Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 30

THIRTY

“ A re you sure?” Haldon questions quietly, skepticism scoring his tone. “Milo Kyrovsky and the Chief of Police?”

This is the first time he’s hearing about what Alanis saw last week, and he’s not as surprised as I thought he would be. In fact, he’s more dubious than anything else.

“That’s what Lani said,” I reply, keeping my voice low as I lean back in the booth we’re occupying.

We’re currently waiting for the Federov brothers to arrive, to discuss the logistics of the docks. Usually, we’d meet up in a neutral place, but Haldon wanted to check out Mosaique for himself to see what his competition was. It’s safe to say he’s a little annoyed—mostly impressed, though.

The music that fills the room is like some dark circus freak melody. I feel like if I turn around, I’ll be met with a semi-naked clown, trying to fuck my leg. Women walk around in skimpy all-black Ringmaster outfits, eyes and lips a demonic shade of black. It’s only four in the afternoon, but I’m surprised to see the tables filling up so quickly.

This isn’t exactly a place to bring someone for a sophisticated meal, but I can see the allure. Trapeze artists work the overhead hoops, spinning and bending their bodies into positions that make my jaw ache. If you’re looking to trip out on the talents above you, this is the place to be.

“So he’s a mole?” Haldon muses.

“Or a cop.”

“Do you think he’s undercover?” Haldon asks Varo because he’s the one person out of all three of us that would probably know the answer.

Varo scowls back at us, picking at the peeling label on his bottle. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It’s not exactly something that’s come up in conversation.”

“So you admit you’ve been seeing him?” I snicker into my beer bottle.

Varo has never been the type to open up about relationships. He’s not one to sleep around or boast about it like Haldon. He’s quiet, reserved when it comes to that side of things. He likes to keep business separate and I admire him for that, especially because it’s clearly one hell of a task keeping his dick out of Milo’s pants.

“Fuck off,” he snarls. “If you’re allowed secrets, so am I.”

Touché.

“I’ll find out either way,” I reply menacingly.

Since we found out about Milo’s little rendezvous with Chief Madden, I’ve enlisted the help of Gracie and her superb hacking skills, to see what information she can find out about our sneaky Russian foe. I’m yet to hear back about what she’s discovered, and the more time passes, the more I grow impatient.

Unfortunately, Gracie is doing this as a favor, so I can’t push her too hard or Lucchese will be after me. He’s a mean looking motherfucker that I don’t want to get on the wrong side of. I can count on one hand the amount of times that guy has spoken since I was born and it’s intimidating as fuck. Of course, the guy is fiercely protective over Aunt Jem and her daughter, which is why I’m letting Gracie conduct her investigation in her own time.

Obviously, the quicker she gets results, the better it will be for everyone. Well… maybe not the Russians, but that’s not our problem. We want to be rid of them.

We’re still uncertain how we’re going to exterminate the Bratva. It’s not an easy feat to extinguish a crime gang that thrives on violence even more so than ourselves. When I was out in L.A., we steered clear of their territory. They ran trafficking down the strips and we ran the underground rings. It was seamless and we remained somewhat amicable. We had an understanding, and I’m trying to mirror that here, tonight.

“Might as well ask him yourself,” Varo grunts as he finishes off his drink and slams the bottle down onto the table. His glare is ice cold, focused on something over my shoulder.

Turning, Haldon and I both spot the Federovs heading towards us with Milo in tow. Their presence feels like a black cloud, sucking the energy from the room in one fell swoop. There’s no doubt about it that they’re dangerous. The brother’s look the part, despite Konstantin hobbling with his cane, while his brother glares at us with one eye. Milo looks indifferent and that only feeds the suspicions that have been going around our table.

“Gentlemen,” Konstantin greets with an open hand.

We don’t stand to address them. Maintaining the upperhand, we remain seated. Varo is the first to shake hands with Konstantin, followed by Haldon, then myself.

Vadim signals to a passing waitress, offering no pleasantries to us, which is to be expected. The guy looks like he’s constantly woken up on the wrong side of the bed for decades. His skin is weathered, like stretched leather and his expression is that of boredom as he pulls up a chair to the booth.

“Let’s get down to business,” Konstantin says, clasping his hands together. “Have you made a decision?”

“We have,” Haldon replies begrudgingly.

“No thanks to your little stunts,” I remark.

Not only did I have to deal with the aftermath of Black Jack going up in flames, but Haldon had to make calls to old suppliers and practically bribe them to make some urgent deliveries. He’s still harboring a grudge against the Federovs for that because it doesn’t look good on him when he’s got Gambino Enterprises to run. We pride ourselves on the legacy our families left to us, and this little slip up has well and truly put a dent in the empire’s reputation.

“So we’re in agreement?” Konstantin asks as two glasses of neat vodka are placed on the table. “Unlimited use of the docks and we’ll resume deliveries.”

