Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(79)

Whether White Box was the club or something else entirely.

As he neared the exit for his home, his phone buzzed, and Michael wanted to thank all the stars above that Winston was calling back. He answered on speaker.

“What the hell is going on with the case?” he bit out.

“Seems we’ve got some new information. I got a call from a federal agent this morning about some RICO charges that might be connected to your father’s case.”

Michael’s head swam with this news. “RICO? As in racketeering?” He glanced at Annalise, whose eyes were wide with shock and fear.

“Where are you?” John asked. “I’m leaving my colleague’s office. I’ll meet you.”

“Heading home,” he said, then rattled off the address.

“I’m heading down the elevator right now, so I should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wait,” Michael said, as tension gripped him. “Who’s behind it? Who’s involved? I need to know. Is White Box part of this? How the hell could White Box be part of this?”

John started to answer as Michael reached his street, but the words came out choppy. His phone was cutting out. Fucking hell.

“What did you just say?”

John kept talking, but only words like informant, protection, guns, and drugs were clear enough to make out. The rest was garbled. Finally the line died, and a minute later, Michael pulled into the parking garage at his building.

His pulse pounded dangerously fast. As he cut the engine, he met the gaze of the woman he loved, and saw so much fear in her eyes, but a toughness, too.

“Let’s get inside and wait for John,” he said, and she nodded.

He slammed his door, walked to the passenger side, scanned the lot, and, when he was confident it was all clear, he opened her door. She stepped out and he tugged her close, wrapping an arm around his Annalise and scanning once more.

His breath fled his chest.

All the alarm bells in his head sounded. By the door to his building stood a man he was far too familiar with—waiting for him.

“It seems we have business to settle.”





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


Normally, he liked to delegate—have his men handle petty tasks like shaking people down. But sometimes you had to clean up your own mess. Like Michael Sloan. He was a tough one. He was too close, he knew too much, and he had figured out more than he should.

He’d connected the dots, according to what his man eavesdropping at the diner this morning had told him. That was something no one else had ever done. Not since years ago, when Michael’s father had veered way too close for comfort.

Since then he’d operated cleaner. Neater, under the radar. But with the case blasted open, he’d had to dart and dodge.

Now it was time to do his own dirty work. And Charlie Stravinsky hated doing his own dirty work.

“Your mother was easy to manipulate into doing what I needed her to do. I fear you might not be so pliable,” he said, stepping away from the wall of the parking garage and walking closer to the blue-eyed son of the man he’d convinced Dora Prince to have killed nearly two decades ago.

“You’re right on that count,” Michael said crisply. “This won’t be easy. There are people who know you’re involved.”

Charlie waved that concern away, stopping at a green Lexus as Sloan grabbed the auburn-haired beauty with him and pushed her behind him. Fucking redheads. They were nothing but trouble.

Charlie nodded and clucked his tongue. “You’re right. There are people who know enough to be dangerous, like you and like her. But that’s going to end soon, isn’t it? Unless you want to come work for me? Your mother did, for all intents and purposes.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, burning at him, his jaw set hard. He was like a fuse waiting to blow, and Charlie was going to enjoy every second of setting him off. The man was too good, too pure. Watching men like him shatter into animals was such a high.

“This isn’t about her. This is about my father,” he spat out, seething.

But Charlie wasn’t scared of Michael. He wasn’t scared of a thing. He’d let go of fear many years ago. After his brother was killed at age nine in a robbery back in his home country, he’d vowed to never let anyone f*ck with his family again. He’d done a fine job providing for all his brothers and sisters. His businesses made money that had put them through school. Years ago he’d moved them to America to keep them safe, along with his mother and father, too. His parents had since passed on, but he still took care of all his siblings, thanks to his businesses and the way they turned money into more money.

So when someone tried to mess with his business, they might as well be screwing with his family.

And no one went after Charlie’s family and got away with it.

Thomas Paige had tried to, sniffing around in his limo company, asking far too many questions. Curtis Paul Wollinsky, his best friend, his comrade in arms, and the manager of West Limos years ago, had alerted him to Paige’s queries. They’d tried to shut him up through T.J., their chief intimidator with the Royal Sinners, but that hadn’t worked.

Then opportunity had presented itself. Once Charlie had learned that Dora Prince was already making moves on her own to order a hit for money, Charlie had his ironclad solution—provide the means for Dora to go through with it. That way she couldn't stop it even if she tried. Damn shame she went to prison. She would have made an excellent lieutenant in his operations. She was loyal to the core, cold-blooded, and willing to act, especially when he’d threatened her children that one time she tried to back out.