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mystery gang

Christian

“I had a notification pop up on my calendar.” Ayla leans on the door jamb to my home office. “Is this our new thing?”

“It’s our old thing. You don’t like it?”

“Eh. Where’s the romance?”

“Romance is me asking you on a date. This is a business thing. Thus, the calendar invite.” I round my desk and come to the door to lift a hand and cup her cheek. “Good afternoon, Princess. How was your romp in the woods?”

Her face rises to meet mine, and she kisses me quickly. “Ellie and I had a great time. Not many shots, but a great hike. And before you ask, zero wildlife of the wild variety. We had only the avian kind and the squirrels to keep us company.”

It’s been five days since her brother told her of her mother’s diagnosis. Five days of tears, anger, sadness and frustration in my wife. Five days of bombs in my texts from her bulldozer of a brother. Five days of me wanting to reach out to Cian but honoring my wife’s request not to.

“Good,” I murmur against her lips. I prefer it that way. “I’m glad you have Eleanor. And Fitz.” I add the last part quietly.

“He’s growing on me. And I won’t argue having him go along if he comes with a Clint Eastwood bazooka-sized gun on his hip for the bears or the mountain lions. About this business thing on my calendar… ”

“I’m meeting some investors downtown. I’d love to have you there.”

“What time do we need to leave?”

“Six.” I look at my watch. “You have plenty of time.”

“Says the man who looks like he stepped off a runway in Milan all day every day.” Her fake grumbling pulls a smile from me.

“It’s the genes.”

Something in her face goes soft. I can’t say I’ve ever seen that look before. We stand, wrapped in each other’s arms in the doorway, and I fight to figure out what her features want to reveal.

“Sir.” Ren announces himself as he enters the house from the side entrance.

“Ren,” I reply to my head of security but stare at my wife. “I have to get back to it. I’ll find you before six.” I kiss her quickly and step back, releasing her to her day.

Ren follows me into my office and waits until I gesture for him to take a seat.

“How are you?” It’s odd. I’ve never asked, and it’s not like I’m trying to get personal, but he’s not just an employee.

“Fine. Thank you. I’m here about what you tasked me with, not Barone Hospitality.”

I look to the open door but make no move to close it. I have no intention of hiding what I find from my wife, though I have every intention of cushioning the blow if I’m able.

Ren follows my gaze and hikes a brow. “Would you like me to close the door?”

“No, thank you. What have you found?”

“A few things. Some make sense. Some don’t. I’m going to keep digging, because there’s something I can’t put my finger on what troubles me and I don’t yet have that answer.”

That’s not good. Ren Gallo is solid and unflappable. Him being troubled and not knowing why? That means more is off than I know.

I extend a hand indicating the floor is his.

“Your estate and trust are handled through attorneys at Ross, Pinkerton, and Smith.”

Correct. And invasive. Where is this going?

“Your business holdings are with Nettles and Cohen. But there’s one that was done outside of those. That was a red flag.”

What the fuck?“Go on.”

“Twenty-nine months ago, there was a small legal entity established with a firm of Cohen and Johnston. It has you with a managing interest legally and financially, but you’re nowhere on the paperwork for deposits or withdrawals. I don’t know how that’s possible without your permission.”

My temper is rising. I have no clue what he’s referring to.

“So I dug in. Your signature is there on the paperwork for an LLC that I can’t find to have any connection with you.

It’s not associated with your Barone Holdings or Barone Hospitality.

If you created it, you’ve done nothing since, as far as a paper trail to you, but the money there is growing.

Random amounts added and removed over time.

Chunks deposited at no precise intervals.

Withdrawals in the same manner. The LLC has some legal protection, as you know, but not for a balance of that size.

” He sizes me up before continuing, “I take it you didn’t know about this? ”

I shake my head, holding in the rage that’s threatening to burst. “What’s it named?”

“CAB, LLC.”

“Go on.”

“That company has dealings with Murphy Enterprises as well.”

Excuse me? “In what manner?”

I grab my phone and shoot off a text.

Me: Ayla and I are going to Queen City Wine Bar tonight for business. Would love to have you swing by if you’re interested.

Dots play and bounce until I see the response.

Cian Murphy:Sure thing.See you later.

Murphy Enterprises will regret the day they fucked with me.

“Where were we?” I turn my attention back to my head of security.

