Page 78 of Once A Crime Lord

A large painting framed in gold caught his attention. He walked toward it as the older guard requested that his men wait in the formal sitting room. Gavin gave his permission with an absent nod and surveyed the family portrait of the Romans. A severe Italian-Spanish man in unrelieved black sat beside an English woman with a sunny smile and brilliant green eyes. A little girl with dark brown curls and her mother’s eyes perched on her father’s lap. Three boys stood behind their parents and sister. Roque, the oldest, looked to be in his early twenties and took after his father with broad shoulders, black hair, and his mother’s eyes. The second brother, Raul, was in his late teens and had a lean figure and keen hazel eyes. The third brother, Angel, had pale blue eyes and olive toned skin.

The last time he was here he attended Marco and Margaret Romans’ funeral. His father stayed in New York for months to console the siblings and help Roque establish himself with the four families.

“This way, Mr. Pyre.”

The guard led him downstairs. He glimpsed New York’s skyline from the large windows on the second floor. Guards in flawless suits were openly armed and eyed him suspiciously but didn’t stop their progress. Two guards stood in front of the basement door. The guard accompanying him spoke to them in a low voice. They pounded their fist three times on the door before they inclined their heads and backed away.

Hip-hop music assaulted his ears as he stepped into the basement, which had the look of a high-end club. There was a bar against one wall along with a round table for poker. His shoes sank into the lush black carpet. Strippers who danced without a care in the world occupied two silver poles. Raul, the middle Roman brother, sat on a black leather couch in a three-piece suit. He ignored the strippers and stared intently at his laptop screen while he sipped wine. Raul turned his head, and when he saw Gavin, shot to his feet, startling one of the strippers who slid a foot down the pole before she caught herself.

“Jesus Christ!”

Raul set his glass down and spread his arms wide. Even as he embraced Gavin hard enough to make him grunt, there was a thump and shriek behind one of two closed doors. Over Raul’s shoulder, Gavin saw Angel appear, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers with a gun in his hand. The man before him was far from the teenager in the portrait. When Angel spotted Gavin, a broad smile spread over his face.

“Son of a bitch!”

Raul stepped back and Angel took his place. Angel hugged Gavin and then kissed him on both cheeks. Gavin raised a brow at his cousins who couldn’t be more different if they tried. Raul was the businessman in the Roman family. His tailored suit, slick hair, and glass of wine encapsulated who he was—cultured, sophisticated, controlled. Angel in his boxers with lipstick smears on his body was just as telling. Angel was the rebellious youngest brother, a party animal and playboy. He saw movement in the room Angel vacated. Four naked women slipped on lingerie.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Raul asked.

“Impulse trip. I had business in Maine.”

“Come, come,” Raul said and waved a hand at Angel. “Make him something, would you?”

“What do you want to drink, Gavin?” Angel walked to the bar and stuffed the gun in the back of his boxers.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

Raul sat and grabbed his glass of wine. “How long has it been, cousin?”

“Too long.” He took the glass Angel handed him. “A lot has changed.”

Angel settled on the couch with a glass of clear liquid and didn’t acknowledge the woman who settled on his lap. “No kidding.”

“Your basements changed,” he said as the women vacated the room they occupied with Angel and sauntered forward. He sized them up and wasn’t surprised to see that they all possessed perfect bodies, flawless features, and greedy eyes.

“I persuaded Raul and Roque to let me liven up the place.” Angel waved a hand to encompass the decadent man cave. “We come here to unwind and try the talent.” He nodded approvingly at the prostitute grinding on his crotch. “You game, Gavin?”

“No, I’m married,” he said and ignored the woman who sat beside him, so close he could feel her body heat and the fragrance of her perfume, which was tainted by Angel’s cologne.

“I heard that,” Raul said. “We didn’t get an invitation.”

“Shotgun wedding.” He glanced at the prostitute who placed a hand on his upper thigh. “I’m married.”

“Your wifey isn’t here,” the woman purred and arched her back to show off her fake breasts covered in pink glitter, which she pressed against his arm. Her hand sank into his hair as she leaned into him, hooking one leg over his. “What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her, can it?”

She grabbed his cock, and he lost it. He grabbed her hand and flipped it back. The prostitute fell off the couch and dropped to her knees so he wouldn’t break her wrist. The strippers on the poles stopped twirling while the other women edged back slowly.

“I’m married, you understand now?”

The prostitute nodded fervently, eyes wide and terrified. She looked toward Angel whose total focus was on Gavin. Her whimpers of pain filled the room as the music paused between tracks. He forced her to stay on her knees for a full minute before he let her go. She collapsed face first on the carpet and then scooted away, cradling her sprained wrist.

Angel smacked the ass of the frozen prostitute on his lap. “Looks like my cousin’s not in the mood. Why don’t you all clear out?”

The women didn’t hesitate. In their haste to vacate the room, they forgot to saunter. Angel grabbed a remote and turned off the music.

“I’m glad you didn’t break her hand,” Angel said, spreading his legs wide as he downed the rest of his drink. “She’s talented. Of course, she doesn’t need her hand to do her work, but it speeds up the process so she can take more men in one night.”

Before Gavin could respond to that, Raul interjected, “So there’s married and married. I’m guessing you’re the latter.”

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