Page 57 of Broken Dreams

“Christian Sanchez,” I state, not bothering to use a pseudonym.

Why would I? Alesso knows who the fuck I am.

“One moment,” he murmurs. I can see there’s a spark of recognition in his eyes as well, which means the burly man in a good suit before me has some understanding of the criminal world.

I provide a service, nothing more.

Reaching for the elegant, corded phone, he enters a two-digit number before speaking, “Hello, sir. There’s a Christian Sanchez here for you, but I don’t remember you telling me you’d have visitors today.”

He listens for a moment as I continue to stand idly by, as if I have all the time in the world. Outward impatience is a tell, and I’m not saying anything I don’t want to with my body.

“Yes, of course, sir,” the door man murmurs. “I’ll take care of it.”

That doesn’t sound promising.

There’s a garrote in my right pocket and a knife in my left. I need more information before choosing my course of action.

Hanging up the phone, he inclines his head toward me. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of your arrival. Mr. Daventi asked me to bring you right up,” he says.

This feels much too easy, so I keep my hands in my pockets, and the easy smile on my face.

“It’s not a problem at all, after you.” I murmur.

I could say that maybe it had slipped Alesso’s mind, but that would be pushing my luck. The less I say, the better. My lips are sealed.

The doorman walks slowly, reminding me of the molasses I think of when I smell Linus. I keep the tight control on myself that I always do, despite the coiling sensation inside of me that says someone will die if I don’t get what I want.

The sounds of our shoes on the high gloss marble ring as we walk, my ears straining for anyone else that may be near, lying in wait. I’m not being paranoid when I’m used to people wanting to kill me.

I’m not a well liked man as an equal opportunity arms dealer. It’s a cross to bear that I’m well used to. I simply have to work harder to stay alive.

The button is pushed at the elevator bank, a key inserted to call it down. I’d just kill him now and be done with it, but there’s another level of security inside the elevator as well. Fucking overkill if you ask me.

“Here is the keycard to scan once you’re inside, I’ll have it take you up to the penthouse,” the doorman says, surprising me.

“That’s it?” I ask, surprised. There are many words I don’t say aloud. Why is he trusting me with this key?

“I know who you are,” he says. “I would like to get home to my pack after work today. I refuse to get into a small space with you. Just take the keycard and scan it, I’ll make sure the elevator takes you to Mr. Daventi.”

Huh, so he’s scared of me. I guess he should be since I’ve been imagining how I’ll kill him.

As the elevator doors open, keycard in my hand, I step inside, making sure that he’s in my view at all times. Scanning the card, I watch as he pulls out his cell phone and hits a couple of buttons. I’m still showing a level of trust he doesn’t deserve, and I imagine falling to my death somehow.

Overdramatic perhaps, but still a viable option.

The doors slide shut, the elevator car begins to rise, but I’m still on edge. I’m expecting more trouble than this, and I refuse to relax for a single moment. That’s when mistakes are made.

The excruciating thing no one talks about is how fucking long it takes to get to the top floor of a high rise. I don’t care howfast it’s going, it’s interminable, especially when your anxiety is making your trigger finger extremely sensitive.

Speaking of which, my firearm is already naked in my hand as I stand off to the side as the doors slide open, directly into a luxury apartment.

“I doubt you’re going to need that,” Alesso says, amused as I walk out into his home at a slow, measured pace. My eyes are searching for danger, or signs that this is a trap. “I’m also the only one here. Want to tell me why a renowned arms dealer is coming to visit little ole me?”

Ha, now he’s blowing smoke up my ass, that’s rich.

“About two days ago, you were at a club called, Slick Dreams. Is that correct?” I ask, feeling as if I’m interrogating him.

Alesso steps away from the far wall where he’s been waiting for me, walking closer. For all intents and purposes, he could have walked off the pages of a magazine for loungewear. The fucker didn’t even bother getting dressed for me.

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