Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 12

TWELVE

I look out over the mezzanine, a large platform that extends out over the floor below. Ahead of me, workers are putting the stage together for fight night. A huge boxing ring sits central, surrounded by benches and chairs with plenty of standing room. I shift with nervous energy. Watching the place come together in such a small amount of time has me itching with anticipation. All that’s left to do is stock the bars we’ve installed on either side of the building, allowing a steady flow of foot traffic that won’t impede the fights.

We’ve already reached capacity with the guest list. I’m not surprised that everyone is thirsty for action. The Russians created a gap in the market when they decided to host one fight a week. Then again, the fact they’re allowing people to fight to the death is what sells their nights. I, on the other hand, plan to host three fights each night, and the losers will walk out of here rather than leaving in a body bag.

Haldon has spent the past week helping me advertise for the first fight night in two weeks, thus producing an overwhelming list of patrons. We’ve already had interest from potential fighters, those eager to get some wins under their belt and earn some quick cash. I should be happier that we’re ahead of ourselves and that everything is coming together, but I’ve never been a fan of enjoying success when you don’t have someone to share it with.

“Come on, then,” Alvaro huffs beside me. “Spill.”

My jaw grinds with abated anger, the frustration I’ve been trying to ignore for the past week rearing its ugly head.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I lie.

“Sure,” he drawls. “And Trigger’s my biological dad.”

“Shit,” I whistle, long and drawn out. “Though, come to think of it, I see the similarities.”

“Fuck off!” Varo laughs, shoving me with his shoulder.

We fall into an easy silence, watching the guys below work tirelessly to add the finishing touches to the ring. He doesn’t push me to talk and I respect that, though I know he’s going to want to know what’s put me in a foul mood.

It’s been a week since my latest argument with Alanis, and she still hasn’t spoken to me. We left things heated and I stormed out, but that was only because I know what she’s like. She needs time to cool off and reassess, recharge those feral batteries of hers, because I can tell she wasn’t expecting me to fight back like I did.

Whatever her perception of me was from five years ago, I broke that apart with a single photograph, a memory I knew she’d forgotten about. But I haven’t. It never left my mind, even when I left the city. I took that damn photograph with me because leaving her was too fucking hard. As much as I wanted to stay, I couldn’t. Even when I promised I’d never leave her, I meant it. She was mine, and I was hers. We were forever and nothing would change that, not even the two thousand miles I put between us. I should’ve handled things better than I did, but I was always going to come back to her. She knew that.

“I know she’s my sister, but if I need to do damage control, I will,” Alvaro murmurs, correctly assuming that my foul mood has to do with his twin.

I turn around and rest my back against the steel railing of the balcony. Nothing gets past my best friend. I should know better than to hide it from him, but some shit I’d rather handle on my own. “Thanks, bro,” I smile.

“So, what are you thinking about for this VIP area?” he asks, cleverly steering the conversation in a different direction.

Originally, we’d discussed making the mezzanine level only available to VIPs; those willing to pay extra money to be away from the carnage. Though I don’t know why anyone would want that, because the pits are the best seats. There’s nothing else that’ll make you feel a part of the action like the hopeful prospect of getting sprayed with blood and sweat.

Fortunately, the view from this far up gives you full sight of the warehouse, while maintaining a level of privacy. But that’s where the advantage of having this area ends, because it also poses a risk. Anyone could do anything up here, which means we’ll have to go heavy on security.

“I say we keep it for us, for now. The busier we get, the more we can think about increasing profits in other areas. For now, I want to focus on that down there.” I point at the ring now in its final stages. The ropes are in and the skirt is getting pinned into place. I’m practically buzzing with excitement, though I maintain a calm facade.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and all the excitement dissipates, replaced with a mixture of nervous energy and hope. Hope, because I really want it to be Alanis calling me—but when I look at the screen, a discontented sigh leaves my lips.

“Uncle,” I answer.

“I’ve got him,” he responds immediately. “It wasn’t easy. Slimy fucker might know the streets better than I do.”

A barrage of groans and wails pierces my ears, but it’s swiftly cut off by a heavy thud.

“I’ll bring him to The Ravenite and you can deal with him however you please.”

“Great, we’ll be there in a few hours. Let him sit and ponder his future for a bit.” My lips curl into a sinister smile that could rival the devil himself. My palms are practically itching to get ahold of the asshole who thought he could skim my profits. He slipped the net the first time with a warning, but apparently Cillian hangs up, I give Alvaro the nod. “We’ve got him.”

“About time,” he comments. “Did he really think he was going to get away with sleeping with the enemy? Fucking idiot.”

“Some people just aren’t business savvy,” I laugh, pocketing my phone and ignoring the elephant in the room. Alvaro’s reaction to Milo last week wasn’t that of distaste. I know, because it’s the same brand of hate Alanis feels for me. Whether Varo is prepared to address it or not, he’s got a hard on for Milo Kyrovsky.

I’m tempted to suggest that he sleep with the enemy, just so we can get an idea of what we’re up against, but even I know how fucked up that sounds.

“Kill is dropping him off at The Ravenite,” I say as we move towards the stairs. “We’ll let him stew for a few hours before we send the message.”

“I’ll give Haldon the heads up,” Varo suggests, taking out his own phone.

This is just another day for us, handling the idiocy of people who think we won’t find out that they’re leaking secrets to the enemy. I had my suspicions when The Laundromat got closed down, but my uncle managed to get confirmation of who was behind it.

