Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2) (4 page)

Remi takes another
drink. He shakes the ice cubes around as he sets the glass down. His eyes
narrow shrewdly. Of course he's thought about it. But he says, “She is beyond
reason.”

Seth gives no time for
any more emotion. He says, “Yes, but her word is not the word of blood. You're
the only one who can make that decision.”

“Are you suggesting I
demolish what's left of my marriage for money's sake?” Remi asks, his tone
sliding down the slope toward menacing.

“I'm asking you to be
reasonable,” Seth answers

Remi sits up,
straightens his posture, and the darkness for which Seth has been waiting
finally appears in the other's regard. Remi smooths his tie, an action Seth
recognizes as a stolen moment for composition's sake; then he asks, his tone
almost violent, “You're asking me to be reasonable about the murder of my only
child?”

A point and a blow to
Seth's resolve—he manages not to grimace from the truth, but only barely. He
twines his fingers together to steady his hands, and says coldly, “I had wanted
to keep technicalities out of this, but the truth is that your only child was
three seconds from burying me when Emma stopped her. She betrayed me beyond
what my own family did.”

Remi is still and silent
for long enough for the moment to become uncomfortable. His face has become a
passive set, completely unreadable. He waits long enough to be assured that
Seth isn't going to wither under the heat. Then, Remi says, “I will consider
your solution, and I will have an answer for you within three days.”

Seth’s next breath feels
like the first one he's taken since he got in the car with Tinney to drive
here. He doesn't let his demeanor relax, though. No, that could be taken as
weakness. Instead, he says, “And will you extend the ceasefire until we have
met again?”

Remi allows an eyebrow
to snag upward. Shortly, he says, “Of course.”

Without pomp, Seth
stands, buttons his jacket, and makes sure the eye contact is steady when he
says, “Thank you, Remi.”

Never again will he sink
to the point where he has to call this man
Mr.
Oliver
. Flashes of his brother's funeral wash through him, when he felt
fear in the presence of this giant. A giant no more. No, to Seth, this is a
man, one with weaknesses just like any other. Remi says, “I will be in touch.”

Seth's gut does a barrel
roll as he, against his instinct, turns his back to Remi. If he doesn't show
faith in their temporary truce now, Remi will never take him seriously. His jaw
grinds all the way to the door, and only stops once the oak is closed behind
him. He nods briskly to security, vaguely ready to counter an attack—one that
doesn't come.

Tinney is waiting for
him in front of the building. Seth checks his watch as he ducks into the
passenger seat. It's been nineteen minutes and counting since he stepped out of
the car. Seth grins and reaches for his cell phone. Tinney swings the car into
traffic, doing his damnedest to not ask how it went. Seth knows Tinney will
never break down and ask, so he waits until they are steadily rolling to say,
“We'll meet again in three days.”

“And the ceasefire?”
Tinney asks.

Seth answers, “Will hold
until then.”

Several slow miles pass
before Tinney says, “What do you think he will decide?”

Seth finishes sending a
text to Emma and then peels his suit jacket off and tosses it in the back seat.
He retrieves his guns and double holster from the glove box. As he begins to
put them on, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he says, “Who knows?
He's not the only player in that camp. But he's also not one to take others'
opinions into consideration when it comes to his bank. We'll just to have to
make the best of the next three days. It's a start, and we have a lot to do.”

“And you think he'll
honor it?” Tinney asks.

All of Seth's anxiety
comes back to the surface, with the knowledge that he’s trusting a man who
wants his cousin dead, and he takes a shaky breath.
 
He says, “You would know better than I would.
I already told you all I have left is faith.”

The street rumbles
beneath them in the moments that pass. Then Tinney says, “Good. Just don't ever
lose that.”
 

Chapter 6.
Morgan Estates. New York City. September 27th
 

The
Office Is Buzzing
, a low hum of excitement that bristles along her skin. She should
have known that Seth would order her office moved to be closer to him, a
massive thing in the executive wing. It’s not just that, of course. It’s the
watching eyes, the silent knowledge that everyone knows who she is, and what
she’s done. It’s being here dressed for the office in a black pencil skirt and
a wide neck white silk top, hair pulled in a low, neat ponytail at the back of
her neck—all so professional, so mature, a thousand miles from bikinis and
sheer coverups.

