Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (5 page)

* * * * *

He didn’t look like a man capable of massacring an entire family. He didn’t look like a man who’d be capable of selling a ten-year-old boy into modern-day slavery. He didn’t look like a bad guy should look, the way a villain is usually portrayed in Hollywood movies.

Ricardo Delatorre was frighteningly average. He was tall and lean, his short hair peppered with gray, as was his full beard and the hairs on his arms and the backs of his fingers. He was in no way imposing, in no way threatening. Even his gaze was warm and twinkling. Laugh lines bracketed his brown eyes and thin lips.

The first time Syren met him up close and personal he’d had to remind himself of the bad things he knew the man before him had done. Now, years too many to count later, he needed no reminders. Ricardo reinforced his heartless disregard for humanity each and every day.

In the quiet of Ricardo’s library, the oddly comforting smell of leather and books in the air, Syren sank into a chair with a glass of brandy in hand. He didn’t drink and Delatorre knew this, but that never stopped him from offering. Ricardo sat opposite him with the familiar smile in place, all warm and inviting, as if days before he wasn’t whipping Syren to a bloody pulp.

Mere feet away, on the second floor of the estate with security rivaling the States’ Fort Knox, Monica Delatorre and the couple’s teenaged twins were located. Out of range of any business, but no doubt aware of who their father and husband really was.

No one could be that stupid as to not guess.
In the early years, Syren had toyed with the idea of hitting Ricardo in his black heart, strike at his family, but he refused to go the same route as Ricardo. Instead he’d focused on what Ricardo loved most.
Money.
Syren would make him a whole lot of it and then he would take it away.
“Tell me some good news,” Ricardo spoke in halting English. “How are we doing with the new shipment?”
Syren pretended to sip his drink then looked down at the notes in his lap. “We’ve had some bad news, I’m afraid.” He met Ricardo’s eyes. “Our guy has been shut down, got the news while on the plane.”
All air around Ricardo stilled. “What do you mean shut down?”
The hair on Syren’s nape rustled in response to that tone. It was a familiar one, signaling the calm before the storm. Syren braced himself as he explained.

“He got caught with some things he shouldn’t have been traveling with.” Namely child pornography. Ahmed had been on Syren’s radar for a while and that bastard was now one less name on his shit list.

“What are you saying?” Ricardo shoved to his feet and moved to stand over Syren, his face a mask of absolute fury. “How will you fix this?”
Right, because Syren was the one who fucked up? Yes, he’d planted those things on Ahmed’s laptop and home computer, but still, he didn’t do magic.
“I’ve already contacted one of the backup suppliers.” He shrugged. “He’ll get us what we need but wants three times the usual price.”
Ricardo swore and spun away.
“We can’t turn them down. We’ve got clients waiting on us. We already have their money.”
“You don’t think I know this?” Ricardo shot him a look no doubt aimed at cutting him to the quick. Syren made sure he remembered to lower his gaze in deference.
Took him a while to master that.
He kept silent and watched as Ricardo paced while muttering to himself. He was stingy with his money, hated to spend, but even he could be lured by the bigger picture and a promise to earn even more money.
“Do it.”
“Already done.”
The blow across his face was a definite surprise. The glass in his hand fell to the floor. Blood filled his mouth and for a moment Syren had to blink to clear his vision.
“Don’t presume to think you know how to run my business.” Ricardo’s tone belied the balled fists and fury spitting from his eyes. “I alone run this business, do you understand?”
Syren nodded, ignoring the shooting pain through his scalp when he did. ”Yes sir.”
Ricardo’s gaze went to the closed door then came back to him. “If I had more time I’d beat the stubborn streak out of you.” He bent and clasped Syren’s jaw, squeezing the sides of his face as he spoke. “I’ll make a bitch out of you yet, boy.”
Well, how rude. Anyone could see Syren was no boy. Not anymore. He could take Ricardo if he wanted, but there was time enough for that later. Right now, he lowered his gaze to the floor and mumbled a quick, “Yes sir.”
He played the part of a demure submissive well enough, but that shit wouldn’t hold forever. He didn’t do submission well.
Ricardo’s gaze burned into his skin like acid. Syren remained still.
“When I get back to the States we’ll have some fun, you and I.”
Yeah, that’s what you think.
“Yes sir.” Oh look at him with the
yes sirs
, a record no doubt.
“Get that shipment of guns and head back to keep an eye on my son.” Ricardo dropped his hand and stepped away. “I’m told he’s partying hard. I want it stopped.”
Really? Babysitter? Syren got to his feet. “Yes sir.” Definitely a record. He stepped toward the door and Ricardo grabbed him by the neck. Syren breathed and tamped down the urge to fight back.
Damn it. He was totally over this manhandling shit.
“Making sure you know who you belong to.” Ricardo’s breath bathed Syren’s ear and neck in warmth and he couldn’t help the shiver of disgust. Naturally the way Ricardo crowded him he thought that was an excited shiver.
He twisted away and made for the door before the bastard took more liberties and Syren washed years of planning down the drain by stabbing him in the fucking eye with a pen.
Oh yeah. He’d fantasized about it too. Times like now he tasted the bloodlust. He walked through the door and out the house at warp speed. He had to make a phone call, see if that plan couldn’t be sped the hell up.
He wasn’t heading back to Los Angeles until the following morning so he booked a hotel and crashed hard, until the phone woke him in the wee hours.
“How did the meeting go?”
Syren rolled his eyes in the dark room. “How do you think it went, Dutch? That son of a bitch is coming unhinged and I want his ass done before he does.”
His caller sighed. “The timetable isn’t right.”
“Fuck the timetable.” Normally he’d go for a smoother approach befitting his Faro alter ego, but he couldn’t be bothered. “I put the timetable in place. Me, not you. So when I say it’s time to get things rolling I mean it’s time to get things rolling.”
“Very well.”
Dutch had the long-suffering tone down and Syren couldn’t blame him, he was a handful to deal with on a good day.
“How will you proceed?”
Syren grinned. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that one.” He hung up and dialed another number. The phone rang three times, two more than was necessary.
“Hello.”
“Are we screening our calls now?”
“What, can’t I get some sleep around here without you fucking with my slumber?”
“Uh-huh. It’s three in the afternoon where you’re at, Billy. I know my time zones,” he said smugly.
“What do you want?”
“The account I sent you, make the money disappear.”
Billy coughed. “Disappear how?”
“How should I know?” Syren frowned. “You’re the one with the skills. Give it away to charities or something like that.”
“What?” Billy screeched. “Do you know how much money is in that account? It’s— it’s a lot, man. Like, a lot.”
“Just do it. Give it to charities for kids and women.”
“Yeah, all right.” Billy sounded as if he were in mourning. “I don’t get you, man, I really don’t.”
Syren gave him a brittle laugh. “That’s quite all right, I don’t get me either.”

