Page 3 of Diamond In The Rough

“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t hope, Delamont. Honor your obligations.”

“Y-yes, of course.”

Word has traveled already, I know, of what happened to the last man who thought his overdue bills would disintegrate the moment Tim’s body was tossed into the ground.

Fucking idiots.

“This is why I appreciate you coming today.” He angles his body, almost turning away, though he doesn’t commit to the full one-eighty and give us his back. “If you wouldn’t mind following me? I have what I hope is a payment that may satisfy you.”

“What did I say about hope?” I slap my hand to Felix’s arm to keep him in place before he starts off to follow the weaselly Delamont. “How far, Dustin?”

“Just a hundred feet.” He glances back and swallows, the shift of his Adam’s apple visible, even audible. “I can see it from here. But it would be best if we got closer.”

I look to my right, to the street that bustles despite the danger in the vicinity—the danger my brother and I represent. Then I look to the van at our backs that films every step we take.

They can’t read our lips from this angle, and even if they wanted to record our words, we carry our own equipment that scrambles anything they attempt to intercept.

The beauty of being us, and knowing the people we know, is that we have access to tech not even the Feds have yet. Felix made a deal with a she-devil to accomplish that.

So far, it’s a deal we’ve yet to regret.

“How many men do you have watching you, Delamont?” I tilt just my head and scan the buildings that stand tall around us. Catch the glint of guns from windows. The beady stare of a man who could kill my brother in an instant if he was on another’s payroll. “Dustin?”

“I’ve come alone.” Shaking, he peers down to the knife still in Felix’s hand. “I swear, I have no one looking over our shoulders.”

“Then come on.” Lix starts off, way too fucking relaxed for a guy who sits at the top of countless shit-lists. “I have somewhere I need to be in an hour. People are expecting me home for dinner.” He flips his knife closed and drops his hands into his pockets. “Talk to me about my new club. I want all the details.”

“O-okay.” Nervous, Dustin wrings his hands and trots along beside my brother. So I do my job and take up their flanks. “It, uh… it was originally a newspaper warehouse, actually. Most recently, a French restaurant. It’s, uh, not being utilized currently, because I don’t know how to run a restaurant, and I have no other need for it.”

“Wasteful,” Felix chides. “If you’d learned to better manage your assets, you wouldn’t be in debt to my family.”

“Y-yes, sir. Um… Fifty-five hundred square feet per floor, five floors total, plus a rooftop terrace. It was built in nineteen-twenty-one, and has a rich history, including celebrity visits by?—”

“I don’t care who has dined in your restaurant.” Felix glances across with a lifted brow. “Unless it was DeNiro or some shit, I don’t give a fuck. Market value?”

“It’s on the market for fifteen million dollars, Mr. Malone.”

Felix scoffs. “I could put my dirty skivvies on the fuckin’ market and ask for twenty million. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna get it.”

“I see your point, but a similar building only a few hundred feet further along the street recently sold for twelve-point-three,” he rushes out. “The market is commanding these prices easily.”

“Twelve-point-three…” Contemplating, Felix rolls his bottom lip between his thumb and finger. “You owe me ten.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Malone. So even though it’s on the market for fifteen, I’m willing to meet you at twelve. Since market history dictates?—”

“I’m not giving you change!” Felix laughs, dropping his head back and drawing attention from a couple who wanders by. “Fuck me,” he sniggers. “You actually think I’m going to hand you a wad of cash?” He shakes his head, eliciting a shame-filled droop in Delamont’s narrow shoulders. “The balls on you, bud! If I accept your offer—a building for your debt—then I’ll do so cleanly. You won’t get a fuckin’ payout, and I won’t slice your tongue off for disrespecting me.”

He comes to a stop outside the building that will soon become another Malone club, and looks up. “It needs work.”

“It-it’s a hundred years old,” Dustin stammers nervously. “But quality workmanship. The original ceilings endure throughout, with handcrafted designs, and all the windows—all but a small few, anyway—remain. Kitchen facilities are state-of-the-art. The fridge is industrial and functional. Living quarters make up the top two floors, and rooftop access belongs exclusively to those. There’s a security center in the?—”

“It’ll be replaced,” Felix cuts in, like a hot knife through cold butter. “Basement?”

“Designated parking. It’s secure, Mr. Malone, accessible only to those with clearance. There are bathrooms on each floor, and a vault on the ground floor, impenetrable by outsiders.”

“Password protected?”

“Passwords, keys, and fingerprints.” He swallows nervously. “This was a gentleman’s club for a short while. Uh…” Anxious, he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. “Tony Mancino once occupied this building, sir. He ensured it was secure for his needs.”

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