It’s the long night
alone in her penthouse and the tension of Seth’s absence.
 
After a month of sharing space, the distance
is almost painful. Even if it’s necessary.
 
She stares at the list of names in front of her. There are some she’s
never heard of— people he wants to give positions of power when she knows
nothing about them. She taps her pen impatiently, and crosses out two names who
served on the board with Mikie. Her intercom chimes.
 

“Yes?”
 

“Ms. Morgan, Rama
Ratchaphure is here to see you.”
 

A flutter of nerves
rises, and she straightens. She wonders if he ever came here to meet Caleb for
business. No. He wouldn’t. Caleb never did any meaningful work in the
office.
 
Vaguely, she wonders if she
shouldn’t follow her dead cousin’s lead on that.
 

“I’ll be right out.”

Dom shifts at the door
as she stands.
 

“I want this private,”
she says coolly, staring at the bodyguard. She chose him—of all the enforcers
in the family, she chose him when Seth asked her to. And he responded with
complete loyalty. He stares now, and finally nods.
 

“I’ll wait outside.”

She gives him a
satisfied smile and leads them out of the office.
 

Rama is standing near
the elevator, his hands behind his back. He’s wearing a pair of black suit
pants, a red dress shirt and a black tie. Kai lingers near him. He smiles,
polite and reserved, when he sees Emma, and for a heartbeat, her steps
falter.
 

She’s on a dance floor,
and he’s smiling at her, a slow seduction, and they are not their families. She
takes a deep breath, and smiles at him, the practiced, demure smile she
reserves for family and court business.
 

“Right this way. My
assistant has everything set up in our conference room.”

It is a strange thing,
to step away from intimacy and rely on court protocol and business. But it’s
her job.
 

The conference room is
long, with a floor-to-ceiling view of the city, a table of oak and empty
chairs. A small lunch has been set out at the far end of the table, next to a
neat stack of files that he eyes briefly before focusing on Emma.
 

She's nervous, her
fingers twisting before she forces herself to take a breath. Rama finally
breaks a smile.
 

“Relax, Emma. I want
this as much as you.” She makes a little face and he laughs.

 
“Sit down,” she says, just short of annoyed as
she eases into her seat.
 

The problem, she realizes,
staring at him, is that she can’t hide behind protocol and court. He is an
ally, but he’s also a friend—her lifeline to the city and syndicate while she
and Seth were in seclusion.
 

“Thank you,” she says,
abruptly. Rama’s eyebrows go up, startled and questioning, and she shrugs. “For
being there, for Seth and me. You made being gone easier.”

Surprise flickers on his
face for a moment. He leans forward, and Emma shifts, sliding him a thin
folder.
 

“This is what I would
like to do,” she says.
 

Rama’s lips thin, but he
doesn’t press—he is a foreign ally in a formal situation, even if he has seen
the young queen naked and writhing in his sheets. Keeping the two separate is
important.
 

He flicks it open and
Emma watches him as he scans the proposal. When he glances at her in surprise,
she manages a small smile.
 
“I found some
of Caleb’s plans—and I knew him well enough to put some of it together. We’re
looking at high-end sex, Rama. We provide the best resort in the state for our
clientele to go to, as well as parties in the city twice a month that can move
through our hotels. You provide the girls. The blow will come from Seth’s Cuban
alliance.”
 

“And it brings what to
me?” Rama asks, a challenge in his tone.
 

“Aside from the
percentage of profits your family will receive—in addition to the cut you take
from the girls,” she adds, and Rama grins, a surprisingly boyish expression,
“You will do what you came to New York to do. Ally with the Morgans formally.
It takes your syndicate from a small nuisance in clubs and restaurants to a
legitimate force on the East Coast, which is what you want, right? A foothold
here.”
 

