Page 113 of Royal Flush

If there was any good to come out of this, it was that I had a newfound appreciation for my family.

And I doubted I’d make fun of Valerio for wanting a brood of kids. I wouldn’t mind having nieces and nephews after all.

Now it was my turn to stop my brothers before we headed inside acting like storm troopers or saviors of the world. I was almost worthless when it came to providing anything emotional to my family. Words didn’t come easily.

I could wing it with a huge speech in front of a new client seeking financial advice or a reporter trying to find all the little disturbing details about Royal Players Club. Yet talking candidly with my family, offering words of appreciation or, God help me, an apology was worse than being stuck in a dentist’s chair having all my teeth pulled.

“What’s wrong, dude?” Valerio asked.

It was odd to notice both brothers had their weapons ready. It wasn’t like keeping a gun in plain sight was part of our usual world. Sure, we’d learned to respect weapons early on but we hadn’t been a gun-toting family.

The sight was also a stark reminder that everything was at stake.

“A hell of a lot is wrong but also finally making sense in my head. Thank you both for giving a shit when I wasn’t certain I had anything left inside of me. I’m not good at this touchy-feely crap but your support does mean the world to me.”

They were surprised I’d said anything, Gage finally grinning. “Nah, we’re still assholes.”

At least it was easy to be myself around them, more so than before.

The hotel only had five floors, the older building more like a motel than a fancy chain, but the renovations had been extensive. Now it was considered the place when the rich and famous wanted to get away for a little weekend.

We headed up the stairs leading from the parking lot. Gage had managed to coerce the check-in clerk to provide information about what room Santini was in. The fuckers had the entire floor, which meant he’d brought an entire crew of soldiers with him. Perhaps the information was correct and he was planning on setting up shop.

If he found a way, it would get him out from under the scrutiny nearly crushing him into anonymity.

Too bad he wasn’t going to be able to follow through with his plans.

Once reaching the floor, my two brothers pulled out their weapons. Mine was easily within reach if necessary but I didn’t want to appear fazed by the situation. Of course the fucker would think he had us outnumbered. Technically, he did but only momentarily.

As soon as we were on the floor, we were noticed, some burly asshole heading in our direction.

“Private floor,” he said, his accent thicker than Jasmine’s. He dared not only get in front of us as if he was going to block our access, but also shoved me in the chest with his hand. It stayed there as if daring me to come back with anything.

“Public hotel. Now, I’m going to give you a significant piece of advice. Get your hand off me or have it broken.”

He grinned like one of those goons did in a movie and pushed again.

Maybe I wasn’t considered a killer, but I’d spent years honing my body and my martial arts skills. It took a few seconds to grab and snap his wrist to a painful, very awkward angle.

As soon as he howled in pain, three other men entered the hallway with their guns drawn.

That was my brothers’ cue to raise their weapons, able to highlight the big, bad side of them they didn’t get to express as often as I knew they would like.

“I suggest you call off your boy toys or spend the next few hours in the emergency room.”

Boy toys. I’d used her term perhaps to feel closer to her.

He turned his head, nodding.

“Good boy. Now, all you need to do is to provide me with passage to your boss and we’re good. You’ll get to keep your hand.” I was grinning while he looked at me as if he’d attempt to take a baseball bat to my head.

“I got this, Zach. Mr. Royal. Or should I address all of you that way?” Santini was a big man, younger than I’d originally thought and well educated. He had a slight Italian accent, a clear indication of his heritage.

“We need to talk,” I told him.

He eyed us carefully as more men crowded the hall. He was smart enough to know killing us wasn’t in his best interest in a country where he was attempting to establish a business.

“Come. Let’s talk in my suite. I have a great view.” Santini led the three of us inside, nodding to his men to leave. “Why don’t I get us all a drink?”

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