Chapter 29
Carlos stopped at the end of the service bar, where they could talk in relative quiet. He motioned for the bartender. “I’ll have a bourbon.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Jonny demanded.
Carlos spun away from the bar. “What?”
Jonny couldn’t figure if Carlos was confused or defensive.
“I nearly got popped outside the club just now.” Jonny pinned him with a cold, steady glare.
“Cops?” The bartender placed Carlos’ drink in front of him, and he gulped down half of it.
“Patting me down for drugs. You know about this?” Jonny cocked an eyebrow. “Or maybe you set it up?”
“Jonny.” Carlos frowned. “How could you say that?”
“The cops seemed disappointed.” He paused. “No, surprised, like they expected to find junk on me.”
“And you think I had something to do with it?” Carlos set his glass on the bar, and Jonny glimpsed the slight tremor of his hand.
“I saw Graciela today, and she said someone’s running drugs through the club.”
Carlos tipped his chin. “And you believe her, a coked-up party girl, over me?”
“I’m thinking you didn’t tell me because it’s Alejandro doing the dealing.”
Carlos sucked in a deep breath and blew it out.
“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” Jonny warned.
“Yes.” Carlos hung his head. “I’ve tried talking to him.” He splayed his hands over the bar. “What can I say? He’s my sister’s son. He’s always been trouble, a disgrace to the family.”
“You know the way I feel about this, and family or not, it has to end.”
“I understand. I’ll try again.”
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
Carlos’ eyes went wide.
“I’m just gonna talk to him, that’s all.”
“But this other thing I don't understand. We own the South Beach cops.”
“Unless they’re getting heat from somewhere else,” Jonny suggested, as he observed Carlos’ expression. He’d come to this man as an ally, a friend, and the possibility of deception made his chest hurt.
~ ~ ~
While Jonny was with Carlos, Cheryl located the bathroom, locked herself into the stall, and dumped first the coke then the baggie into the toilet. She’d flushed numerous times to get rid of all traces, so many times the women in line must’ve suspected some intense stomach issues. If only she could dispose of her guilt as easily.
As Jonny approached the banquette, she admired the self-confidence radiating off him, the way he owned every space he occupied. He motioned to a girl in black bootie shorts and a matching halter top.
“Let’s try that champagne.”
“Good evening, Mr. Vallone. I'm Monique, and I'll be your hostess tonight.” Her wavy, chestnut-colored hair cascaded over her perfect figure.
Normally, Cheryl would’ve sized the girl up as competition, but her mind was too crowded with how she would begin to explain why the cops had him pinned up against the wall and why she didn’t warn him. How after all he’d done for her she deceived him. Again.
Monique extracted the champagne from its ice bath and nudged the cork until it popped. She filled two fluted glasses and handed one to each of them, then faded off to blend into the sheer gauze separating each VIP section.
Jonny draped his arm over her shoulder as the icy liquid numbed her fingertips. He leaned in and lifted his glass. “To the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She sipped at the bubbly champagne and gazed at him over the rim of the glass. The setting and moment were perfect, but she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Jonny, I have to tell you . . .”
“Shush.” He put the tip of his index finger over her lips. “You don't have to say anything. Just you, here, being so true, is all I’ll ever need.”
The guilt swelled in her chest as she struggled for the words that could blow his trust to pieces.
“Hey, Jonny!”
An attractive couple approached their table, interrupting her thoughts. The man shared Jonny’s Mediterranean features and sense of style, while the woman at his side had an exotic mix of flawless ivory skin, almond shaped brown eyes, and a waterfall of straight, ebony hair. Her lithe figure was draped in a one-shoulder Valentino dress Cheryl admired in the Bal Harbour shops earlier.
The couple convinced her that South Beach exceeded its quota for good-looking people. They greeted Jonny affectionately in Spanish.
“Only English tonight,” Jonny said. “Isabelle, Raul, this is Cheryl.”
“Carlos told us you were here with a gorgeous woman.” Raul slid into the opposite side of the booth.
“You must be special to lock this one down.” Isabelle pointed to Jonny. “Many have tried, none succeeded.” She leaned into Cheryl. “I’ll fill you in on all the gory details later.”
“Don't believe a thing she says.” Jonny winked at her.
After more good-natured ribbing, Cheryl and Isabelle settled into casual conversation about shopping in South Beach.
“I’m so glad he took you to Bal Harbour. It has the best stores.” Isabelle’s soft, lilting accent fit her personality.
Raul leaned into Jonny with a serious expression. “I understand you saw Graciela today.”
“News travels fast.”
“Did you see the new fall line at Chanel?” Isabelle asked.
Cheryl tried to concentrate on both conversations. “No, I missed that.”
“You must have Jonny take you. They have some fabulous purses.”
“Bad news always does,” Raul said.
“Bad news?” Jonny’s voice was casual around his tightened jaw.
“And of course their shoes are the best.” Isabelle sipped her champagne.
“Probably nothing to worry about,” Raul offered. “Just Graciela with her usual shit and party girl drama.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you heard and . . .”
“Jonny, so glad you’re in Miami,” a voice boomed as another man approached the table. Jonny locked eyes with Raul for another second, then greeted the man standing to his left.
