Page 67 of Any Means Necessary

The two and a half hour flight feels closer to twenty minutes, and the landing goes smoothly. Matteo arranged for a car to pick us up on the private tarmac—with one of his soldiers, Dino, driving the SUV. I catch the Italian mobster eyeing Lexie in the rearview mirror skeptically. I’m expecting to see that expression a lot during this trip—the look that questions who she is to me and why she’s here. I plan on making it perfectly clear. They’ll learn soon enough.

Lexie doesn’t notice the Made man’s extra attention. She sits beside me, quietly admiring the new cityscape as it passes out the car window. I can see her eyes moving to absorb every detail in the architecture and landmarks, and I make a mental note to take her sightseeing before we leave if time permits.

She’s not wearing one of her cute dresses, and her pink scrubs are keeping my hand on her thigh from touching skin. My hand inches up her leg, moving closer to the pussy I crave to be inside again. She squirms under my touch, her hand covering mine to stop my movement.

Her eyes leave the window to meet mine, gazing at me intently for a silent conversation. Then her hand slips under mine to interlock our fingers. And with that, she turns back to the window with our hands still entwined.

“Here we are, Mr. Russo,” Dino announces, pulling my attention from the text I’m writing to Roscoe. He stayed back in New York with Liam and Enzo to keep the Harris ball rolling while I’m away for the weekend.

The Raven, making a statement right in the heart of downtown Chicago, could rival any major hotel in New York. Set back from the busy city street through a gate, a circular drive leads to the grand front entrance. It looks expensive, exclusive, and far removed from the crime syndicate that now owns it.

“Wow, this place is beautiful. I feel like we just walked into the Great Gatsby,” Lexie comments beside me when we walk inside, and she’s right. The interior is decorated in the art deco style, made up of dark, rich tones with detailed line work and bold gold fixtures. Geometric chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, symmetrical woodwork adding a modern feel. The front desk sits in the center of the lobby with the hotel bar to the right. A grand staircase leads to a landing with three elevators before splitting to either side and wrapping around the massive chandelier.

“Mr. Russo,” The woman behind the front desk greets without introduction. “Welcome to The Raven. The Executive Suite is ready for your arrival,” She says with a wide smile, holding out the pamphlet with the room keys and hotel map. I accept it with thanks.

“Callum Russo, back in my city.” Matteo’s voice announces his arrival. I turn to see him striding across the lobby in one of his signature pinstripe suits in the classic 1920’s gangster style—all he’s missing is the homburg hat and black and white shoes. It’s his attempt at irony.

“I never miss a chance to raid a free minibar,” I joke with a grin. The banter is for our audience, we both know that. To everyone around us, we’re just two old friends visiting for a special occasion. No one would ever suspect that I’ve literally buried more than one body for this man.

“Nothing but the best here at the Raven. I’ll even let you take home your robe.” Matteo’s eyes move past me and I know he’s clocked Lexie. “And you brought someone with you.”

“This is Lexie.” I inform him, my hand going to the small of her back as they shake hands. I don’t particularly enjoy watching Lexie smile at other guys, not when I know exactly what kind of man they are.

“Matteo Manici,” he introduces, blatantly looking her up and down. “Welcome to The Raven.”

“Hi—” Whatever Lexie is about to say is cut off when her phone starts to ring. She looks down at it before glancing up at me. “Sorry.”

“Go ahead.” I nod, giving her permission. I know that she’s been waiting for a call from Mia about one of her old nurse friends. She flashes me a grateful smile before stepping away to answer it. My eyes follow her movements as she finds a quiet spot to talk by one of the rectangular pillars a few yards away.

“So it’s true,” Matteo comments with amusement. “When Liam mentioned your new nurse was different than Tony, he wasn’t joking. She’s definitely not what I was expecting, especially for you.”

“Her work is impeccable and she’s loyal. That’s what I needed.”

“She’s blonde.” He laughs at the absurdity of it. “And pink.”

“Yes, she is,” I agree, my gaze catching on Lexie across the lobby once more. “You have a list for me?”

“This is the information for the soft opening.” Matteo hands me a leather folder with the hotel name embossed across the front. “Itinerary for the weekend’s events, guest list—all of it. Go get settled in your room, we’ll meet later. My father will be here tonight to discuss business.”

“Perfect,” I confirm. Matteo’s hands clasp my upper arms with an enthusiastic nod.

“Good to have you back in Chicago.”

“Good to be here.”

Chapter Twenty-Five: Callum

When I first hired Lexie, I was all too aware when she was with me. But at some point I’ve gotten used to having her by my side—she’s become a constant, an extension of me. And I’m realizing now that having her with me is the only things that feels right. So when it’s time to go pick up my suit from my tailor here in Chicago, I bring Lexie with me.

She’s changed out of her scrubs into a girly outfit. She called it a romper, which is apparently something that looks exactly like one of her sundresses but isn’t. This one has pockets, something she gets very excited about every time she remembers. Even now as we stand in the store where I buy my custom suits, Lexie’s hands keep finding her pockets as she looks around.

My phone beeps in my hand with a text from Liam. He’s found a lead on who’s behind the shell companies in Columbia. If we can find that person, we can get answers about which freighter the shipment of girls will be on.

The sound of dress shoes clicking on the floor announces my tailor’s arrival, pulling my focus back to my current surroundings.

“Your suit, Mr. Russo.” Walter presents the sleek black garment bag. “To your exact specifications, as usual.” He insists on addressing me so formally, even after all these years—and my periodic reminders to call me by my first name.

Walter is a true gentleman, one of the last of his kind. Walter takes his profession seriously, a master at his craft. Anyone coming into this store simply sees him as a distinguished sales clerk at a designer clothing store, but he’s the best in the business. The only man I trust to clothe me, both for my reputation and my comfort. There’s nothing more powerful than a properly fitted suit to make an impression.

---