As Joshua fumbled for words, Julius decided to help him out because he got it, he understood the question his brother struggled to ask. “I’ve slept with a lot of women. It’s not hard when you have money. Stunning women. Eye candy each one of them. When you can have any woman in the world, it’s easier to see true beauty. Transcendent beauty that’s more than skin deep. That lasts longer than the first sexual encounter. It goes beyond the physical attraction. I like her.” Julius laughed at Joshua’s confusion. “Yeah, you should like the person you’re screwing.”
Listen to me preach as if I hadn’t screwed plenty of women I didn’t necessarily like. Dad must be cackling in Hell.
“I love her for who she is, not how she looks, which is pretty fucking hot. I love her because she doesn’t need me, and that’s not because of the inheritance. Shit, she quit working for me because I was an asshole.” He chuckled remembering the day she stormed out of the penthouse and returned on her terms weeks later. “I respect her. She challenges me on every level, yet I’ve never enjoyed the fight more. She’s the only person I can’t live without.” He ended, realizing the power she had over him from the moment they met.
Joshua sat there staring at him. Julius got the impression everything he said bounced off the kid. “Was there a reason for the visit other than to call me pussywhipped?” Julius asked dryly.
He shook his head, his longish hair swaying. “No. Nope. Just checking on you.” He looked sheepishly around the office.
They hadn’t been spending much time together. Julius split his time between Bryn Conglomerate, JMI, and Morgan International. And Calista. There wasn’t much time left for anything else. His relationship with his brother had taken a backseat. “I have to finish some things here then I’m heading to a lunch meeting. Care to tag along?”
Joshua perked up. “Yeah. Who with?”
“Malcolm Warner and Roman Nicolis.”
Joshua lurched to his feet. “Really! Well, damn. Three billionaires in one room. Hell, yeah, I’m tagging along.” He straightened his tie and threaded his fingers through his hair. “What’s the meeting about?”
“A possible partnership on—”
The intercom buzzed and his secretary’s voice interrupted him. “Mr. Morgan. There are two men from the FBI here to speak to you.”
“What did you do?” Joshua mouthed.
“When the FBI knocks instead of barging in with a warrant, you’ve done nothing they can prove…yet,” he said to his brother. “Escort them to my office,” Julius said to his secretary and stood.
“I’m not leaving.” Joshua came to stand by Julius’ side.
“I didn’t ask you to.” Though maybe he should. Depending on what this was about, he didn’t want his brother involved. Plausible deniability, which was an excellent defense since his internship with the company was recent. “Say nothing.”
“Wasn’t planning on giving a speech.”
A sharp knock and the door opened. His secretary entered first followed by two men. One Hispanic, the other African American. “Mr. Morgan. I’m Executive Assistant Director Marc Johnson and this is my assistant, Agent Hernandez.”
“Gentlemen. Pleased to meet you.” Handshakes were exchanged and the men took seats on the two chairs in front of the desk. Good sign. They wouldn’t make themselves comfortable if they were here to make an arrest. “Care for anything to drink?” His secretary lingered by the door.
“No, thank you,” Agent Johnson spoke for both men. “I head the Criminal, Cyber, Response and Service Branch of the bureau. I’ve been given permission to brief you, and your brother, since you two are together and it concerns both of you.”
“On what?” Julius took his seat.
“We received credible intel that Alezandar Karpovilov has taken out a contract on you.”
Nonplussed, Julius asked, “What else?”
“That’s not enough?” Agent Hernandez said.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Because there was always more.
“Alezandar Karpovilov and Lynda Morgan.” The agent stressed. “At the behest of Lynda Morgan, Alezandar Karpovilov has taken out a contract to kidnap your brother and kill you.”
Julius’ heart fisted and his world narrowed to a pinpoint. Lynda didn’t know about Calista. Which wouldn’t last long. “How did you come by this information?”
“We’re not at liberty to discuss anyone other than you two,” the agent stated.
“How old is this information?” Old, Julius guessed. The FBI didn’t willingly share info.
“One week.”
Thank God he had common sense and figured this was Lynda’s only option and had already taken steps.
