“Of course, it is. No one besides us will know the details.”
His words felt like a bucket of cold water thrown on me, and the haze of lust dimmed.
I pushed him away. “You mean besides the security and people who surround us day and night. I can’t risk anything getting back to my family.”
“You don’t have much choice in this, Nyx. My offer is on the table until next week. Just know, only one way sets you free, but I get to fuck you no matter the outcome.”
“You really are the asshole everyone calls you.”
“I am everything Gio Drakos created.”
7
Simon
Around six p.m.,five days after my ultimatum to Nyx, I arrived outside the building housing Draco Jackson’s private gentlemen’s club on the outskirts of Las Vegas. I’d barely spent any time in New York, only flying in for a little over twenty-four hours before leaving to handle situations at hotspots in strategic port cities across the US.
Why, all of a sudden, we were having problems with organizational structure and compensation made no sense. Based on my advisers, we were too generous compared to others.
My gut said my fucker of an uncle had his hands elbow-deep in the chaos. Or should I say, his asshat son, my cousin, Hal.
I’d let them play their games. The fuckers had no idea the Mykoses were in on my plans and were letting them believe they were open to the counteroffer they’d posed for the port and Nyx’s hand.
Soon, I’d clean house and be rid of the trash. Right now, I had to pay my respects to the man whose territory I planned to visit regularly for the next year.
I’d barely stepped out of my SUV into the brisk early November chill when the doors to the nondescript building opened and four men dressed in immaculate black suits exited and waited.
As I approached, they all inclined their heads without saying anything.
When I moved into the entrance, a hostess approached me with a tray holding a warmed washcloth. I took the towel, wiped my hands, and placed it back on the holder.
“Follow me, sir,” she instructed. “You are expected.”
After working our way through the main area of a high-end gentlemen’s club with dancers and servers preparing for a night of high-roller clients, we entered a private lounge where seven men of Japanese descent, ranging in age from midnineties to early thirties, were seated. They relaxed on a set of couches that no doubt cost well over fifty grand apiece.
In the center of the group sat Draco Jackson. His age-weathered face should have made him look frail and weak but had the opposite effect, giving him a honed, all-knowing vibe.
He owned the room and the people in it. Anyone who questioned it suffered at the pointed end of whatever cool, calculated discipline Draco decided to dole out for the disrespect.
As I approached, Draco’s attention shifted from his conversation to me. In less than a few seconds, he appraised me from head to shoes, taking in everything about me.
A light entered his dark gaze before he asked in Japanese,“How did you enjoy your visit to my town last week?”
The old mob boss never missed a beat when it came to what went down in his “town,” as he like to call it.
If one viewed Vegas as a town, instead of the insanity of a city that it was.
“Hello, Oyabun,”I responded in Japanese, giving him the formal welcome for a man at his level in the power structure in his organization and calling him “boss,” before switching to English. “Las Vegas is interesting, as always.”
He gestured to an empty seat near him. “What did you think of your fiancée?”
And why wouldn’t his people know I’d made contact with Nyx?
“She isn’t anything as I expected.”
“Of course, she isn’t. None of the Mykoses are as they appear. You should remember this.”
I took my place on the sofa and picked up the scotch one of the servers set in front of me. “You could have warned me her best friend was your grandson-in-law’s sister.”