TWO
“Let her go.” The command was issued, and like clockwork, the man who was about to go after the girl halted.
At twenty-seven, Raffaele Roselli was more intimidating than anyone twice his age and reputation. All the more reason his father thought it would be wise to let his elder son handle the vast Roselli Empire. In contrast, the younger son, Amadeo Roselli, could learn the trade alongside him.
He tore his eyes from where the little bird has just flown out of his reach and stared at the red stain on his shirt distastefully.
“Have Cesar get me a new shirt,” he ordered as he strode into another one of his private rooms.
“Sure, Boss.”
A minute later, his bodyguard, Cesar, arrived with a rectangular box with a designer label and laid it open for him to pluck and put on. Raffaele began to unbutton his shirt and stripped it off him. The two young maids in the room, tidying the place for the boss found it a little tough not to ogle at this man.
Raffaele Roselli, despite all his eternal savageness, was an epitome of masculine beauty.
“How long have they been waiting?” he asked, buttoning up and glancing over his shoulders.
“About an hour, sir,” Cesar replied.
Being an ex-mercenary, he was no-nonsense and utterly formal. With a six-foot-five stance, beefy structure, and a buzzed head, the man was the perfect shadow for Raffaele. He knew how to get things done and was perfectly capable of handling tough-as-a-nut situations.
“And what about my brother?” Raffaele asked.
“He arrived at the club some time ago,” Cesar put it out carefully. “I can send someone to him if you want.”
Raffaele took in a sharp breath as his nose flared. He shouldn’t be the least bit surprised at his brother’s reluctance to attend meetings and instead enjoy a salacious company of women who did everything in their power to entertain him. The younger Roselli lacked business acumen, so there was no need to be posturing.
The elder brother, though, couldn’t let it go.
“Do that. And make sure he damn well arrives sober.” Cesar nodded and busied himself to commission the task over to someone on the phone.
A few minutes later, with two more guards on his heels and Cesar, Raffaele walked out of the room and made his way towards a more private section of the club constructed purely for business dealings.
As the door held open for him and he stepped in, his eyes raked over the faces of men – mostly fat and wealthy – who were unabashedly enjoying the free liquor and Cuban cigars and laughed among themselves. However, the merriment died the moment his presence sucked all the air in the room, forcing the men to abandon their fun and stand up.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” Raffaele said, taking a seat at the large chair, and unbuttoning the jacket. “I’m sure you are all aware of why I called you here.”
Just then, the door opened and in walked his younger brother, Amadeo Roselli, in a dark cobalt shirt, slacks, and dinner jacket. Like his elder brother, he had a colossal height and packed muscles, though less rugged. Yet there were certain beautiful dissimilarities. His hair was a darker version of brown than Raffaele’s, and his demeanor was slightly carefree.
“Gentlemen.” He looked around and then exchanged a nod with his brother before taking his rightful place beside him.
“I am not in the habit of repeating myself and wasting my time in the process,” Raffaele began. “So this is the final warning for you all. The percentage I have fixed will remain the same if you want to continue business with me and in Las Vegas.”
“Your father insisted we--”
He cut Mr. Sawyer off. “You are not dealing with my father now. You are dealing with me now. So I am the one who will set the terms from now on.”
The men in the room exchanged look, one that was clearly of disapproval but wouldn’t dare to cross the family that was responsible for their wealth and power in the Sin City.
“We understand, Mr. Roselli,” one of the men began. “But the percentage you suggested takes a lot away from our profit. The business will suffer.”
Raffaele tried hard not to smirk at that. These lecherous, so-called businessmen were making at least five times the profit under his rule than they were under his father. And the fact that there were still complaining went on to sour his mood further for the evening.
“That’s quite a shame, Mason,” Amadeo spoke out, sitting straighter on his chair and exchanged a look with his brother. “I have this elaborate excel sheet on you all and your beloved casinos, clubs, and shell corporations that suggest otherwise.” He motioned a guard to bring forth his Ipad and projected the figures on the screen.
He knew they would blanch; perhaps, he simply said nothing just for the sake of enjoying it. The Roselli brothers had learned to keep their friends close and their enemies closer a long time ago and never deviated from being one step ahead of the game. In fact, they wanted all the leverage they could get.
“Maybe we can settle for a middle ground, Mr. Roselli?” The man named Mason suggested demurely.
Raffaele absently circled the rim of the whiskey glass with his forefinger. An unknown face sailed into his mind as the grey of his eyes began to form an image. It was blurry at first, and then he saw it – saw the ethereal countenance, and yet he couldn’t put a finger to it. The unknown was so tantalizing that he felt himself being pulled into the depth of it.
“Rafe? Are you okay?” Amadeo’s nudge snapped his daydream and brought him right down to business.
Clearing his throat, he dunked the entire content of the glass and allowed the burn to consume his senses. “Let this be known and known well. My word is the fucking law here. Now, you can agree with the tariff and pay up or wrap up your business from Vegas and leave.” He looked them over, each one of them as silent acquiescence prevailed in the room.
“I believe the meeting is over, gentlemen. Bart will show you all out,” Amadeo said and motioned a suited man who promptly walked to the door.
The bunch of unhappy, pot-bellied men mutely grimaced and strolled out.
“Cesar,” Raffaele waved a hand at his bodyguard as the man came forward. “I want the CCTV footage of the entrance for the past two hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the man left, leaving behind none but the Roselli brothers, Rafe turned to Amadeo. “How many times do I have to explain that your presence in these meetings is as crucial as mine?”
He shrugged. “I am here, aren’t I?”
Rafe pursed his lips and shook his head. Only two years apart, and yet the brothers had different methods of operating and one that didn’t with either of them.
“Sir, the footage.” Cesar placed the tablet before as he skimmed the recording.
“Do we have a breach?” Amadeo inquired, leaning over the screen.
What he saw was completely normal. Frenzy crowd went into the club once they were cleared by the burly bouncers at the door. The video fast-forwarded a little before Rafe suddenly hit the pause button and zoomed in the screen over the image of a girl. Young, early twenties, and it seemed pretty s to Amadeo.
“What I am looking at, brother?” he asked, trying to have a look at the ID she had produced earlier.
“Can you make out anything of the ID?” Rafe asked.
“Not exactly,” Amadeo muttered. “Only a few details and a part of her social security number.”
“What about facial recognition?”
“That I can do, along with a few details from here and there.” Amadeo looked up and nodded at Cesar, who promptly left the room, closing the door behind him. “Who is she?” he asked his brother point-blank now.
“That’s what I want to know,” he replied pensively.
“No, I mean, what makes you look into her? Anything suspicious?”
Rafe pulled the tablet closer and stared hard. The memory of grasping her wrist, the touch of her velvet skin against his roughened feel crossed his mind. “She doesn’t even look twenty-one,” he mumbled, more to himself.
Beside him, Amadeo broke into a burst of full laughter. “Are you kidding me, Rafe? You want me to look into a girl who probably faked her age to get into a club in Vegas?”
“Can you do it or not?” he sneered.
“If that’s what you want.” He grinned as he took the device from his brother’s hands, snapped the cover close, and stood up. “I will get back to you by tomorrow.”
When Raffaele was finally alone, a fleeting image of the girl seeped into his mind like a drug through the veins. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t shake the odd feeling off.
He shouldn’t have let her go at all.