The assistant director cleared his throat. “The Agency can offer protective custody to you and your brother.”
“Which will last precisely how long?” Not long enough and God only knew what hovel they’d shove them into. Julius stood and came around his desk. He shook both men’s hands. “No thanks. I’ll hire my own protection.” Which he already had in the form of his own personal hitman—who was not dead—to take care of his Russian problem.
“Mr. Morgan. This is serious.” The agent stressed. “No one can protect you better than the United States government.”
Julius chose to be diplomatic. “I’m sure that’s what you believe.” The agent started to argue again. “Look at it this way. If I end up dead and my brother kidnapped, the blame will be completely mine. The bureau won’t face an investigation or a tab. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have things to attend to.” Namely how to save everyone I love.
Chapter Sixteen
J
ulius exited the Maybach with Edwards and Sunny, the latter on his six, the former at his twelve. Virgil—the new guy on the team—stayed with the car. The sidewalk traffic was light for a late-afternoon weekday in the Diamond District. No one stood out as he made a quick scan of the area. The gun holstered under his arm was within easy reach. Carrying was no longer semantics, not when the lives of the woman he loved and their unborn child were on the line.
He’d already spoken to the extra man he had watching her. She was home, safe and sound. Two more were on the way to protect her and so was he as soon as he set a few things in motion.
“Good evening, Mr. Morgan. Your friend arrived twenty minutes ago and is with Mr. Pimmer.” The hostess greeted him the second he walked through the doors.
“Thank you, Gretchen.” He followed her through the showroom with display cases brimming with platinum, gold, and silver matched with every possible jewel combination. Some understated. Some gaudy extravagances. He found himself studying a few pieces—a pair of diamond earrings, a ruby bracelet, a tennis necklace he pictured gracing Calista’s neck.
The next display case held an assortment of loose gems, varying in sizes and qualities. He did not come here to shop; however, a particular gem caught his eye. It was large, cloudy, polished, but uncut. He pointed at it.
“Mr. Pimmer would fire me if I did not point out the inferior quality of that particular stone to a gentleman of your standing,” Gretchen said in a dulcet tone.
“I don’t care what Pimmer does or doesn’t do. That stone, what is it?”
Gretchen dipped her head in faux submission and opened the display. The black velvet tray was placed in front of him. “It’s a salt and pepper diamond. Flawed because of its indeterminate coloring. But…” The single word lingered. “While they lack the sparkle of a white diamond, they have all the luster.” She picked up the stone and angled it in the light. “As I said, it is flawed, yet inside these diamonds, a world exists,” she whispered as if sharing a secret.
“Emerald cut, platinum setting.”
“You will have it in a week, sir.” She handed the stone off to an associate waiting in the wings. “Please, come with me.”
At a locked door with two armed guards stationed on either side, she paused and pressed her hand against a biometric scanner. The scanner beeped, and the door
opened with barely a whisper.
They hadn’t changed a single thing since his last visit when he’d splurged on a diamond bracelet for… What was her name again? The dark interior with a single display case on the right for six-figure items. Armed security on the left at the entry, and another armed guard standing off to the side of Pimmer. In the center, Pimmer hawking his wares and Emmet Streeter front and center, seated in the leather straight-back chair, studying an array of engagement rings.
Friends since their time spent in a Swiss boarding school brought six men together: Julius, Emmet, Harden, Davien, Lawson, and Nasir. Two months had passed since their last meeting on his yacht. By a few hours, Emmet had missed the attack on the yacht. Would’ve been nice to have a hitman handy during a gunfight.
“That beauty is a radiant cut three-carat diamond set in a platinum basket setting. The band is lined with twenty-two pavé diamonds. A radiant cut diamond is one of the rarest cuts you will ever find. See how it catches the light?” Pimmer angled the gem under a lamp.
“Yes. That’s the one,” Emmet murmured.
“An excellent choice. We will box and wrap it.” Pimmer held out his hand for the ring and passed it to Nancy, Pimmer’s second assistant. She left the room while Emmet handed over his platinum card.
Julius stepped forward. “Sorry to interrupt, Emmet.”