“There’s no love lost between you and Seamus Murphy. How you two would end up entwined with some bank accounts that you have legal responsibility for but no knowledge of doesn’t sit well with me.”

Me either. That’s for damn sure.

“I started not long after all this went down. So it wouldn’t’ve pinged on my radar since I didn’t have any history at that point. And, quite frankly, I didn’t dig that deep into you prior to joining BH.”

Honesty from my half-brother who now admits he came here, in a most curious window of time, after researching me. This gets worse and worse. Who the hell can I trust when every assumed ally has questionable motives?

Focus, Barone. “Is there a way to freeze it?”

“I’m sure. I can’t imagine you own legal responsibility without the ability to shut it down.”

“Do it.”

“If I may, sir—” He extends a hand. “It will be easier to trace if it’s open. We know about it. We can watch it and track funds in and funds out. If you’re willing to assume the risk while we work in the background.”

I grab my phone again.

Me: Can you come to the house?

Liam Murphy:Important?

Me: Critical.

Liam Murphy: Give me two hours.

“I’m bringing Liam Murphy in to work on this as well.”

“Sir?”

“You’ll see.” It’s all I say as I twist in my seat and let my mind spin over scenario after scenario.

How has this been something I’ve failed to notice?

Surely the IRS knows I’ve filed what I can only assume are fraudulent tax returns.

Murphy Enterprises linked to me personally, not Barone Hospitality or Barone Holdings… for how long?

“Can you get the date the LLC was formed, any and all documents, and any EIN?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I want a timeline of events, starting eighteen months prior. More if needed. Let’s look at this for connections I’ve obviously missed.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll work on that straight away.” He pushes up in his chair.

“Murphy will be here in a couple of hours. Come back at—” I look at my watch fighting not to clench my palms into fists. “Two thirty. Bring what you have. Can I assume you found more?”

“Yes, but nothing as pressing as this. I’ll bring the documentation when I return.” Ren leaves the office, and, not for the first time, I’m thankful for his military precision.

I head to my bedroom, finding Ayla asleep on the settee in the corner, a book left forgotten in her lap. I set it on the end table and cover her with a throw before heading to the closet to change into shorts and a tee.

I spend the next ninety minutes running on the treadmill, lifting weights until my muscles are so fatigued they quiver with the last reps, and beating the shit out of a punching bag until my arms are Jello.

My mind is still, but it’s not quiet. The riot of noise wants to push to the forefront, but I force it back and spend all my focus on my breathing, on the physical exertion, and on the pull of tissue where the scar from a bullet lives.

I grab a quick shower before redressing and heading back to my office.

Ayla is nowhere to be seen.

Ayla

At six in the evening, my husband walks into the bedroom, the faint smell of pine and something entirely Christian, invades my senses.

I’m checking my reflection in the mirror.

Champagne-colored silk romper with long billowing sleeves that cinch at the wrists.

The deep vee in the front stops well below my non-existent cleavage.

Nude strappy heels and gold bangles round out the look.

The creamy color against my fair skin could wash me out, but the plunging neckline overcomes any trace of that. Besides, my makeup is flawless.

“Hey, Honey,” I call to him in the mirror. “Is this okay?”

The man in question slides in behind me, wraps an arm around me and leans in to kiss below my ear. “It’s better than okay, Princess. You look edible.”

My grin greets me in the mirror. And not for the first time since I woke up do I notice the striking differences between my husband and me. Dark eyes, rich olive skin, black hair. My pink skin tone, red hair, green eyes… my soft spots where he’s hard.

“That’s the goal.”

“To be eaten?”

I hold his eyes in the mirror. “To be consumed.”

“Happy to oblige, wife. That’ll give me something to focus on tonight.” He pulls me into his chest before spreading his fingers wide, just barely brushing a pinky across my mound through the thin silk. “I’ll be ready in five.”

He leaves me, the chill of his absence permeating me from nape to knees.

I lean into the mirror and am applying some shimmery peach lip gloss when he returns.

His white shirt has the collar popped as he twists and winds a charcoal tie with small bronze and iron flecks in it.

When the tie is placed directly below his throat, I turn, dropping his lapels into place and smoothing them out.

“I want to consume you too.” The whispered confession is so intimate I nearly combust.

Heat greets me at my core, and I blush as I stare up into his gorgeous face.

“You’re no innocent, Princess. Why the blush from your tits to your hairline?”