Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

11. Emory

CHAPTER 11

Emory

T he next day, I exited the car and stared at the building in front of me, the large hotel dominating this street in Brooklyn. The large mirrored facade reflected the street behind me, flowers lining the path into the hotel where a huge set of glass doors welcomed the rich and famous.

That was who was here tonight, along with more than a few criminals.

I thanked my driver and smoothed down the front of my gown.

“I fucking hate dresses,” I muttered, but it was the only way to enter this hotel. My usual uniform—cargo and shirt—wouldn’t get me past the doorman, never mind the reception.

Blood-red silk hung down to the floor, and the slits on either side stretched to the tops of my thighs, exposing my red-bottomed black stilettos. I carried a small clutch with me, containing my handgun, but I also had a holster with a small pistol fastened to my hip. I was once again grateful for my personal tailor who understood my need for… discretion.

You never knew when shit could hit the fan in our world.

I’d had dealings with all kinds of assholes in my twenty-five years. I’d worked my way up from mafia princess to boss bitch. I did it for myself, and because it was all I knew. I did it for her, because I should have never allowed my father to take her.

My brother tried to shield me from this world our whole lives, but unless you were deaf and blind, it was impossible not to imbibe it. I retained every piece of information I ever saw or overheard. It was both a blessing and a curse.

It made me who I was today. Strong, independent, and fucking respected. But it also made me a target, as well as anyone I cared about.

Except, I felt the safest—and strongest—in Vegas.

As I stared down my nose at the next few dreaded hours, wishing I was back there, a car pulled up behind mine and the sound of a door slamming reached me. But I didn’t look over to see who it was, all my attention focused on the night’s mission.

It was the only thing that kept me going anymore.

I released a long exhale and took my first step toward the doors, cognizant of the body sauntering up next to me.

My gaze shifted to the person and my gaze clashed with the same one that had invaded my dreams for years.

Time was supposed to make me forget about him, the tenderness in his touch and the scent of his cologne. Yet it failed me, because I remembered it as if it were just yesterday, in London, in that hotel room.

I tripped over the flat ground and his large hand wrapped around my arm to hold me upright.

It hit me again how larger than life he looked, how tall he was, and how broad his shoulders were. I couldn’t help but remember his dominance when he fucked me. Those deliciously dirty deeds we’d done. I clenched my thighs and internally shook my head, attempting to push those images of us tangled between the sheets away.

He was wearing another impeccable suit, looking so overwhelmingly imposing that for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

But I forced myself to inhale deeply and yanked my arm out of his firm grip, rushing forward as my vision swam.

“Running away again, Em?”

I jolted at the deep tenor of his voice, that hint of an Irish accent doing things to me that it had no business doing. The door opened in front of me and, ignoring him, I dashed through it, tipping my chin at the doorman in thanks.

Before I could disappear into one of many business meeting rooms, that familiar hand wrapped around my wrist and spun me around. His chiseled face and piercing blue eyes were now front and center.

Except they were cold as he glared at me, his lips set in a grim line.

“I asked you a question, Emory DiLustro .”

Fuck.

I didn’t have time for this. The plan was to corner Atticus, extract the information I needed, then get lost. Running into Killian wasn’t part of the plan. I had to think quickly—he couldn’t discover my reason for being here tonight. Hell, he couldn’t know anything . Not what my father did to me. Not what I had done. Not that we’d made a baby or that she was ripped from me, and he certainly couldn’t know that not a single day had gone by in six years without me thinking of him. Yearning for him.

No. I had to shove my feelings down deep enough for him to think that what we’d shared meant nothing.

So I feigned nonchalance and prayed he’d buy it. “And I’m choosing not to answer.”

He moved with predatory steps, staring into my eyes as if he was ripping me apart from the inside. I instinctively took a step back, willing myself to break eye contact.

“That’s not good enough.”

“I don’t care.” Jesus, why couldn’t he just pretend he didn’t know me like that first time we ran into each other when he and Liam stormed into my manor in Nevada? “I’m the one in charge here.”

Well, not technically. Another reason why I preferred Las Vegas.

He reached out a hand, and before I realized what he was doing, he wrapped his fingers around my throat. His hold was firm but not harsh enough to steal my breath. It was, however, scintillating enough to cause a thread of desire to pull at my lower abdomen.

All my blood rushed to where his flesh touched mine while memories of that night we spent together rendered me immobile.

“You and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

I scoffed, yet my insides trembled. If he only knew how much unfinished business we had. He could never learn. If—when—I found my daughter, I planned on disappearing with her. Let someone else take over Las Vegas. None of the money or power was worth it to me.

