Ambition: A Dark Billionaire Romance Anthology (28 page)

T
he vote
against Francine Berkowitz and the Union cleared a few hurdles, and the community center project continued on. By Valentine's Day, Tabby had hired her first director, taking a lot of the weight off of her shoulders and letting her focus on what MJT was created for in the first place, investing and creating wealth within the city.

It was actually damn scary how easily the money flowed in for us. With even only a portion of the corruption and graft cleared out of the way, a lot of these companies flourished like never before. Profit margins were bigger than they had ever been in the company's history, not because of price raises or hurting their workers, but because they were able to be productive and not have to pay protection money or waste time on rackets ran by criminals.

I agreed with Patrick on the idea building in his head that Dennis Fernandez had planted. Patrick was uniquely positioned as the swing vote, and he was a natural charismatic leader of the people. With a Mayoral election coming up at the same time, Patrick's original shortened term as a council member was wrapping up, maybe there was a bigger brass ring that Patrick could reach for? We had to do some serious thinking and strategizing. Patrick himself devoted a lot of energy to the idea, reading up on politics and political science theory.

Political ambitions aside, that wasn't the reason I was putting on my Snowman uniform that particular night, three days after Valentine's Day. Patrick watched me come downstairs and into the gym where he was catching a quick workout. He was coming along well, putting down his kettle bell as he turned and shook his head. "You sure you don't want me to come along with you?"

"No, but I do want you ready for a patrol of Filmore Heights tomorrow night," I replied. "I just want to check on Scott Pressman. I should be back by eleven in fact."

Patrick nodded. "Okay. But be careful out there."

"That's Sophie's line," I replied with a laugh. "So what's your plan for the evening?"

"The three of us were going to go over blueprints the architect sent over," he said. "We're trying to decide the floor plan for the extension. Sophie's favoring the four bedroom plan, but Tabby and I want to do the five. You guys never know, you might have a couple more kids, and still having a home office would be helpful."

"Perhaps. Then again, I could just take over your old bedroom here," I said with a chuckle. "Or just move the home office up to the bell tower. Probably safer with kids running around the house. By the way, Tabby...?"

"Nah, not this month," Patrick replied. He turned back to his kettle bell and picked it up, swinging it in smooth arcs. "False alarm."

I nodded. After they'd started having sex again, it didn't take long for both Tabby and Patrick to acknowledge to Sophie and I that they wanted to have a baby as well. They were going about it the old fashioned way, that was for sure. It had gotten so frequent in fact that Sophie had gotten me an early Valentine's gift, a pair of Moto Surround wireless in-ear headphones for my time in the gym. It helped. As much as I loved them, we really did need to get construction rolling for their house.

Going into the dining room, I found Sophie and Tabby, Andrea in her little carrier in between them sleeping soundly. Kissing my daughter on the forehead, I stroked her hair with a finger. It was still nearly platinum blonde, but I knew it would darken up as she got older. "Okay guys, I'm going out to Pressman's."

Tabby's lip curled only a little bit, but having Patrick in her life had done more than time had for healing her inner hatred. Sophie took my gloved hand and squeezed it. "You want me on come?”

"Nah, nothing you need to worry about," I said. I looked at my wife's face, just as awestruck by her as I was by my daughter. She was even more beautiful than when we'd first met. Leaning in, I gave her a kiss, which quickly grew hot and passionate.

"Ahem, there are children here," Tabby admonished us primly. "Oh, and Andrea too."

"Later," Sophie whispered as we parted. If I needed any more motivation to stay safe, I don't know what it could have been.

The ride out to Scott Pressman's house was refreshing, the frigid air clearing my mind and letting me focus. I found Pressman putting his son to sleep as I arrived, pausing in the doorway of his room to watch the sleeping boy. The expression on his face gave me hope for him.

"You should have waited," he said when he came out into the kitchen to find me sitting at his dining room table. "It's not like I don't have a winter coat."

"More comfortable in here. I wiped my feet though," I said. I'd turned off the overhead light, leaving the small light that was over his cooking range on to cast the room in shadow. "How're you doing?"