We head out of the warehouse to our respective cars. My silver Aston Martin sits across from Varo’s Mercedes Benz, a sleek black SLK model that I half considered stealing once or twice. My phone pings with an incoming message just as I’m opening my door, and since I’ve just spoken to my uncle, I’m expecting it to be confirmation of drop off.

Alanis: I suck at apologies.

My chest tightens as something foreign invades my nervous system. I don’t get anxious, but when it comes to Presh, normal rules don’t apply.

“Everything good?” Alvaro calls out.

“Yeah,” I reply, shooting a text back to Alanis. “It will be.”

M y fists slam relentlessly into Mason Aintree, his face turning a stunning shade of purple with every hit. By the time I’m finished with the manager of Black Jack, a legit gambling den, he’ll understand just how much trouble he’s in. This’ll serve as a warning, but the next time, he won’t be so lucky.

“I’m sorry,” he cries out through whimpers, spittle flying through the air from his bleeding mouth.

“Your apology is a little too late,” I growl, smashing my fist into his jaw.

His head swings sideways and the sickening crunch that sounds at the same time sends a ripple of satisfaction through my body. He screams out in pain, but the music from the club masks the noise.

Gotta love Saturday nights.

My father always told me to control my anger; to channel it into something useful, like boxing. Right now, I’ve been given the perfect outlet for the pent up rage I’ve been holding onto all week. I’ve not had the chance to hit the gym since all my energy has been exerted into getting my first fight night off the ground.

“Selling our secrets to the Russians comes with a price,” Alvaro tuts beside me. He folds his arms, seemingly bored with the situation. That’s him down to a T, though. He can switch with the snap of a finger, perfectly depicting the ruthless leader that I know him to be. Behind closed doors, he’s as relaxed as they come. But in front of the enemy, he looks like he’s one glare away from putting a bullet in your head, even though he’s calm beneath the surface. He must get it from his dad, because he’s mastered it so carefully that it scares even me sometimes.

“I…swear!” Mason trembles. “I?—”

“We’re not interested in your excuses,” Alvaro sneers, then nods at me to finish what we started.

Cracking my knuckles, I step forward and unleash my fury. Obviously, my anger isn’t just over this. In New York City, rumors are bound to fly around. That’s the beauty of a rumor; nobody believes a single word. What separates them from the truth is the minor details, the ones only a select few would know. Like how I’ve been planning to move Black Jack’s location, or that we’re not using the Russian’s liquor to fuel our gambling nights any more.

Those kinds of rumors can start fires, which is why I’m taking Mason’s torture so seriously. I have a message to deliver, to let the Russians know they’re playing with fire and I’m one match strike away from setting their own empire alight.

Because they answer to us .

They don’t move a single step unless we say so.

They don’t touch what isn’t theirs.

Rage soars through me, taking over my body. My arms swing left, right, moving of their own accord. Heat crawls up my spine, settling in a sweat that trickles down my temple.

This man was warned. He knew what he was doing when he signed his allegiance over to the Russians. This is the price you pay for fucking with me and my business.

“Genovese!”

I pause my assault, snapping my gaze to my best friend as my chest heaves. “What?”

He presses his hand to my chest, pushing me away. “He’s done.”

“No! He’s…”

He nods at the passed out man with his face pummeled in, eyes swollen and lips bloody. His body slouches against his restraints, limp and lifeless. Yet not an ounce of remorse rears its head within me.

Haldon holds out a cloth and I take it, dabbing at my split knuckles. I should have worn gloves, but I was too eager to get ahold of the asshole to bother.

“I’ll get the guys to clean up,” I hear Haldon say as I wipe my hands clean with the cloth. It doesn’t do much, but it’ll suffice for now. “We better head upstairs and get this shit handled.”

I nod in affirmation. “Drop Aintree at the Russian’s doorstep. I want them to know exactly who they’re messing with and what happens when you fuck with us.”

Haldon doesn’t need more instruction than that. Thankfully, we’re all on the same page when it comes to this empire. We protect it, nurture it, and if someone tries to step out of line, we don’t hesitate to take them out of the picture.

“Drinks?” Alvaro asks, clapping his hands together.

“Thought you’d never ask,” I grunt, pushing out the door.

We all head to the VIP rooms on the top floor. It’s probably my favorite part about this place; having the privacy to conduct business and talk freely, while being able to see the entire floor below.

I take a seat in our regular room, the largest of them all. The bartender mixes our usuals while we all kick back and relax. There’s very few moments we get to chill out—even if it’s just for five minutes—because work calls to us constantly. When I first started helping my dad, I quickly realized how much time and dedication was required to make The Five successful. And now that my father is slowly shifting the responsibility over to me, it takes up even more of my time. The sooner I get some soldiers to run around for me, the better.

The bartender passes me my drink of choice; bourbon neat with two ice cubes. I swirl the amber liquid around the glass while observing Alvaro and Haldon doing the same thing.

“You know this is going to start a war?” Haldon sighs. Though his words should be filled with warning, he’s not at all worried.

“Maybe Federov and his minions should have thought about that before overstepping,” I grit out. The anger over their audacity starts to reappear, and I’m itching to get my hands bloody all over again. That is, until the door to the VIP suite swings open, laughter filling the air as Haven and Alanis stumble inside.

Irritation doesn’t even reach me when I lock eyes with my tempestuous vixen, a smile curling my lips. “Hello, Presh.”