Page 17 of A Dirty Business
“Tristian.” Marco held a hand out, and I met it with mine as we half hugged, clapped each other on the back at the same time. “It’s good to see you. You and my coz need to come up and spend more time with us.”
I nodded, stepping back. “You name the time, and we’ll be there.”
He tipped his head up, laughing. “Yeah, right. You and Ashton here are building your own empire. We hear the rumors. We know both of you are doing just fine. Huh?” He clasped Ashton’s shoulder, giving it a good-natured squeeze. “Am I right? You and Tristian here, both the golden princes of our families. We’re proud of you. You hear that? Proud.” His tone grew thick with that last word, and he blinked a few times. “Real proud, Ashton. Grandpop says it, but you need to hear it more than you do.”
Ashton was blinking a few times too. “Thanks, Marco.”
“Yeah.”
I waited a beat, giving them a second before I cleared my throat. Ashton saw his family on the regular, but it wasn’t as regular as they’d like. That was because of me. He was firmly in our in-between world, focusing on our businesses. Or that’s what they felt was the reason. That he chose our friendship over them: there was a grain of contention underneath everything because of that fact. That contention was not known to my uncle or my father. It was known only to me, Ashton, and Ashton’s family.
That was another thing that added irritation about my father. Besides being a general asshole in life as a husband, a father, a brother, this was the latest straw that was breaking my back. And I was pissed at myself at the same time because we’d enabled him. Myself. Stephano. Even Ashton’s family, to an extent. We all let him do his shit, let him get away with it, and now, when he’d probably gone too far, we were coming in only to make things correct.
I was suddenly so tired of my dad’s bullshit that I wanted to get this done. We’d do what we needed to do, and I wanted to get to business. Get it over with, handle everything, and let Bobby have my father when we were done.
“My father?” It was time to ask.
“Right.” Marco’s tone and eyes both chilled. He straightened up, nodding behind him, and one of his men stepped around us to hold the door. Another two of his men began leading the way. Marco behind them. Ashton. Me. The door guy fell in line behind me.
We walked through their loading area, their kitchen, and a banquet hall, and then he led us to a back elevator. I recognized it from their other hotels. The elevator and this lobby were used for the high rollers or the celebrities. Maximum privacy and confidentiality. I glanced up, seeing a rounded mirror set in the corner, but I knew this family. There was no way those cameras were on. They were permanently “broken.” Their excuse for any authorities who might try to get a warrant for their security footage.
Once in the elevator, Marco still didn’t say a word. Two of his men stayed back, guarding the elevator. The third one, the door guy, came with us.
Marco hit the button for the top floor. He shot me a look. “He didn’t have that room initially. When the incident happened, we moved everyone up there. Easier to keep a handle on the collateral.”
Fuck.
It wasn’t just my dad involved.
I refrained from letting out a curse, butgoddamn, Dominic.
The hotel was attached to their casino. My guess was that I was walking into a possible overdose? A hooker? Or a high-end escort? That’s what I was hoping for, because if it wasn’t a working girl, we’d be wading into an area that, if I let myself, would turn my stomach more than it was already going.
I couldn’t let myself go there.
I was aware of Ashton glancing my way and Marco watching his cousin. Both were tensing up, both knowing there was a small chance I’d lose my shit inside.
I locked down. I had to.
We arrived.
The doors slid open, giving us immediate entrance to the entire top floor, which I was guessing was the presidential suite.
I saw the reason for the relocation. Three bedroom doors were open. Each had a guard standing in front of it, and at the ping of our entrance, I heard my father before I saw him.
“Finally! Goddamn, motherfucking. This is—” He cut off, coming from the bedroom closest to our right side. He saw me, and his words dried up.
He swallowed, and I’d only seen my father pale one time before. That was the night my mother died.
He paled this time.
Goddamn!I knew what that meant.
“Son.” His tone was all different this time. Way more congeniality, but I heard the caution in there.
I began shaking my head as I went to the far-left bedroom, rage filling me up. I was losing my battle over my self-restraint.
“Trace—”