"He still cries at night sometimes," Scott said, looking back at his son's room and ignoring the main portion of the question, "but he's getting past it. Thankfully, the coverage of it was pretty low on details, so even if he goes poking around, he's not going to know the full details of what Melinda was into. Guess I was lucky that two of the gunmen she hired were Owen Lynch's former cops. The department didn't want another black eye on its hands so quickly, and the city DA has enough on his plate. Lucky for you too, I assume. You know, I never asked you, did you do it?"

"Kill her, you mean?" I asked. It was one of the facts I hadn't revealed to Scott the last time I'd visited, checking if he'd set Patrick up. He hadn't, which was why he was still alive, son or not.

"Yeah. I mean, I read the coroner's report. She asphyxiated on her own blood from a severed tongue. That's the sort of thing that could happen by accident or on purpose if a man of training wanted it to happen." Scott went over to the cabinet next to his fridge and poured himself a scotch and soda, getting a tumbler from a wire rack next to his sink. He'd softened up some in the six weeks since Melinda's death, and was trending now more towards a so-called
dad bod
than before. I guess with his looks-obsessed wife gone, he didn't feel the need to worry about it as much any longer.

I pondered my answer. I could lie to him convincingly, I knew that. If I did, I'd take the brunt of his anger or rage, which I knew he still felt despite the hurt Melinda had inflicted on him. On the other hand, if I told him the truth, he'd want to investigate more into Patrick, which I didn't want. In the end, I took the blame.

"I did, but not quite on purpose," I answered. "She had a knife and was going after McCaffery. I had one shot, I kicked and caught her under the chin. I didn't expect her to bite her tongue off."

"I see," Scott said. He tossed back half of his drink then wiped his lips. "I suppose I should thank you, but I won't. She was a bitch, she was manipulative, she was more of a player than I ever was. But still, I loved her. I still do, I guess. I'm not ashamed to say my son's not the only one who still has tears at night."

I nodded, knowing what he meant. If Sophie was taken from me, I don't know what I would do. "Focus on your son," I advised. "He needs his father right now."

"Did you just come for parenting advice?" Scott asked, his voice gaining an edge. "Or did you want something else?"

"Two things," I said. "First, I want the lawsuit against MJT dropped. But also, answer a question for me. What's next for you? Are you staying in town or leaving?"

"I don't know yet," Scott replied. "I sank most of my money into expanding the HVAC work. Mom and Dad live here in town too."

"True, but if you're serious about your son not being drawn into the life, the farther away you get, the better it is."

Scott nodded. He knew his family's history, how his father and mother were two of the best thieves in the city for decades before their semi-retirement. "I know. What's your preference?"

"As long as you stay silent, I have none," I replied. "Although I do hope your son stays innocent."

Scott finished off his drink and rinsed out his glass, drying it before setting it back on the steel rack above the sink. "Me too. Okay, conversation done. Get out of here, if you don't mind, Snowman."

T
he next night
, Patrick was almost bouncing with anticipation as we drove in our new car towards Filmore Heights. It was matte black, all electric, and had a ton of other enhancements. The only thing it lacked was being bullet proof, but I couldn't have it all.

"Calm down, padawan," I said as we climbed out of the car. Driving with a partner was more difficult in terms of parking than a motorcycle, but I wasn't sure that Patrick was ready for his own motorcycle yet. He did fine on normal driving, but I was waiting until spring and taking him out on a closed course to give him high speed training. This car was more for intimidation patrols than recon, but we work within our limitations.

"I know, but it's been a while," Patrick said, wearing his new uniform. He kept the hood, but had also added a half face mask, adopting a cowl-like appearance that made sure his face was mostly obscured. He'd also changed the fabric, going with biker leather pants along with a top similar to mine. In typical flamboyant Patrick fashion though, he'd picked a top with muted red stripes, not enough to really give him away, but noticeable up close. It was his tribute to Tabby.

"Just keep calm, stay at my side, and we'll accomplish the mission and get home safe and sound," I said. We walked down the alleyway we were parked in and into the neighborhood. We were in Latin King territory, and I wanted to check up on El Patron, Edgar Villalobos. The leader of the Latin Kings should have recovered from the dart I had put into his knee, but he was still more active in the neighborhood than he had been in years. I wanted to know why.

