I EXPECTED Theodore Brown to be a nerdy hotel manager type, but the man who greeted me at the entry to the Scepter had me doing a double take. He was tall and thin in a well-fitted dark blue suit. A sweeping mane of blond hair fell to his shoulder blades, shot through with ribbons of silver that blended so seamlessly they were undetectable at a distance.

"Little Santori," he said, reaching out a narrow hand for me to shake.

Thick gold watch. Buffed nails. No wedding ring.

“Mr. Brown. Thanks for seeing me today.”

“Oh, call me Theo. Everyone does.” He gave an easy smile, revealing teeth that were straight except for one renegade incisor that seemed to have a mind of its own. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? Too bad we have to get reacquainted under such uncomfortable circumstances." At my confused look, he added, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

I searched my memory and came up with a blank. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

He stepped out of my way and gestured for me to enter the hotel I now owned but had never set foot in. It was nice. Not as elegant as the Alcazar, but it had a modest charm.

Theo led me through the empty lobby and to a large office situated behind the front desk and down a hallway. A burled wood desk dominated the space, its thick masculine lines in opposition to its lanky owner. He slid in behind the desk and indicated a chair positioned directly in front of him.

“Sit, Little Santori. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” He thumbed out a quick text message and set his phone on the desk before continuing. “I was wondering how long it would take you to show up at my door. After your uncle’s death, things were confusing for everyone. I wanted to come to you, but ultimately I decided to bide my time and let you find me on your own. And now, here you are.”

“I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage, Theo. You seem to know me, but I can’t remember where we’ve met.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you were very young the last time we spoke. Ten or eleven, maybe twelve. Peter and I go way back. Believe it or not, he wasn’t always the all-business guy you knew him to be. He had a social life at one time.” He looked wistful, as if maybe he missed those days.

“I can’t imagine my uncle having a social life. You were… friends?”

“Back in the day, we were inseparable. I even remember the day you and your father arrived at the Alcazar.”

“And my brother, Evan?” My tongue felt thick with the words I hadn’t expected to come out.

He gave a sad smile. “And your brother. I’m truly sorry about what happened to him.”

“What was he like?” I asked, feeling pitiful at having to ask a complete stranger about my own brother.

“He was a kid, same as you. I wish I had more details for you, but I guess I was more interested in whiskey and Vegas showgirls than in a couple of little boys playing keep-away and running circles around Peter’s feet. I do remember you two loved to play with trucks.” Theo chuckled, his eyes going distant as he lost himself in memory. “Peter would bitch about you boys about running those trucks around the halls and making a racket. You’re going to run the guests off, he’d say, but he didn’t make you stop doing it. He just wasn’t used to having little kids around, that’s all.”

I thought his recounting of the memory was a little too warm, painting Santori as a grumpy but benevolent father figure. I didn’t share my opinion with him, though. It was best just to press on and try to gain as much information as I could now that I was speaking to someone who had some insight into the childhood I could barely remember.

“How about my father? My uncle never talked about him much. Was he—” I stopped, afraid to be disappointed again, then found my resolve. “Was he ever in the Army that you know of?”

“No, definitely not. Your father was the street hustler type. He wasn’t disciplined enough to be in the military. I could just see Bobby going up against some asshole drill instructors. He would have either cried or told them to go fuck themselves. Not sure which, though. Bobby was a tough one to figure out.” He paused, studying my face. “Does it bother you that he wasn’t in the Army?”

“It does bother me a little, but only because it was one of the few things I thought I knew about my father. Since it has turned out to be untrue, I know even less.” I ran a hand through my hair, feeling helpless. “It’s like my memories are just gone. I wish I could remember more.”

“Some fathers aren’t worth remembering,” Theo said. “Not speaking of yours, specifically. I honestly didn’t know him all that well. But I don’t think a day passed that Peter wished he could forget his father. What a piece of work.”

I remembered all the times my uncle had bragged about his stellar upbringing and sneered at my father’s inferior bloodline.

“Santori said his father was a strong man who took care of his family. He said my father came from trash.”

“Did he?” Theo didn’t attempt to hide his surprise. He mused for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe he wasn’t talking about his father.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “Was he adopted or something?”

“No,” Theo said with a shake of his head. “I only meant— How much do you know about your uncle’s life?”