* * * * *

He landed in Los Angeles around early evening the next day and immediately Thiago and his silent bodyguard encroached on his personal space. He checked in on the heir not-so-apparent at the Hollywood Hills house and was stopped when he tried to make a quick exit.

“Stay for a while, party with us.”

Thiago had that cajoling tone down to a freaking science. Too bad it didn’t work on Syren. He raised an eyebrow at the two men seated way too close to each other on the

sofa. Bottles littered the floor and any flat surface. Their eyelids hung way too low for them to be anything other than drugged out.

“I’m not interested in partying with you, Thiago.” He turned to the door. “And I’m fairly sure your father wouldn’t like to know just how you’re behaving in his absence.”
A force slammed him into the door.
“Are you gonna tell him?”
Goddamn it, what was with these Delatorre men lately? Syren bucked Thiago off him and spun around. He grabbed the fool by the neck. “Let me tell you something, you entitled little fuck, try that again and I will end you. In the worst possible way. Got it?”
He didn’t think Thiago’s eyes could get any wider, but they focused on him in a hurry. As Faro he didn’t usually assert himself. Scratch that, he never did, but no way was Syren allowing Thiago to think he could do what he did and get away with it.
Bodyguard staggered to his feet and Syren rolled his eyes. “You two kids should think about sleeping off whatever it is you’ve got running through your system.” He released Thiago. “It’s not working for you.”
In the car on his way to his apartment he got an email from Pablo Castillo, one of the Delatorre’s more profitable buyers out of New York. Syren and Pablo had an unspoken thing between them—they indulged in the occasional sexually charged banter but took it no further. In his email Pablo asked for Syren’s help in locating someone from his past, a very deadly someone.
Once inside the privacy of his place, Syren sent off a text to Billy with the relevant information for Pablo then took a shower. He didn’t linger, his stomach was in knots. He couldn’t wait to fully inspect the gift Isa had bought for him. She knew his tastes and his preferences, so he didn’t doubt she’d do right by him. Still, he wanted to see them.
In his bedroom he pulled everything from the bag and held his presents up against his chest with a purr. Reds, pinks and the occasional black. Isa had outdone herself. He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his new playthings with a soft sigh.
Damn if he wasn’t as close to happy as he could be right then.

* * * * *
“Heard you were looking for me.”