Thankfully, Villalobos' presence also meant he was staying more centralized. We had to avoid a few patrols, but were able to mount the rooftops near El Patron's headquarters without being noticed.

It was there when we were slightly surprised. El Patron had expected us, it seemed, and had stationed men on the roof. There were four of them, all of them armed not with guns but with bats and nightsticks. They saw us as soon as I stuck my head up over the edge of the roof, coming towards us while taunting us. Game time.

I rolled to my right as soon as I got off the ladder, taking out one of the gang members at the knees. Patrick rolled left, taking out another before gaining his feet. He dropped a heavy knee into the back of the guy's head, while I finished off mine with a stomp. The other two were already approaching us, and neither Patrick nor myself had time to pull our own weapons. Instead, I stepped inside the swing of my opponent, catching his wrists and turning at the same time.

I was faced with a split second decision. If I held on, I ran the risk of him staying on my back as we fell to the rooftop, possibly in position to wrap me up or even choke me. I'm good, but I'm not impervious to attack. I'd taken my fair share of hits in my time, in and out of practice, and I knew the first lesson for any encounter was to not underestimate your opponent.

The other option was safer for me, but deadly for him. If I twisted my hip and let go, he'd go flying over the edge of the roof, falling the four stories to the asphalt below. Considering he would be doing it parallel to the ground, he was either going to hit on his chest or his back, guaranteeing death as his skull impacted with the blacktop of the alleyway.

I made my decision based not off of anything other than I was tired. I already had a hundred deaths on my conscience, and didn't want another one if I could prevent it. Dropping my knee, we tumbled together to the roof, a rock digging into my shin as we rolled. Thankfully, the impact of our bodies landing on the roof stunned the man on my back, and I was able to twist over and knock him out with a hard shot to his temple right after.

I got to my feet to watch Patrick close with his opponent, ducking the swing of a baton to catch him around the waist and lift him into the air before twisting and driving him down to the rooftop face first. Patrick dropped a forearm shot into the back of the man's neck, and he shuddered once before dropping limp.

"Nice work," I said, reaching into my pocket for the packet of zip strips I had originally brought along to attach a wireless camera to the building. That wasn't going to work any longer, as soon as the Latin Kings discovered what we'd done to their members the rooftop would be swept. We'd have to get information now. "Bind them up."

"Why didn't you let him go?" Patrick asked as he got to work with his own strips. We had brought along an entire pack, fifty each, since they were easy to keep in our pants pocket that way, sealed in their own packaging. "You know, Babe Ruth over there."

"He'd have gone over the edge," I explained. "Didn't want that."

He nodded in understanding, and quickly bound up the four men, along with taping their mouths shut. "We won't have much time to get info."

"Don't need a lot," I replied. "Come on."

We crawled to the edge of the roof, and set up our directional microphone. El Patron was meeting with someone inside the apartment he was using as his headquarters, and I used a small periscope to see what was going on.

"You really are desperate if you want this," El Patron said to his visitor. Whoever it was, I couldn't see them. They must have been sitting just outside the view of the window. "You really hate this guy that much?"

"Just business," the other person replied, a woman's voice. "He's trying to undercut my group's power base, and my boss, she doesn’t want that. Unfortunately, as he says, he's pretty much an open book. There's no skeleton that we know of in his closet that the public doesn't already know about."

Villalobos nodded, and gestured with his hand. "Perhaps, but attacking a center for kids? That's low, even for us."

"Are you saying you won't do it?" the woman replied. "Because if you won’t do it, I'm sure someone else will be interested. Perhaps the Gangster Disciples or maybe the 88's?"

I was surprised at Patron's reaction. Any normal flunkie, and he would have had them summarily shot. You don't go around insulting or threatening a man like that, not unless you had serious backup or a death wish. But Patron didn't do anything other than raise his hands in understanding. "Not at all. I'm just stating that such an undertaking can be very expensive. Are you prepared to compensate the Kings for it?”