Page 7 of Savage Promises

He made it clear he won’t sell it to me, and that’s fine. I already have my mast pointing toward opening my own club. In Manhattan. Take the meticulous blueprint I used to build up this place and apply it somewhere else. With tweaks of course. Manhattan is not Astoria.

All that fades into the background as I focus on the here and now. The DJ’s bass thrums with a low pulse that matches the confident rhythm I’m trying to pull off. The packed dance floor with strobe lights flashing overhead washes the crowd in quick bursts of white and blue. A design idea of mine brought to fruition by an expensive lighting director I hired.

It’s all looking perfect until I spot a figure in a dirty gray hoodie near the bar. Garrett. He looks rough, worn down, and strung out.

Drugs again? I thought he kicked that shit.

His head hangs low, the weight of his poor choices likea giant hand pressing on his shoulders. Calloused fingers brush the sides of his free drink in angry strokes. He doesn’t resemble anything like the cocky, older brother I remember.

Garrett and Shane’s friendship blew up spectacularly days after my eighteenth birthday. My father’s reprimand from Griffin that night no doubt lit the fuse. I never found out what the issue was and Garrett never mentioned Shane’s name again.

Over the last two years, the Quinlans’ rise to power in Lower Manhattan has been the talk of Astoria. Griffin runs Quinlan Empire and gave my father a squad of his own to run the streets with Garrett as his second.

Only, my brother doesn’t appear all too interested in the work. Or anything for that matter.

At the bar, I perch next to Garrett and signal Mara to cut him off.

“Don’t you look like shit,” I say to my brother, folding my arms. It tickled me that I had the money and power to cover his bar tabs, but that only melted into resentment. “A little early for you to be pissed, aye?”

“Don’t talk like that,” he bites out, his red-eyed stare drilling into me. “You think slipping in an ‘aye’ makes you one of them?” His bitterness sets me back. “Youweren’t born in Ireland like them. You’ll never be one ofthem.”

I was speaking casually, but saying ‘aye’ with a fake lilt like the Quinlans wasn’t supposed to illicit a rude response.

“I’m not trying to be one of them.” And I never will be just as Shane said six years ago.

Fine by me. I’m technically engaged to Rafael Marchant, heir to the powerful Marchant Vineyards dynasty. He travels a lot for his family, renowned owners of vineyards in Spain. I don’t see him very much. He cameon strong to win my heart and a deal with my club to sell his wine, but he grew emotionally and physically distant right after he got both.

But I’m not ready to get married, and Rafael is waiting for his trust fund.

Garrett lifts his nearly empty tumbler. “I’m just checking on you, little sister. Making sure you’re not letting this place go soft.” He splatters the rest of his drink on the bar. “This is watered down.”

Mara knows to make his drinks weak.

I tug his shoulder. “What do you want besides a stronger drink?”

Garrett’s hollowed cheeks startle me. He leans in close, his voice low. “I need cash, Lennox. Badly.”

My stomach twists, not wanting to have this argument about his drug habit again. “I don’t have money to spare. You know Dad demands a big payout each month.”

“You don’t even know how much I need!” Garrett scoffs.

“I could tell the amount is huge. If you needed money to buy a Big Mac, you’d say so right off the top.” Which makes me even more worried about his messy finances.

When mob dudes run into financial trouble, they make poor choices trying to fix them. Choices and actions that will likely get them killed.

“You have a full house here. You did all these fancy renovations.” Garrett faces me, and I see my father’s dull, murky brown eyes. “You’re skimming, aren’t you? Give me a cut and I won’t tell Dad.”

“How dare you! I would never steal. And I don’t have stacks of cash hidden in a safe.”

Yet.

Garrett scowls, gripping his glass tighter. “Cut the crap. I’m being real here. I’m in deep shit, Lenny. Otherwise, I have to go back to the Albanians.”

I stiffen, hearing him mention the new crime syndicate that has moved into New York like a plague of locusts. The Albanians are angling for a complete takeover of all five boroughs. It will be a bloodbath.

Shane...

Something Garrett said hits me. “What do you mean,backto the Albanians?”

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