“Not much, probably. He only seemed to talk about his past when he was trying to tell me how shitty my father was.” Bitterness laced my words despite my attempts to remain neutral. Considering how I felt about Santori, it was inevitable.

Theo stood and walked over to a heavy cabinet and opened the door, pulling out a bottle of amber-colored liquid. There was a small refrigerator hidden in the bottom portion of the cabinet, and he removed an ice tray and set about making drinks.

“This bottle of forty-year-old Macallen was a gift from your uncle last Christmas. I think this is a perfect occasion to finally crack it open, don’t you?” He laughed. “Hey, I just realized this stuff is older than you.”

“And probably worth more,” I said.

“More than you and me put together.” Theo chuckled. “If you believe the things my teachers said about me back in school, I’m worthless. Never thought I’d amount to anything, but look at me now.”

He handed me one of the glasses of whiskey and took his seat across from me again, taking a swallow and savoring the flavor with closed eyes. Then he seemed to remember what we had been talking about.

“Your father was very different from your uncle. He was sullen and withdrawn where Peter was… Well, you know how he was. He had a strange charisma about him. Your father, on the other hand, seemed beaten. Like a fighter who’s run out of steam, and all he can do is just stand there and get hit until the ref calls the fight.”

“Yeah,” I said absently, because what else could I say? I just felt so sad for my father. I wished I could go back in time and give him a hug.

“Look,” he continued. “I know that’s probably not what you were hoping to hear, but it’s just my take on him. As I understood it, he had been through a lot with your mother and was struggling to overcome the damage her loss had caused. When he showed up on Peter’s doorstep with you two boys in tow, I think that was his last ditch effort at making a good life for you. His pride was clearly shaken at having to ask for help, but your uncle was in a position to provide where he wasn’t.” He took another sip of whiskey. “I’m not trying to sully your opinion of your father. You’re made from the same genes, after all, and look how you turned out. Proof that circumstances make the man, yeah?”

“Sure, I guess.” I swallowed the rest of my whiskey and set the empty on the desk, the ice tinkling against the sides of the glass.

I tried to hide my emotions from Theo, though it was probably pointless. Emotions that strong had a way of showing through. But I hated hearing him talk about my father that way. I loved my father.

I couldn’t remember that much about him—only bits and pieces—but even knowing that he may have deserted me didn’t shake my certainty that he was worthy of my love. The fear that Santori may have done something bad to him only strengthened my feelings.

Theo got up and collected my empty glass, pulling a lavender handkerchief from his pocket and wiping away the slight ring of moisture it had left on the surface of the desk. “Refill?”

“No, thank you. I’m driving.”

“A conscientious Santori. Interesting.” He studied me with his shrewd brown eyes. “I have to say that’s a first for me.”

“I’m not so conscientious,” I told him. “But I’m trying to do better.”

“In our business, a conscience is not necessarily an asset,” he said. “Peter would have been the first to tell you that.”

“Well, that’s sort of what I came to talk to you about.” I squirmed in my seat, not eager to disappoint a man who had worked for my uncle for years. A man who clearly considered Peter Santori a friend. “Since I’ve taken over the running of the company, it has come to my attention that there has been some questionable stuff going on under the radar. I’m gearing up to do a little house cleaning, if you know what I mean. I’m not accusing you of anything, and you’re not going to lose your job.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said, his eyes wary.

“You’ll stay on with the company making the same pay you do now, but there may be some changes. It’s a stipulation in my uncle’s will that I can’t sell any part of the estate for a couple of years, but I’m thinking about leasing out this property and bringing you and anyone you want to keep over to the Alcazar. I need to keep a closer eye on everything, and I can’t do it when things are so spread out. I’m going to shut down the art gallery and the horse stables, but I’ll also be working really hard to build the Alcazar up. I’ve already got some influential people helping me to book conventions and retreats. Big things are coming. By this time next year, there won’t be an empty room in the place. People will have to book six months in advance to get through the front door.”

I stopped talking long enough to catch my breath and to see how Theo was going to take the news. I figured this would be the moment of truth, when I’d find out if he was more than just a hotel manager and if he knew anything about the real nature of my uncle’s business.