“Yes,” Haldon huffs.

“But we want the fight clubs, too,” I add sternly, gaining an irritated look from Vadim. “You took advantage of the lack of presence in the city and I don’t take kindly to that.” I’m not only protecting my businesses, but sticking up for Varo and Haldon. It’s no secret that The Five isn’t run by five separate families now.

Colombo and Lucchese have no heirs—despite Gracie probably being more than capable—so it’s up to me, Varo and Haldon to continue the legacy. The fact the Russians knew this and slithered in like the snakes they are, pisses me off.

Konstantin seems to recognize that, nodding slowly. “I’m impressed, Genovese. Your family disappears from the city and returns thinking they still call the shots.”

The anger I feel from his words bubbles beneath my skin. My fists clench as I stare at the oldest brother.

“Alas,” he sighs, bringing his glass to his lips. “The fight clubs are yours.”

Milo sits to the side of the booth we’re in. His body is relaxed as his arm drapes over the chair beside him. His expression flickers with an impressive smile as he glances at me. I don’t know what it is about him, but the more I observe him, the more suspicious I am. Add that to the fact Alanis saw him with Chief Madden, and that’s definitely something to be wary of. If I was a big enough prick, I’d call him out on it, right here, right now. But if I do fuck Milo over, I’ll be fucking my best friend over, too, and our friendship isn’t worth destroying.

So for the remainder of the meeting, while Haldon discusses details with the Federovs, I observe Milo. He’s composed, I’ll give him that. Clueless to the fact that Alanis might have given us ammunition to take the Russians down.

Maybe if we use this information against Milo, he’ll be forced to take our side.

Who the fuck am I kidding? The guy knows exactly what he’s doing, but I swear if he’s getting Varo involved as a means to taking us down, he’ll be meeting the same fucking fate as Ashton Greedy.

When the meeting finishes and the Russians leave with more than agreeable terms and conditions to their use of the docks, I decide it’s time to discuss my future plans for the fight nights.

“Now that we have the all clear, think you can find me another location for fight night?” I ask Haldon.

He sips on his third beer of the evening. Evidently, he’s still thinking about how he can improve his own businesses, inspiration courtesy of this place. Though I don’t quite see the appeal, Haldon has the mind to turn anything odd into the most tasteful and reap the success of it. Having improved all his father’s clubs, he’s increased profits tenfold. He’s got the mind for this kind of business, which is why he’s so protective over it.

“I can ask around,” he replies. “Anywhere in particular?”

I shrug, throwing back the last of my beer. “As long as it’s profitable,” I wink.

I t’s no surprise that the warehouse is crowded, booming with the thrill of tonight, because I’ve managed to book two of the most ruthless fighters in the city. They’re still unsponsored, wanting to make it to the big time, and with the money they’ll gain from these fights, that’ll help them get to where they want to be.

People are still piling into the building. The bars have had to restock three times already, and the DJ looks pissed at the amount of times he’s been approached for requests.

Leaning on the balcony, I take in the scene below me. I can feel the buzz of excitement, taste the dangerous energy because Lennox Packer and Ethan Holt are sworn enemies. Raised on the opposite side of the tracks, you can practically taste the hatred as they step into the ring. Lennox is a sturdy six foot seven, dark brown skin and muscles that could break through walls. His buzzed dark hair gives him a lethal edge to his looks, but his features are softer.

Ethan Holt has two more inches on Lennox, with a leaner physique. The overhead lights make him look like a ghost though, the bright red mouth guard standing out against his pasty, sweaty skin. He looks mean, like someone ran over his pet rabbit and he’s seeking retribution for it. The guy looks like he could kill someone with his pinky. Thank fuck for guns!

They both look calm as fuck, considering half of their gangs are in the crowd, watching the two finally bump fists. Rumor has it that this is the fight to end all fights between them. Not that I want to be a part of more drama, but I’m definitely looking forward to this. They’re the final fight of the night, and with the booze and beats filling the room, even I can tell this is going to be a good fight.

“Who’s your money on?” Alanis asks, leaning into my side.

I peer down at her, immediately getting lost in those green eyes. She’s wearing an emerald green dress that clings to every sinful curve of her body. I’ve lost track of how many times my thoughts have wandered off, thinking about taking her in the bathroom stall again. I haven’t seen her all day, since she’s been at the academy, so it’s no wonder I’m aching to get inside her.

“I don’t gamble on my own game,” I say, dropping a kiss onto her head.

“Boring,” she remarks with a giggle. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders, framing her sharp features, and those ruby red lips keep pouting like she’s earning a dick in it.

Fuck. I wrap an arm around her shoulder and rearrange myself with the other hand.