“We had one night of fucking. Nothing more, nothing less. Now get out of my way, or make no mistake, Killian, you’ll have a war on your hands.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Em.” I needed to squash this jolt that ripped through me every time he said my name. I fought the urge to run, which was unlike me. Not that I could run away. Not with the savage hold he had on my throat. “I’ll take pleasure in tearing you apart, fucking you over, and then feasting on your remains, Emory.”

I gasped but quickly steeled my features into a cold mask. I couldn’t let him see the effect he was having on me. All I could focus on was his cologne invading my lungs, launching me back in time to a stormy night enveloped in his strong arms.

My thighs tingled with a need I hadn’t felt since the last time he touched me. It scared me more than most things in this life.

“Release me now, Killian,” I said, my voice cold and unwavering. “Or you won’t like the consequences.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and I realized too late it was a challenge. He fucking loved that I stood up to him.

He bent his head, his eyes locked on my lips as he inched closer with each breath.

“I so relish the challenge, álainn .” Beautiful . It was the same word he’d used that night—I might have become slightly obsessed with Gaelic over the years. Sue me.

“No, you relish power and control.”

“And your pussy,” he added, his voice laced with something dark and sinful.

My insides shuddered. I had to get out of here.

“You and me…” I hissed, my voice raspy. “It was a mistake, and it will never happen again.”

His eyes darkened and I feared if I didn’t lose him now, something very inappropriate would happen in this darkened hallway.

So I used a tactic that every woman learned at some point in her life. I kicked him in the balls.

Before he could recover, I dashed away, running as fast as my heels would carry me.

But deep down, I knew this was only a temporary escape.

Killian would be back, and unless I was careful, he might start a war.

Security was scattered around the hallways, but I did my best to stay under the radar. Once I found the conference room that my intel showed Atticus Popov would be in, I slid inside without any issues. In fact, it was almost too easy.

The hair on my nape stood on end, and it had nothing to do with my run-in with Killian. It was something darker, something far more nefarious.

A hand shot out from behind me and something cold pressed to my side. My blood roared with the need to run, but I ignored it. I didn’t come this far only to flee.

“I knew it was too easy,” I muttered under my breath.

The faintly accented voice made my stomach drop. “I’ve been expecting you, Emory.”

I slowly turned, coming face-to-face with the man who could be my ticket to finding my daughter. Or he’d be my demise. Only time would tell.

He wasn’t alone, and it was clear that the bodyguards hovering behind him would not hesitate to pounce if I so much as moved for either of my weapons. But it wasn’t them who concerned me. It was Atticus. He was the biggest threat in this room, even wearing this ridiculous disguise. Fake glasses. Fake mustache. And was that a freaking wig?

But none of that took away from what he represented.

My eyes traveled over the man who was an enigma to most in the underworld, causing trouble everywhere he went and disappearing before you could get close to him. But here he was now, in all his glory.

He was a good-looking man—if you were into that silver-fox type. Fit, tall, and eyes that promised retribution if you fucked him over. Yeah, he did nothing for me.

“What are you going to do, Atticus?” I asked, appearing unaffected, yet there was so much on the line that my insides trembled. I could keep my cool when torturing a man, but when it came to my daughter, I was a weak mess.

“Kill you or—” Everything I’d worked for splintered into a million pieces right before my eyes. And all I could do was watch.

For a few seconds, the reality of losing rocked me to my core, but then the key word registered. He said or , and hope breathed oxygen into my lungs.

“Or?” I hedged, my voice cool.

“Or use you.” What the hell. If this fucker thought I’d let him touch me, he was out of his mind. I’d sooner gut him alive than let him touch me. As if he read my thoughts, he chuckled. “Not in that way.”

My heart beat out of rhythm while relief slammed into me. Suddenly I could breathe again. I drifted farther into the room and took a seat before meeting his gaze.

I cocked an eyebrow, tapping my nails against the polished wood once, twice, three times before saying, “Then please elaborate. I’d love to be on the same page as you.”

He took a seat opposite me and met my gaze, the gleam in his eyes resembling a storm that could not be weathered. Not without sustaining some damage.

Atticus Popov was not to be underestimated—secretive and cunning and, as my gut warned, one of the deadliest men alive. He was tall, dark, and had an imposing presence that sparked fear without him having to do anything. He was beautiful in a dangerous type of way with a rugged type of beauty with his dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and massive build.

He was not only the muscle of his family, but also one of the most ruthless men I’d come across. His son, Danil, was said to have inherited many of the same traits, although the two weren’t on speaking terms. It was Atticus’s strategizing and brain behind every operation that raised the Popov organization from the ashes to one of the largest empires in the world, but Danil’s brains that kept it on top.

“You can help me with a little problem,” Atticus said. “But first, hand over your weapons. Now .”

I winced and forced myself to do as he said. If he wanted me dead, there was no question in my mind he could make that happen.

