Page 26 of Corrupted Pleasure

Of course, since that day three months ago, I took it upon myself to look into Davina in more detail.

Boyfriend.

A grandfather back in Texas who raised her.

Surprising connection to the Ashford family.

Parents not in the picture.

Majoring in business.

I glanced at my phone. Still no response from Juliette. I sent her three messages today. Nothing. Usually, she wasn’t the type to ignore my messages regardless of what was going on. I tried Wynter too. Same. Though the latter one tended to forget to reply. Between her training and studies, she often ignored her phone altogether.

I needed to talk to both of them. They frequently went to the Eastside, and with what I was about to do, I didn’t want them anywhere near that place going forward.

Killian, my oldest, strode into the conference room.

“They’re here,” he announced.

I nodded, glancing behind the large glass walls. Our security patted down Gio DiLustro first. His son Basilio was next. Then his nephew, Dante DiLustro who was part of the Chicago Outfit.

Three months ago, Basilio approached me with a peace offering, right after the attack on my club by the Italians and the Russians. The Italians in New York would stick to the east side and my organization to the west side. No more fighting and crossing sides. There had been too much blood spilled over the years. It started with my father and Winter Volkov, then escalated with my sister and Gio goddamn DiLustro.

“Have you heard from your sister or Wynter?” I asked him, keeping my eyes on the rival Italian family.

“Just one message.” Killian kept his gaze on the Italians too. “An emoji of a middle finger.”

At least he got that much. I didn’t even get an emoji.

“Juliette and Wynter are up to something,” I muttered under my breath.

“When aren’t they up to something?” he said begrudgingly. “After this meeting, I’m catching a flight overseas.”

I turned my head to meet his eyes. I understood why he needed to do it, and I wholeheartedly supported him. I just wished he’d let me help.

Killian was ready to take back what was his and avenge his parents. He remembered them. Juliette didn’t. She was an infant when their parents were murdered. Sometimes I wished Killian was too. No child should see what he has seen.

It was the reason why I sheltered Wynter and Juliette at all costs. I had Nico Morrelli hide both of their footprints on the web and hide their traceability. It was harder with Wynter due to her achievements and popularity in figure skating. Hence, the reason for hiring Nico.

“I’m worried, Son.” He might not be biologically mine, but I thought of him as mine. Both Killian and Juliette. I promised my best friend before he took his last breath that I’d take care of them as if they were my own. Keep them safe.

And I did. I raised them as my own.

There used to be four families that ran the Irish mafia in Ireland: Brennans, Murphys, O’Connors, and Cullens. The O'Connors had been wiped out. The world thought the Cullens had been wiped out too. Except I adopted two of them and kept them under my protection.

Killian had a genius IQ. He also saw how brutal life in the mafia was at an early age. And that altered him forever.

The two of us made a pact when I found him and his sister hiding in the secret passageway of their home in Ireland. We’d keep it all hidden from his little sister. For their protection, I was their father. Juliette was raised with Wynter, hidden from the mafia. Killian was raised under me, learning and growing stronger each year.

“I should go with you,” I added. “If you wait a bit longer so I can eliminate the threat here, we can go together.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised and our conversation came to a halt. “Besides, we can’t both be gone. Who’ll protect the family?”

Our conversation came to a stop as the three Italians strode toward the conference room, all three wearing black, top-notch three-piece suits. I bet those suits were made in Italy too. Italians were all about dressing up. I liked to wear a suit, but every goddamn day was a bit too much. Even for a mobster. It was easier to fight and kill wearing jeans. But what the fuck ever.

The door opened and Quinn strode in. “They're clean.”

I nodded. “Gentlemen, sit down.”