  “I don’t, no.” He sounded so much more gruff than those times I’d heard him speak, and I actually felt a little bad for Mateo. He’d been through a lot— whether it was his own making or not— and his dad smiled sympathetically at him. “I don’t really care about it at all.”

  “Good of you to have the option.” Oran’s snark was back in full force, and Mateo only slipped deeper down into his seat. “Regardless, your opinion doesn’t matter, anyway.”

  Talk about family drama . . . man . . .

  43

  Illya

  “Why’d you say that Christmas was the best option when you knew it wasn’t?” Pointing an accusatory finger at Carlyle, I scowled darkly when he shrugged carelessly. “You know, trust goes both ways. Just because you’re my boss or whatever doesn’t give you the right to manipulate me to fuck with your family.”

  “The fact that you figured it out and Oran didn’t is telling.” We were outside, a cigarette muffling Carlyle’s words, and he sparked his lighter with disdain dragging down the corners of his mouth. “He thinks he’s so fucking smart, but all he does is complain. I swear, he probably doesn’t even need those glasses.”

  “Carlyle.” Holding up a hand to silence me, he took a deep drag of his smoke, and I exhaled hotly through my nose. Annoyance roiled t
hrough me, and he blew smoke above my head before leaning against the wall to cross his ankles.

  “Do you think my father doesn’t know who you are?” The question made me pause, and his frown deepened. “Nothing happens without him knowing. I may run things here in the States, but he runs everything. He has Mateo fooled, but Oran and I both know better. Why do you think Oran’s under our father’s wing? He’s trying to wrest control from me. I told you Christmas was better because the only thing that doesn’t fool my father is genuine reaction. There’s no point in trying to lie to him.”

  “So . . . so . . . what? This is some internal power play? Why am I always getting sucked into shit that has nothing to do with me?” Frustration thickened my tone, and I ran my hand through my hair roughly as Carlyle’s cheek twitched. “Translator, fine. Drugging someone, I can probably do that. But this is dangerous, Carlyle, and I—”

  “Illya . . . ” Extending his arm to offer me his smoke like some sort of fucked-up olive branch, Carlyle’s eyes narrowed on me until I took it. Anxiety gnawed deep in my gut, and I took a huge drag in an attempt to snuff it out. “Relax. You’re not some key part. Don’t mistake your involvement in my scheme to outwit my brother with taking action. You did exactly what I needed you to do.”

  “Make your brother look like a dickhead so you could swoop in and save the situation.” Smoke bubbled from my nose and mouth as understanding pushed it from my lungs, and Carlyle nodded firmly.

  “There’s one thing I will never let happen, Illya, and that’s giving control of something so powerful to someone like Oran. I know you noticed, he’s got no sense of humility, and everyone is beneath him. Those that can’t do, judge.” I nodded dumbly, and Carlyle reached to caress my cheek with a warmth in his eyes before sneaking the cigarette from my mouth. “I’ve been playing this game a long time, and you’re right, trust isn’t a one-way street. It has to be built, and building it means taking risks. In this case, it was small.”

  “It was really obvious. Are you sure he didn’t notice you set it all up?”

  “I’m sure he did, but that’s the beauty of it. It was so obvious, so why didn’t Oran notice and back down?” My eyes widened in realization, and Carlyle smirked a little. “It wasn’t about how sneaky I was. It was about how obliviously stupid Oran can be. If he could, he’d shoot anyone that did anything he didn’t like, and that list is very long. Not to mention, if Oran did know I was setting him up, he deliberately chose to push himself into a corner, which is arguably worse. He’d save his self-dignity, make everyone around him an enemy, rather than accept the facts.”

  “I’m always so appreciative that you were born first.” Stepping out from behind the door, George smiled as I tensed, but Carlyle didn’t seem at all surprised. And if he was, he hid it well. This fucking family . . . ugh! George scanned me from top to bottom, and I stood up a little straighter. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing? Just like my daughter, God bless her soul.”

  My brows rose in surprise. That was the first thing Carlyle said to me, too.

  “Uh . . . thanks. I wish I could’ve met her.” He waved a long, gnarled hand that didn’t show any signs of arthritis at my comment, stepping out into the shadows cast from the tall buildings.

  “No, she was pretty, but truly stupid.” My jaw almost unhinged at that, and Carlyle chuckled fondly as his dad’s smile widened. “From what my son has shared with me, you’re not the same. My condolences about your family. I wanted to reach out, but you disappeared.”

  “You knew my parents?” George nodded, and my eyes flew to Carlyle as his expression turned grave and stony. “You knew he knew me?”

  “Your mother was the only person to ever connect me to anything.” Nerves dried my tongue even as it sneaked to swipe my lips, and I crossed my arms over my chest. As if sensing where my mind was going, George shook his head, a sad, almost plastic expression fixed on his face. “I was upset to hear she’d passed. I offered her a job if being a policewoman ever fell through. She declined, of course. I hate wasting talent like that.”