 

Kane scowled at the man on his computer screen. “Really, it’s been days since I told

Gabe to tell you to call me.”
The man now known as Rafe Soto-Ashby lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug. “I
was busy.”
“Uh-huh.” Rafe did freelance architectural work out of the couple’s home in North
Carolina, nothing major to bring attention to himself and Gabe, just enough to keep him
out of Gabe’s hair and to keep Rafe busy and engaged in something he liked doing.
“What are you working on?”
“Community center for at-risk teens.” Rafe’s face broke out in a grin. “Good stuff.” With a spark in his eyes like that, Kane could understand how his brother fell in
love with the former gunrunner. Now Kane only felt slightly guilty for wanting to shoot
Rafe when he found the man in his brother’s kitchen naked except for a pair of tight
black briefs. He was Angelo Pagan then and his body was nuts. Kane may have peeked
a little.
Okay a lot, but he was entitled.
“What’s up?” Rafe asked.
Kane leaned forward on his elbow as he stared into the laptop he’d placed on the
island in his kitchen. “In your former life you had dealings with a guy named Faro,
right?”
For his part, Rafe didn’t so much as blink. “Is this an official question, Marshal?” Kane glowered. “Of course not. This is me, your brother-in-law, asking you
something I really hope you answer.”
Rafe crossed his arms. “Personal then?”
“Which response gets me an honest answer from you?” He took a sip from his
coffee cup, watching over the top as Rafe leaned forward.
“You tell me what’s got you asking about Faro and I’ll tell you what I can.” Kane sighed. “I know who he is because he told me. What I want to know is why he
knows who I am. He helped me find a runner in New Orleans and he’s been, uh, calling
me.” He looked away from the computer when he spoke the last part.
“Calling you, how? Threatening?”
He shook his head at Rafe’s sharp words. “No, nothing like that. The opposite
really.” His face heated and he really didn’t want to talk about Faro anymore. “He says
I intrigue him.” God, he embarrassed himself saying those words.
Rafe cocked his head to the side, his mouth open. “Intriguing, huh?” He barked a
laugh. “Good one.”
Kane waved his words away. “I need to know how to make him go away. I don’t
need a criminal calling me and compromising my job. I’m sure you have something I
can use.”
Rafe’s eyebrow shot up. “Blackmail, Marshal?”
“He’s a smug little brat with too much time on his hands,” Kane said fiercely. “I
want him gone.”
“Uh-huh. I hear you.” Rafe didn’t sound convinced. Not at all.
“Do you have anything I can use?”
Pretty please.
“I have a lot of information on Faro. He trusts me and I trust him.” Rafe came in
real close on the screen. “He was the one who helped me get out of Brooklyn. He was
the one who watched out for your brother when I was locked up. He knows my secrets
and I know…some of his.”
Kane stared at him. “What?”
“I’m not telling you shit to use against him, Kane. You can forget that.” Rafe got the
saddest smile on his face. “I can tell you this. Faro is a man with many faces who wears
a lot of hats. He’s a great number of things to a great number of people, none of them
real. None of them true.”
“Talking riddles now, are we?” Kane gripped his coffee cup tighter. “Can’t you just
tell me if I should stay away from him or not?”
“Do you want to stay away from him?” Rafe didn’t wait for a reply. “Faro is a lot
like many men I know, he’s not all good nor is he all bad.”
“God, you’re no help at all.”

Rafe barked a laugh. “I think you like him, Marshal. Despite thinking you know who he is. Eerily familiar.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. Do you keep in contact with him?”

Rafe’s face morphed into a blank slate. “We speak. Do you want me to give him a message, warn him off?”
Hell no. “No, I’ll do it.”
“Oh?”
God. Kane felt the blush wash over his face. “He, uh, I have his number.”
“I just bet you do.” Rafe’s lips twitched. Kane wished he was in the room so he could punch him, rearrange that smirk.
“Don’t you have a drawing to finish?”
“For your information, it’s my day off.” Rafe grimaced. “Gabe decreed it when I went up to bed at sunrise the other morning.”
“Where is my brother?”
Rafe’s gaze lifted off the computer screen and drifted off. “Getting dressed, we’re going out for breakfast.” He did not look happy.
“Another one of Gabe’s decrees?”
“Yeah, something about making friends and meeting our neighbors.” He looked about ready to throw up.
Kane chuckled. “Poor sucker, you’re so whipped.”
“Shut it, Marshal. Don’t you have someone to call?” Rafe waved. “Later.” He logged off before Kane could tell him to go fuck himself.
Rafe was right though. He did have a call to make and for some reason his palms had gone all sweaty. He dialed the number and remained hunched over the counter, eyes squeezed shut.
“Marshal, you’re a great way to wake up.”
Damn it. The pulse in Kane’s throat actually leapt then sped up. “Where are you?”
“LA, Why?”
“When can you get to the East Coast?”
Faro paused for a beat. “Why would I be coming to the East Coast?”
“You and I need to talk, get some things straight.” Kane swallowed a gulp of coffee. “The sooner the better.”
“Ah-hah.” Faro stretched the word out. “Is there no way to do this over the phone?”
“I think you’ve hidden behind phones long enough, don’t you?”
A sharp intake of breath. “Wow. You hit hard, dude.”
Kane gave him the address of The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum in Ridgefield. “Meet me there tomorrow at around noon.”
“I’ll be there.”