Emmet didn’t turn to greet him while Pimmer leapt to his feet and practically wobbled around the table. “Mr. Morgan. I didn’t expect you this evening. What brings you here today?”
Morgan waved the man away. “No purchases tonight, Darwin. I’m here to catch up with an old friend. Can we have the room for a few moments?” He didn’t wait for permission to walk around the desk and take Pimmer’s seat.
Pimmer’s sharp gaze darted between Morgan and Emmet, even as he bowed and waved to his guards. “Of course. My home is your home.” Quickly, he closed up shop, securing all the jewels back in the safe. Next, he signaled everyone to leave, and with a soft click, closed the door behind him.
Emmet eyed his friend. “You could’ve called. The dramatic entrance was unnecessary.”
Julius shrugged. “Yeah, well, I was in town, and I knew where you would be. Did you find what you wanted?”
“Yeah. I think she’ll like it.”
“How much it set you back?”
Emmet laughed. “I don’t even know. Doesn’t matter. She’s worth it.”
Julius understood the sentiment and commiserated. “Spoken like a man in love.” He sighed heavily. “Sorry to rain on your day.”
“But…” Emmet supplied.
“You owe me, and I’m calling in my marker.”
A wide range of emotions played across Emmet’s normally stoic features: denial, fury, hesitancy, and lastly, regret. Julius took a guess and figured Emmet’s reticence lay with the ring he’d just purchased and what it represented: family and the future.
Had Emmet planned on retiring? Hang up his gun and what? Buy a house in a flyover state and raise chickens? Was retirement even possible for a hitman? Hank—Emmet’s mentor and future father-in-law—how did that shit even happen—hadn’t retired even after being shot, and as of this moment, neither was Emmet because, friendship aside, he owed Julius.
Emmet locked eyes with Julius. “My gun is yours. Who do you need killed?”
“Lynda Morgan and Alezandar Karpovilov.”
A single dark eyebrow arched and Emmet whistled, the solo pitch started high and ended low. “The repercussions of a hit on Alezandar Karpovilov are deep and widespread. Possibly catastrophic.”
“Is that a no?” Annoyed, Julius sat back in the chair.
Emmet’s steely gaze contradicted his lazy grin. “Not what I said. No one is impossible to kill. Just difficult. The blowback on Karpovilov’s death would be bad… If not mitigated.” He pulled a phone out of his pocket. “We need Harden’s expertise in this area.”
Julius waited while Emmet dialed, his attention drawn to the display case. A black diamond teardrop necklace haloed with smaller white diamonds called to him. It was stunning, ostentatious, and matched the earrings Calista had worn at the charity event. It also reeked of ownership.
“Where are you?” Emmet’s voice cut through Julius’ planned impulse purchase.
Undeterred, he went to the exit, and opened the door. Pimmer, the security guards, and Julius’ bodyguards waited. He crooked a finger at Pimmer to follow him. Back to the display case he led the man and pointed to the object of his desire. “Gift wrap and send it to my penthouse.”
Pimmer gave a short bow and hustled to do as commanded while Emmet came to Julius’ side. He glanced at the piece. “Out of my price range. Ready?” He didn’t wait for a reply. A sharp pivot and together they and Julius’ entourage headed toward the exit.
Sunny and Edwards fell in line, one in front and the other behind. Emmet gave a dry chuckle. “Cute.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“You’re a powerful man. Only two bodyguards?” Emmet murmured.
“Five. One’s in the car. The other two are watching Calista with more on the way.”
“Possessive. Is that good or bad?” Emmet questioned.
“As if you’re not with Hank’s daughter.”
“Touché.”
I may as well tell him. It’s not a national secret. “I’m going to be a father, Emmet.”
Emmet’s steps faltered, then resumed smoothly as if nothing happened. “Is this the primary reason why you need Lynda and Karpovilov dead?”
“Yes.” They made it outside to the waiting Maybach idling at the curb. “They’re in danger and I won’t tolerate it.”
“Then Lynda Morgan and Alezandar Karpovilov are dead.” Their gazes locked and no further communication was necessary. “I have two people I would use to protect Bailey. I’ll see if they’re available.”