He goes quiet and still,
staring at her for long enough that a flush rises in her cheeks. Then he looks
back at the proposal. She is guessing on so much—hoping that she has it right
based on the little she found in Caleb’s apartment and what she knows about her
cousin, but there is the very real fear that Rama will hate the plan.
 

“This is a large
investment,
mali.”
 

Emma’s spine snaps
straight and her expression hardens. Rama smiles, quickly hidden as her temper
slips, despite her careful control.

“The investment is
commensurate of the profits you stand to make. And the risk is largely falling
on my people.” She snaps.

She slides another folder
to him. He glances at it briefly, seeing the numbers, but doesn’t bother
looking at them in depth. Doesn’t seem to care—she isn’t sure if it’s because
he trusts her accounting or because he doesn’t care.
 

“How are you planning on
keeping this off the radar?” he asks.
 

Emma nibbles at her lip
and reaches for her wine. Their lunch of seared salmon, rice and roasted baby
carrots, prepared by a five star chef, sits ignored.
 

“We’re buying two
resorts. The profits will be absorbed by the legitimate side of both, and we’ll
run operations from there.” She offers him a tight smile. “We’re hiding this in
plain sight, which is risky but the only way we can make it work. And until the
resorts have been remodeled and reopened, we’ll be able to generate profits with
the traveling parties.”

“And Seth has agreed to
this?” he challenges.
 

Her eyes go stormy and
she sits back, her expression icy.
 
“Are
you pushing because it’s expected or because you’re offended I’m the one here
instead of him?”

“I’m pushing because
this is my family I’m risking, and I’ve been courted and ignored by your people
before.”
 

It’s said quietly,
calmly, but she hears the edge in his voice.
 

“Seth and I wouldn’t
bring this to you if we weren’t in agreement,” she says. Stands, and smooths her
skirt. “Look at the proposal, Rama. Talk to your people. We need an answer by
the end of the week.”
 

She takes a single step
away from the table, and his hand closes around her wrist, a light grip that
stops her effortlessly.
 

“Of course, Emma. All of
it—yes.”
 

She stares at him for a
long moment, and then nods once, a tiny smile slipping through, the only
expression of her sudden relief. “Then we’ll put everything in motion.”
 

Chapter 7.
Morgan Continental Hotel, Ballroom D. October 3
^rd

The
Clinks Of Silver On
plates and the soft murmur of voices overlay the low lighting of
the banquet room. This is strange formality, tables full of old acquaintances
with the same ties to high crime. An event such as this is extremely hush-hush,
and closed to all press.
 

It's
a fitting thing to honor,
Seth thinks as he stands back in a hallway behind the stage. This
is a proper family reunion, something that hasn't happened since he was too
young to care what it actually meant.
 

For a moment, he just listens.
Then, unexpectedly, come flashes of his brother's funeral, when Mikie told him
he would go because it was expected. And when he naively told Nicolette that
they could change the way of things. All of it, every single anguishing moment
of it, comes to this.
 

He had blatantly ignored
his father's last words, and because of it he learned the hardest way possible.
The Ouroboros——that goddamned snake eating its own tale. The Morgan mark since
well before Seth was a twinkle in the universe. He is stone sober, but his
anger makes a rise, not at the way of things, or the universe, or the life he
was born into but at himself.
 

The clues had always
been there. The means had always been there. He had thought he knew what it
meant to lead, or maybe he just thought everyone would always melt at his
stunning charm. Now that he's taken the reins, he realizes he knows nothing of
leading. How can he change anything if he can't even hold it steady?
 

“Looks like everyone's
mostly finished eating.”

The voice is close makes
him jump; moments later he regrets it. Of course it's her. The tone registers
immediately. He turns to find Emma eyeing him with a mixture of concern and
surprise that only she can perfect. He laughs at the expression, but it comes
out more sheepish than he intends. There's no denying that she caught him, lost
in introspection.
 
He says, “I'm ready
whenever you are, boss.”