Atticus’s reputation preceded him. He dodged the wrath of many powerful mafia men and took no prisoners in his pursuit to the top. You couldn’t help but admire his skills. Though there was one thing I knew that nobody else did: Atticus had been not-so-subtly eyeing the Syndicate’s top position for years.

It was one of the most coveted spots in the criminal organizations. But it came at a steep price.

“Now tell me what you want,” I stated, my attention bouncing between him and his bulky guards who stood behind his seat like a dark cloud.

Atticus smirked, tossing my weapons onto the table behind him. “Let’s say I want to help you find your daughter.”

Alert shot through me. “I don’t have a daughter.”

He scoffed. “Whether you want to pretend she’s not your daughter, it’s up to you. Either way, I can help you find her.”

It seemed a moot point to dispute what he obviously already knew.

“How do you know I’m looking for her?”

His lips curled into a smile I didn’t like. “Let’s just say it’s a small world.”

My eyes narrowed at him. “I don’t like that explanation.”

“Well, you’ll have to accept it, because there’s no way in fucking hell I’m getting on that bitch’s bad side.”

My jaw tightened. “What bitch? And maybe you should be more worried about getting on my bad side.”

He threw his head back and laughed while I stared at him fuming. “Maybe, but I have something to hold over you, she, on the other hand…” I was dying to know who she was.

“Maybe I could help you with that.”

Atticus shook his head, a hint of something resembling fear passing his expression. “And in return for my help, you’ll intercept several shipments scheduled to pass through Las Vegas and divert them my way.”

“And?” I knew there was more. But maybe I could buy time and use him to get to my daughter before anyone figured out I’d teamed up with Atticus Popov. “Stop playing me for a fool, Atticus. I may be a woman, but that doesn’t mean I’m naive.”

“And I want the identity of the top dog running the Syndicate, Emory.”

I didn’t like my name on his lips. And I liked the idea of betraying the Syndicate even less.

“How do you suppose I know who that person is?” Not that I’d ever give him the information if I had it. I knew of the Syndicator’s existence, but didn’t know his or her identity. I’d only learned that the role of the top dog existed in our world by sheer accident during the darkest period of my life. But I knew one thing.

If I knew the Syndicator’s identity and I revealed it to Atticus, I’d be signing my death warrant, and my daughter’s.

Atticus narrowed his eyes at me. He was like a dog with a bone—a very determined dog.

“The Syndicator’s identity is a secret. There is only one person who knows that information and it’s the Syndicator,” I gritted, my fist clenching. “It’s been that way since the Syndicate was founded.”

My father and uncle were the men who started the Syndicate. Somewhere along the way, they needed help and this third individual came into play. The Syndicator. But nobody—not even my brother and cousins—knew who the Syndicator was. Hell, they didn’t even know the Syndicator existed. I was the only one who did, and it was by sheer accident that I learned that piece of intel while being tortured and sterilized under the watchful eye of my father in Canada, away from my brother and cousins.

Atticus chuckled and tilted his head to the side. “I’ll let you work out the details if you want to get to your daughter.”

I hated being cornered, but I had no choice. I knew better than anyone that betraying the Syndicate was punishable by death. No matter who you were. My lips parted, my mind stuck on trying to figure out what Atticus’s game plan was. He obviously didn’t care about me or my daughter. We were just a means for him to get what he wanted.

“Since I’m feeling generous,” Atticus said, raising a brow, “I will let you know that your uncle learned of organ and human trafficking operations in Vegas. And he’s not happy.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I tried to stay quiet and not acknowledge him, but he watched me with a slight tilt of his head as if he expected a bomb to go off.

“Tell me where my daughter is and I’ll get you the information you want.”

Atticus smirked, tapping his mouth in a contemplative move. “Now who’s playing who for a fool?”

My muscles tensed and all my thoughts fled to the child I’d never met. She was taken from me before I ever had a chance to see her or hold her.

Did that justify betrayal? Did I have it in me to backstab someone without a second thought when said person had taken care of me?

“I’ll need time to uncover the identity,” I finally said. I needed time to think through my options.

To my surprise, Atticus agreed.

“As a member of the Syndicate, you’ll be my eyes and ears until you provide me with the identity of the leader,” he said. “Right, Emory?”

A full-body shudder took hold of me.

“Yes,” I hissed, hating this man more and more by the second.

“And to demonstrate your commitment, you’ll divert the shipments to the coordinates I provide to you first thing tomorrow.” I was about to refuse, but something in Atticus’s eyes clamped my lips shut. “And when you meet my terms, I’ll deliver the information about your daughter. Play your part and nothing will go awry. Betray me and you won’t like the consequences.” He stood up, straightening his jacket. “Be smart, Emory.”

And with that, he left, his guards trailing dutifully behind him.