The referee’s voice suddenly booms through the speakers as he announces the start of the fight, and a wave of anticipation rushes through me as I watch Ethan take the first shot.

He misses, barely pulling back in time to protect himself when Lennox catches him on the cheek. Ethan’s head snaps sideways, but he instantly shakes it off, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he lunges forward again.

Back and forth, their violent dance continues. They’re both skilled fighters, amazing at spotting openings and even better at defending. I’m mesmerized by their flawless techniques, by the way they float around the ring. Every jab, every hook, I’m hypnotized, noting how their bodies move and feet rebound off the platform.

It isn’t until the bell rings out for the fourth time that things start to ramp up. The crowd is growing wilder by the second, roars and boos as each fighter takes a hit. We’re all absorbed in the moment, watching with fascination as Holt and Packer hold their own, working each other overtime until the next bell rings out.

Blood sprays the floor, and the crowd goes wild, lapping up the coppery taste of violence. I can tell by the way Lennox’s shoulders heave that he’s battling exhaustion. But he keeps on going, even when Ethan catches him in the ribs and he doubles over, he gets back up. He clings to the ropes for a moment, shaking his head to get his vision back before spinning around and committing to a mean right hook.

Ethan sways on his feet, staggering sideways as Lennox takes another shot, and another, and another. The referee is about to call time on the fifth round when a commotion disturbs the fight. It comes from the entrance before the doorway lights up in blue and red.

The parking lot outside clouds with dust, sirens wailing over the music. I stand motionless, jaw ticking over as I glance around the room.

“Police!” It’s shouted from all directions, a slurry of barks and bellows that spreads panic like wildfire.

Shit. It’s a raid.

The music cuts off immediately; the crowd grows chaotic and before I know it, the whole place is rumbling with footfall. Panicked screams and shouts ensue as everyone pushes like a stampede, trying to escape in every direction. The lights flicker off, and we’re doused in darkness for a moment before the huge overhead lights spring into action.

“Roman?” Alanis panics, eyes wide as she grips my jacket.

Heat crawls up my spine and the urgent need to protect her has me clutching her to my side as I glance at Haldon and Alvaro. We share the same look and a split second later, they’re pushing Haven out of the fire exit from our level.

Without a second’s hesitation, I spin her around and guide her to the fire exit. “We gotta go, Presh.”

Cold air whips at my face, a brief relief soothing my thoughts. I tangle my hand with Lani’s and guide her down the metal steps. It’s not a long way down, but Haven and the guys are already sprinting to their cars. My heart pounds and my breaths come out ragged as I battle my own fear and anger. Fear because I don’t want Lani to get caught up in whatever’s going down, and anger because I only need one guess as to who’s responsible for this raid.

Ahead, Haldon and Haven are peeling away in his Audi, while Varo waits beside his Mercedes. He’s still a fair distance in front of us, parked on the other side of the gravelly lot, but Lani can make it.

“Go!” I shout at her, detangling our sweaty hands and pointing to her brother. I grab her by the waist and kiss her lips before spinning her towards Varo. “Go! I’ve got this.”

She turns back around, eyes rounded in fear. “But?—”

“Hands up and face the wall!”

The bright lights of torches smash us both in the face, immediately blinding us. My retinas burn with the sudden intrusion, but all I can think about is how the fuck to get out of this. From the shadows cast on the floor, I can spot two officers approaching, guns pointed at us.

Fuck!

“Hands up!” The voice repeats, and Lani immediately obeys.

I, on the other hand, am a little more rebellious. I don’t care for the likes of men pointing weapons at me, and especially my girl. Rage roils off of me, and it takes everything within me to keep calm. My hand twitches, begging to reach for my Desert Eagle. If I can distract them long enough, Lani can make a break for it.

“Don’t even think about it, Genovese!”

My brows knit together as I glance at a worried Lani. I don’t recognize the voice, but the guy seems to know me.

Lani’s gaze goes glassy, those gorgeous green defiant eyes turn sad.

“Run,” I murmur at her, but for the first time, I see the real fear in her eyes. Not because she’s about to get arrested, but over the fact this could fuck everything up for her. We both know it, and yet she refuses to leave my side. “Don’t,” I growl in warning, but it’s too late.

She turns and faces the wall, just as an officer closes in and pins her arms behind her back. She yelps back, face pressed against the brick as the guy cuffs her.

“Get the fuck off her!” I scream, lunging at the fucker. All my rage is centered on protecting her, on making sure she’s safe. Unfortunately, I don’t get very far before pain explodes in my head and I drop to the floor, clutching my temple.

“Fuck!”

“Roman!” Lani cries out.

I hear the shuffle of feet, but I can’t move. I can’t see. Pain ripples through my spine, like electricity zapping through my veins. Then I feel the cold, hard concrete slam into my body before I give in to it all.

It’s agony and darkness. Pitch black darkness.