He makes 'boss' as
sarcastic as possible, and her expression breaks, torn between the desire to
say something comforting or just slap him.
 
She says, “Then lets do this, princess.”
 

She turns and leaves
him, her back stiff with nerves.

Dammit. Her jabs are
getting better every day. He rubs his ribs as if she actually hit him, and
shakes his head. He never dreamed this would be a lose/lose game. Still, a
melancholy smile takes his lips. She's always looking out for him, and she’s
young enough to think he doesn't notice—but hasn’t that always been her way?
Assuming that Seth didn’t notice her infatuation and her blushes, the anger she
never hid very well when Nic came around.
 

His hand slides from his
side to his shoulder. He's taken off the sling, and the wound aches. Maybe it
always will.
 

You were right, Dad. And so was I. If I had
known it would be like this, I would have changed it all, but then I never
would have gotten here.
 

He straightens his tie,
which is surprisingly in place, and takes a deep breath. When he rounds the
corner, and mounts the stage, he is an enviable echo of his father's calm. The
room has quieted by the time he reaches the podium. What was it Remi had said
at Caleb's funeral? That Seth was the only one who could quell the unrest.
Another boding omen that has proved to be true. As Seth looks around at the
familiar faces, he vows to be just that.

He sees Emma watching
from the corner of the room. When he told her to set this up, what he wanted to
do, she’d been hopeful and nervous. She still is, but she hides the nerves
well.

Every eye in the room is
on him, standing in the spotlight as he always has, yet representing so much
more. The tension is palpable, the anticipation and, yes, the fear. He smiles,
looks down at the wood for just a moment, then back into the faces of his
empire.

His. Empire.

He finds her in the
crowd and she smiles for him, a tiny affirmation.
 

“We have endured a very
savage time.” His voice amplifies over the crowd, and it is gentle—so very
gentle. “We have endured a lot of uncertainty. But we
have
endured. I understand if you are uneasy, and that's why I've
called for this meeting. I want you all to know where I stand. To this day,
there are things that I don't know, details I may never understand about the
way life was here while I was gone.
 
That's why, from this moment, all of you who are under this roof have a
clean rap. If you were my enemy, I grant you pardon.”

He pauses for a moment
as the shock and outrage slingshot around the room. His expression never
changes as he lets his words sink into sense. In her corner, Emma isn’t
watching him. Her gaze is tracking the family, watching expressions. No one
notices her—no one ever has, and even now, she is hiding behind her demure
façade, and helping him by watching the family he is so adamant about
trusting.
 

“I hereby invoke the
Morgan family code so that our family can have a moment of reprieve. Time is
fast for people like us, and we have to be smart if we want to survive.
Sometimes this life can make you forget that you're human, but we can't afford
to forget that. I want this family to thrive, and I want to be able to eat lunch
without dodging bullets. I want that for everyone, not just myself. We were all
wronged by my uncle. I want to build us back to the glory of my father's
empire. I want you all to help me.”

Somehow, in the face of
everyone, the honesty comes much easier than face-to-face with those for whom
he really cares. There's no place for an ounce of doubt in his declaration.

“I ask you to be patient
within the chaos. It won't last forever. I will address any concerns. The
divisions will be restructured some—new heads will be appointed for the weapons
and drugs divisions. For whatever reason, the lines of communication have
broken down, and more than I want to know why, I want to fix them.”
 

Seth retrieves the glass
of champagne that someone – it had to be Emma—left for him. He raises it into
the spotlight, and says, “To the family, and regrowth.”

For a pressing moment,
silence resounds. The words swish around the room like the coattails of their
many dead. His words are so optimistic, so reminiscent of his youth, yet
carried by an entirely more wise voice of a man. Then, the light begins to
fracture through the glasses that rise. Seth's vision blurs from the assault,
but it doesn't stop the smile that takes him.

Someone in the back
yells, “Cheers.”

Seth stares into his
champagne as he takes a drink. How many of them are just doing it because it's
expected? Only time can tell. Time and perhaps some sacrifice.