“Thanks.”
Emmet grunted and looked away. He wasn’t a proponent of compliments. “Harden is at his new club on the Westside. I’ll meet you there.” Emmet veered away.
“I can’t offer you a ride?”
Emmet glanced at the car with Virgil holding the door open, Edwards at the driver’s side door, and Sunny at Julius’ three o’clock. “I’d rather not in the big fucking bull’s-eye. Get rid of it.”
Chapter Seventeen
S eated in a booth at the back of the cocktail room, Harden sipped aged scotch from a tumbler. It was perfection on his tongue and the sweetest burn slid down his throat and landed in his stomach. Almost as perfect as his newest domain, Catalyst, an exclusive members-only club in the Financial District on the west side of Manhattan. The design leaned toward the intimate. Tall wine-colored pin-tucked leather booths, carpet the color of ink, black lacquer tables with lamps with soft lighting for ambiance. The menu was à la carte, the side dishes were the usual staples while the protein was anything the customer desired.
Behind a secure door lay a spa that specialized in catering to each member’s particular tastes, ranging from the mundane to the exotic. Each private room contained a sauna and hot tub. In the basement was an Olympic-size pool. Membership was ten K per month, and there was already a waiting list for a club that was completely legal, aside from a little consensual sex between willing individuals for a small monetary fee…for overhead.
The clinking of glass and the low murmur of voices drew his attention to two workers behind the bar. New hires, not his old workers from his other establishments who understood his penchant for silence. The two would learn.
Their names eluded him, and he didn’t care. They weren’t important enough for the effort. The pink-haired Caucasian hottie had the right body type—athletic with an adequate rack—and a face that clinched the deal. She was stunning with wide baby blue eyes and a small mouth he could see stretched around his cock.
The African American female next to her had the body—no doubt about it. The uniform—black panties beneath a sheer miniskirt, bandeau top with capped sleeves—hid none of
her dangerous curves. Tiny waist on display, flared hips on fleek, and breasts that jiggled when she walked. The pixie-cut hairstyle didn’t work for him, neither did the freckles. They were everywhere.
He was a perfectionist and all those freckles reminded him of a jigsaw puzzle he wanted to break apart and fix. Ridiculous.
He glanced at his Piaget on his wrist. Where were those two assholes? His time was precious. He had a lot on his plate, foremost the war with the Mexicans. It had ended as he predicted, he won. Their territory was now his with a caveat. The cartel conceded their NYC acreage as long as he bought product from them.
Across the room, Bruno paused in the arched entry to the cocktail room. Harden expected his lieutenant’s gaze to travel across the room and find him in the spot he’d claimed for his own. He was miffed when Bruno’s attention veered to the bar, his interest obvious in the females stocking the top shelf liquor on the shelves of the mirrored display.
But which one? Not that he really cared. Either was as good as the other. They were interchangeable. Still… “Fifty on pink hair,” he murmured to no one and sincerely wished it to be the Caucasian stunner and not the African American jigsaw puzzle he was suddenly interested in.
“Hey, boss, I got those numbers for you.” Bruno slipped him a piece of paper. A quick scan and Harden pulled out a cigar and lighter from his inner pocket. He clipped the end and stuck the cigar into the corner of his mouth. A flick of his thumb and a flame illuminated everything within three feet. The paper caught. He touched the flame to the end of the cigar. Ten seconds later ashes were all that remained after burning so brightly. Two puffs and the nicotine hit his bloodstream. Filthy habit. He’d quit ten times and would probably quit ten more before dying of lung cancer, if a bullet didn’t end him first.
“Mr. Gage, Mr. Morgan is here,” Ralph shouted from the archway like a fucking ill-mannered, no home training bum.
“Why the fuck is he at the front door?” Harden thundered at Bruno.
“I know. I know. The regular girl has the day off. We’re still looking for a third person. We need the right person to let into the circle. Can’t hire any schmo off the street, can we.”
Plain and the Billionaire's Seduction (Plain Jane Series Book 3) Page 12