  “I . . . I appreciate it.” Awkwardness surged through me because I believed him— even though I knew better. He might be reciting from a book, but that last bit . . . Shaking my head, I turned to Carlyle, and he exhaled smoke out of his nose under furrowed brows. “What now?”

  “Now, I wait to see what Oran will do. The problem with seeing everyone as below you is that you consider them to be inconsequential. I’m sure he’ll try something.” I nearly choked on my own spit, and my face grew hot while Carlyle sucked on the butt of his cigarette leisurely. “I don’t allow violence in my home. You’re perfectly safe, Illya.”

  “The fact that I have to be reassured about my safety, I swear to God, Carlyle, I want it in writing that if anything happens to me, I get to stab you in the arm or something.” Pushing himself off the wall, Carlyle loomed over me, but I stood my ground. I didn’t even have to crane my neck to glare at him in the eye. Taking the cigarette from between his lips, he held it out to me again, and my eyes narrowed before I reached to take it.

  “Fine. If anything happens to you, you can stab me in the arm. Right here.” Tapping his bicep over his shirt, all seriousness glittered in his eyes, and Carlyle ran his hand roughly through his hair before stepping back. “Regardless, this is a waiting game, now. Even if Oran manages to surprise me, we need to set up your interview, and Mateo is a problem for me. I have too much going on to babysit him any longer.”

  “He’s my boy, Carlyle. I’ll take care of him.” For a second, George’s mask disappeared, and he developed the most monotone, flat expression imaginable. “It’s about time he grew up and took responsibility for his actions. I don’t think he’s quite got the message, yet.”

  Scary . . . he really is a sociopath.

  “We’ll talk about that later. I’ve already sent out the e-mail. We’re just waiting for confirmation. The interview will happen on Saturday. That’s more than enough time to set up the live feed and make arrangements. Until then, Illya, I want you to keep going through my files and find out what you can. The rest are being sent over as we speak. I can keep them digital, if you find that easier.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Like I said, I doubt there’s much there since you don’t use interpreters as much as your father and brother.” Nodding to myself, my mind whirred in that direction as memories of all those words flashed in my mind’s eye. “Do these guys know I have all the transcripts?”

  “Probably, why?”

  “What if they ask about it?” Amusement drenched Carlyle’s features, and even George laughed at me as embarrassment sloshed against my ribs. “What? If they know I figured out what they’re doing, I . . . ”

  “Illya . . . ” Plopping his warm palm on my crown, Carlyle smiled a genuine smile, and heat suffused my cheeks as I held my breath. “You really are the cutest. You’re not being interviewed. When those five get here, I’m going to torture and execute them on a live stream. You probably won’t even know they’re here.”

  “Ooh.” Carlyle’s scarier than his dad, it’s official.

  Carlyle truly didn’t care about anyone. He wasn’t mentally ill, he just had no regard for human life unless it suited him somehow. Jesus Christ.

  44

  Illya

  The door to my apartment swung open like a beautiful, black hole that wanted to suck me in, and I wanted to let it. My feet hurt, my brain hurt, the cuticles of my fingernails hurt, damnit. Shuffling heavily down the short hallway to the living room, I flicked on the light sluggishly, and I had half a mind to throw myself on the sofa.

  “Finally.” A shrill shriek burst from my throat, and I held my arms to my chest to cup my face as I whipped around. My heart threatened to climb out of my throat, and Oran lifted himself from my kitchen chair . . . that he’d been sitting in . . . in the dark . . . for God only knew how long. “I was thinking you’d never get here.”

  “This is my place.” Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Gulping h
ard, I backed up when Oran stepped across the threshold to the living room. “W-what do you want? I’m not having sex with you.”

  “You wouldn’t have a choice if that was what I wanted.” The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, my goosebumps intensifying as Oran stalked towards me like a cat watching a bird. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “That was an awful answer if you wanted my cooperation.” His dark eyes flashed behind his glasses, and I crossed my arms over my chest despite the fierce pull on my skin. “Get out. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “You haven’t even heard my proposal.”

  “You just said you’d rape me without even thinking twice.” My snipe sunk deep into the pit in my stomach, and Oran arched a brow in surprise. “Fine. What is it so you can leave and I can lock all the locks behind you.”

  “I know you’re new here. Do you even know what it is, exactly, you’re getting into?” Oran fucking sat on the low wall separating the kitchen and living room, clasping his hands between his knees, and his surprise faded into seriousness. A barrage of emotions rushed between my lungs, and I pursed my lips thinly in an effort to regulate my breath. “You do know this is a criminal organization spanning nationality and all borders. You looked uncomfortable at lunch. I get the sense you’re not used to violence or discomfort.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Watching him now, so close that I could see the flecks of grey in his eyes, Oran didn’t seem nearly as dumb as Carlyle believed. “Why are you asking me that?”

  “Doesn’t it upset you that you’ve been dragged into this through events out of your control?” What the fuck is he getting at? Taking off his glasses, Oran stuck them in his shirt pocket, and I could clearly see that he was just as smart as he thought he was. “I’m not going to lie. You’ve had it rough. Do the benefits outweigh the risks for you?”