Page 20 of Dangerous King
He was atmycasino. Beating women in the VIP room while pretending to save them in public.
"You believe the fucking balls on this guy?" Silvano mutters, leaning against the railing. "Preaching morality in front of cameras, and behind closed doors, he's choking working girls who won't kiss his ring."
"He's not just a hypocrite," I say coldly. "He's a threat."
Silvano nods grimly. "You think the other capos know?"
"They will soon. If they haven't already started lining up favors to kill the bill, they will now." I turn my gaze to the horizon. "Kingsley's about to find out what it means to paint a target on the entire fucking underworld."
"Unless," Silvano says, "he's playing a longer game."
I don't reply. Because that's what I've been wondering too. Nobody comes after the Cosa Nostra and lives unless they've got a bigger monster behind them. Kingsley's either stupid, suicidal—or he's working for someone who thinks they can tame the sharks.
"Fuck," I rub my neck. I hate when my day starts out like this. I suppose it's still better than Barbie's. "How is she?"
"Doc Brown is looking her over. So far, a couple of broken ribs and bruises. He whipped her with a belt." Silvano holds up his phone to show me a few images. My blood boils. I want to beat Kingsley to a pulp for what he did. I don't care what my girls do on the side, but I do care when they're mistreated, let alone beat to shit. That's not going to fly with me.
"Where is he now?"
"Four of our men are watching him and his bodyguards in his suite," Silvano fills me in.
Shit, that's going to require finesse. As much as I want to barge in there and repay Kingsley in kind, he is a US senator, not some schmuck from the streets. "Do we have anything on tape?"
Silvano grins from ear to ear. "Every single detail, including our men beating Kingsley's guards up when they wouldn't let them in the room to interfere."
"Okay." Ideas form in my head; this day might be getting better. "First, have Kingsley write a ten-million-dollar check for Barbie." That should pay for her pain and suffering as well as give her a new lease on life. If she's smart, she'll vanish into obscurity and reinvent herself. I'm not saying the money will make up for what was done to her, but that part, unfortunately, can't be changed.
"There's one more thing," Silvano scratches his neck, "I'm not sure if it means anything, but I have a weird feeling about it."
"Spit it out."
"There was a man with Kingsley earlier that night. He didn't stay long. He looked like a lawyer, an accountant, or a delivery guy."
I stare at Silvano. It's not like him to be this vague. "Could be anybody then."
"Yeah, that's what I'm getting at. He was bald, too."
My stomach flutters in warning; it's just a feeling, but one that has saved my life countless times. Izzy's words from last night niggle at the back of my head.He was bald, pale. He looked like… nothing. Just some nobody. Maybe five ten? Lean. I never thought he could grab me.
"How tall?"
"About five ten," Silvano's voice is dark.
"What time?"
"Two hours after Izzy was taken."
We stare at each other. It could be a coincidence. But I don't believe in coincidences. "I want to show that image to Izzy."
Silvano taps away on his phone, and seconds later, mine dings. I open the image he just sent me. They're both right. This man looks like he could be anybody. Nothing stands out.
"What about a name?"
Silvano shakes his head. "Nothing. He's not a guest; nobody has seen him or noticed him. He's a goddam ghost."
I'm about to tell Silvano that we'll head over to the Valente so I can deal with Kingsley personally, when the sound of giggling female voices reaches me. Confused, Silvano and I look at each other. Izzy never gets up before noon. Ever.
Izzy and Cat enter the breakfast room arm in arm. I'm struck by the change in Cat. Her too skinny—very long—legs are encased in a pair of black slacks. The hair that was in a braid last night falls over her shoulders in soft waves, all the way down to cover her breasts, which are not as small as they appeared in her clothing yesterday. Soft, round curves poke over her square-necked, tight, red shirt. Emphasizing how skinny she is. How fragile.