At first he didn’t say a word. Just sat there contemplating like a stone statue. But after a couple of awkward minutes, he leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

“So you want me to come work for you at the Alcazar. What on earth would I be doing there?”

“Well, I’m planning on firing the casino manager, so that job is yours if you want it. He was making significantly less money than you, but as I said, you would not be expected to take a pay cut. My uncle obviously valued you as an employee and friend, and I will honor that relationship.”

Theo offered me a bland smile. “And you’re planning to pay me the same salary I make here as a hotel manager?”

“Yes. I checked your pay history before I came, and I assure you I’m willing to pay you the same in a new position.”

“I see.” He was thoughtful for a long moment. Then he picked up his cell and typed out a text message before speaking. “Please excuse my rudeness. Your uncle would have given me a tongue lashing for texting in his presence, but he was old school when it came to technology. He had people taking care of every little thing for him, so he could never understand that business goes on, even when you’re trying to steal a minute to have a drink with an old friend.”

I laughed, his words easing some of the tension that had built up inside me. “He hated anyone messing with a phone in his presence. I’ll admit I used to do it just to piss him off sometimes.”

“Trust me, your uncle was well aware of the fact that you did things just to get under his skin.” Theo slid his cell phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Okay, Little Santori. It was nice seeing you again after all these years. I’d love to sit and talk longer, but I have a meeting scheduled, and people should be arriving any minute. If we could continue this later, that would be wonderful.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I didn’t mean to keep you. I just wanted you to be aware of the changes I have planned, and I thought it would be best if I delivered the news in person. As I said, I respect the relationship you had with my uncle.”

“I appreciate that, Michael.” He stood and gestured for me to follow. “Let me walk you to the door.”

I followed Theo to the front door, where we said more friendly goodbyes. As I walked to the parking garage, I was feeling pretty good about how things had gone down. I’d expected him to put up at least a little resistance, but he’d been surprisingly calm about the whole thing. Probably because he knew he would be making the same pay for having less responsibility.

If all of my business decisions concerning the big change were this easy, I’d be less stressed in no time. Eliminating the possibility of being arrested for money laundering and tax evasion and God knows what else would be the first step to having the life I truly wanted for Jamie and me.

After a couple of years, I’d sell off everything my uncle ever touched and take off to some non-extradition country— maybe an island— so that Jamie could never be brought in for Santori’s murder. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind trading in his blogging career for an easy life of sipping piña coladas on the beach and fishing or something. Hell, I didn’t know what people did when they lived on islands and had no responsibilities, but I was looking forward to finding out.

Jamie had been putting up with a lot of shit from me recently, and I needed to make it up to him. Now that I’d made the decision to clean up the business, I thought we should celebrate with a nice dinner followed by a romantic stroll. I wanted to hold his hand, look into his big brown eyes, and tell him everything was going to be okay. That I had just been stressed at work, and that was all about to change.

I wanted to apologize.

I paused at my car and pulled out my cell phone to text Jamie and tell him to get dressed, but my head came up when I heard a series of four car doors slamming one after another.

A black sedan had pulled up a couple of spaces from my car, and the occupants were now walking toward me at an alarming pace. Four large men in trench coats and Ray-Bans, all about six-foot-four and two-hundred-fifty pounds, and all sporting the same style goatee and buzz cut. They looked like clones out of the Matrix, and I would have laughed at them under my breath if they hadn’t all been carrying semi-automatic rifles.

* * *

“CAN I help you?” I asked. It was pure reflex rather than politeness, because damn they were bearing down on me fast. And those guns. This couldn’t be good.

When they didn’t answer, I reached into my pocket to grab my car keys, dropping my phone onto the pavement in the process. As I fumbled with the keys, trying to locate the remote unlock button, the goons reached me. One of them kicked my phone into the wall of the parking garage, shattering it into pieces. I didn’t stop to take stock of the damage.

The car key slid out of my hand, and I instinctively dropped into a fighting stance, ready to do as much damage as I could. I felt the adrenaline in my system kick up to superhero levels, the kind that allows regular people to lift cars. This was going to be the fight of my life, and I wasn’t going down without taking someone with me.

As the goons descended, I caught the closest one hard on the jaw. My reflexes were lighting fast, and I grabbed onto the next guy as the first one fell, swinging around his body and taking his back. His head was in my hands, and I realized with stunning clarity that I was going to snap his neck. But fucking hell there were four of them, and the other two moved in behind me.