“Jared, good to see you.” The two men shook hands, as Jonny switched gears.
“Cheryl, this is Jared Klein. He manages the Delano.”
“Nice to meet the woman I’ve heard so much about,” Jared said.
She marveled at the grapevine in Miami. Jonny having a serious girlfriend aroused everyone’s scrutiny. Jared sat at the end of the table between the two men, his milk-white complexion and red hair in direct contrast to Jonny and Raul.
Jonny broke the seal on the bottle of Patron and poured each of them a shot.
“A toast.” Isabelle held her glass up, and they all followed. “Here’s to Cheryl, the only woman who could tame our Jonny.”
They shot the smoky liquor and chased it with lime slices.
“Now, if the beautiful ladies will excuse us for a minute, I have some business questions for Jonny.” Jared turned toward the men. “Tell me all about Simon Davis. Is he worth the investment?”
The men talked business, and they did more shots. The champagne and tequila swimming through her bloodstream made her feel weightless, lifting her anxiety and guilt, giving her an excuse for putting off the inevitable and enjoying this magical night. Jonny played the perfect host, but he passed on the last few shots, and his gaze continued to skitter past them to the first floor.
She leaned into his ear. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.” He forced a smile. “Are you having fun?”
“Yes, your friends are great.” She loved his exclusive attention, like no one else existed. Making her his priority squashed her gnawing insecurities, but amped up the guilt to a dizzying level.
He pressed his lips against her ear. “I'm so proud you’re mine.”
His words sent her back to their bedroom and the way he’d made her claim him. The memory brought a familiar tingling between her legs, and when she caressed his thigh under the table, he flashed her a wicked grin. But two minutes later when his gaze shifted again, her instincts ramped up, then ebbed away on a wave of tequila.
“I’ll be right back.” He brushed a kiss to her cheek, then bolted from the booth and bounded down the stairs to the main floor.
“He’s preoccupied when he’s here.” Isabelle rested her hand on her arm. “Hard to take his mind off the job.”
She’d seen the same tension mixed with a heavy dose of anger on Jonny’s face at the beach this afternoon, and again tonight when he talked with Carlos. Maybe he had secrets too, but the question floated away on a champagne cloud as Isabelle refilled her glass and recited the latest fashion news.
~ ~ ~
When Jonny hit the first floor, he let the people move and surge around him, so he could observe first and then act. Alejandro stood by the line of unisex restrooms, shielded by the sheer size of the water wall. As people moved past him, they either purchased his product or moved on. The cocky way he held himself made it clear they expected and accepted his presence.
His black hair slicked into a sleek ponytail at the nape of his neck accentuated his hollowed features, while the designer club clothes clung to his skeletal frame. He definitely used as much as he sold. He had to give the kid credit though. He’d figured out how to run a business within a business. Seeing enough, he moved in behind him.
“Alejandro?” Jonny shouted over the music.
Alejandro jumped, whipped around, and twitched. “Jonny? What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I run the place, remember?”
“Sure, I just didn’t expect to see you,” Alejandro shot back as he closed his right hand into a tight fist.
“You seem a little jumpy,” he deadpanned, then moved him off to the side, away from the line.
“Nah, everything’s great.” Alejandro kept smiling. “Couldn’t be better.”
Jonny grabbed his fist and pried it open. They stared down at five small glassine bags of white powder. “You got balls, I’ll give you that much.”
“C’mon.” Alejandro puffed up full of attitude. “You wouldn’t stop a guy from making a few bucks.”
“Not this way, and not in my club.”
“Maybe you’d like it better if I cut you in for some of the take.” Alejandro’s arrogance floored him.
“You dumb shit.” Jonny yanked him under the stairwell. “Your family didn’t come all the way from Cuba for you to be a dope dealer.”
Alejandro spun out of his hold. “My mother works her ass off in a hotel, and my uncle works for you, but I’m making real money.” He pounded his chest with his fist. “They call me the Prince of South Beach.”
“You’re gonna be the dead Prince of South Beach if you get in any deeper with this shit.” Jonny stepped forward, crowding his space.
“Who are you kidding?” Alejandro waved his hands around. “I’ve heard the stories about you and how you came up.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“Busting heads on the Brooklyn docks. Jacking cars and making collections for Frank Barnett. You did it the old-school way. I’m just putting a new spin on it.” Alejandro’s lips twisted into a sneer. “You’ve probably done worse than me.”
The kid had him there. The arrogant punk was right. He had done worse. Admitting it to himself didn’t make it any easier, but it sure did give him a great excuse for slamming him against the wall.
“You need some help, boss?” One of the bouncers appeared beside him.
In seconds, two other human blocks of cement were at his side. When the boss shoved people around on the main floor, others noticed.
Jonny leaned into Alejandro. “Just keep that shit outta my club.”
“You can’t protect what’s not yours.” Alejandro zeroed in on Jonny. “Word is, you can’t protect shit anymore.”
“What?” Jonny got in his face.
“So maybe you should be worrying about your own ass.”
“Shut the fuck up, punk,” one of the bouncers growled as he dragged Alejandro toward the back door.
Jonny stayed under the stairwell and sucked in some deep breaths. Was Alejandro’s warning wise guy bullshit or the real thing?