One dropped his gun and grabbed me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me off of the guy I was about to waste. Just as my muscles tensed to twist and crack the life out of him, I felt the muzzle of a gun jammed hard into the base of my skull.

“Do it, and it will be the last move you ever make on this earth,” said a voice from behind me. A voice laced with the kind of irrefutable confidence that can only be inspired by having a gun in your hand.

I had about two seconds to decide whether I would spare a man’s life or lose my own. An image of Jamie flashed in my mind, and I let go. I was on the ground before I could blink, with three guns aimed at my head and one heavy bastard suffocating the life out of me.

“He was gonna snap my neck,” said the one who was lucky to still be breathing. “He’d better pray to God I don’t put a bullet in his brain just for thinking about it.”

“I think he’s smarter than that,” another one said. “Or at least I hope he is.” He nudged my rib with his heavy boot. “How about it, Mr. Santori? Are you smarter than that?”

I didn’t answer, so he hauled off and kicked me hard. Pain seared through my ribcage, and I sucked in a breath that I was unable to let out. “Fuck,” I gasped, knowing instantly and beyond a doubt that there was steel in the toe of that boot.

“I guess that’ll do for an answer,” he said. “You know you fucked up, right Mr. Santori?”

“How is that?” I asked, able to speak now that the pain was dulling out a bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you?”

He laughed and pushed the gun against my temple. “I’m the delivery man. I have an important message for you. Are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m listening,” I groaned.

“Good.” He kept the gun pressed hard into my temple, pushing the other side of my face down into the pavement. “He says he’s listening, boys. Give him the message.”

A hard kick caught me in nearly the same spot, and I heard an audible crack. My stomach rolled, and bile rose up my throat like a bitter tide. Then more kicks started raining down on me— in my chest, my arms, my thighs, my back, my groin. So damn many kicks, each one reminding me that steel doesn’t give.

After that everything was a blur of pain, and an anger so strong it was palpable. And shame. That was the worst part. Because dammit, I wasn’t supposed to be lying on the ground getting the shit kicked out of me. I was supposed to be on the way to take my boyfriend out to dinner.

In all of my training, it had never occurred to me that being able to best any man in hand-to-hand combat might not be enough. That one day I would be on the wrong end of a gun and have to let someone tear me apart until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t fight back.

It was humiliating, and I had never felt so helpless. When my uncle drugged me, I’d at least had the luxury of a foggy mind. Knowing what was going on and not being able to do a damn thing about it was a million times worse. But I couldn’t die. Not now. Not when I had someone counting on me to live. So I had to rail against every instinct inside me that screamed for me to fight and to make those steel-toed fuckers pay.

For the first time in my life I had to make the conscious choice to lose, and that one decision broke something inside me that was much more serious than a rib or two.

At some point near the beginning of the attack, I heard the delivery man—the one with the gun to my head—tell the others to go a little easier on me.

“Lighten up on those boots,” he said. “We don’t want him dead. This is a delivery, not a hit.”

For a few seconds, I thought that was my saving grace. The fact that they didn’t actually want me dead meant the delivery man probably wouldn’t be too hasty in pulling the trigger, but I couldn’t count on that. I couldn’t risk instant death for a hunch.

It would all be over soon, anyway. They were holding back. They didn’t want me dead. If I could just hang on for a little while longer, I would get to drag my broken body back home, back to Jamie, who would kiss it and make it all better. Then I could formulate a plan to get revenge.

No one had said who the message was from, but I didn’t need a name spoken aloud. I knew exactly who it was. The man who had just smiled to my face and politely escorted me to the door. The man whose job I had just threatened. The man who had sent several texts as we sat drinking my uncle’s obscenely expensive whiskey.

The last coherent thought I had was of making sure Theo Brown got what was coming to him. One of these days I was going to personally shove his message up his ass until he choked on it.

When the goons were finished with me, I couldn’t have ballparked the number of blows my body had taken. From the feel of it, I half expected to look down and discover I had been reduced to a bloody lump of tenderized meat, but everything looked fine. There was no blood. Whatever damage had been done was lurking stealthily beneath my clothes.