The risks were high but in the end, I knew they would be worth it.
Most of my adult life had been lived on the wrong side of the law, answering to men who were more or less dishonorable. I'd murdered people considered the "scum of the earth," and a "stain on society," but that didn't mean I wouldn't hold on to the belief that I could be redeemed.
I knew I shared a burden of the blame. My life had become a clusterfuck because of my own choices. True, the lifestyle had been sold to me in a very attractive and attention grabbing way-the money, clothes, sex and not mention granting unimaginable power to someone like me, who before the age of eighteen had little to none. I'd fallen for it all-hook, line and sinker.
Many people, those like Max, pretended they didn't have a conscience or they were so depraved and tainted by their actions, they were beyond redemption. I had no quarrel with my own conscience and acknowledged I had one. I hadn't lost all my humanity and there was a part of me that sought to do something that would save life as opposed to continuing in the aid of its destruction.
It was a long night, stuck in that SUV with Max, but not long after we left the diner and continued on our way, I knew what my answer would be. I'd help him, not because I wanted to murder Angelo but because if there was the slimmest chance of a possibility that he could be saved, I would do so. The game I'd decided to play could cost me everything but even with the dangerous odds, I decided it was better than doing nothing at all.
Max drove in a quiet silence to The Heritage Hotel & Casino. It wasn't an Abandonato property and less than a year old. The backers of the twenty-floor, sleek building covered in gold-plated steel and glass were Russians. Everyone in the underworld knew the hotel belonged to not only a Russian corporation in general but specifically to Dimitri Koslakov. Head of not only a powerful Mafia family but also one of the original members of the Russian oligarchy who controlled the "New" Russia with an iron fist. The man-and the notorious army of soldiers he controlled-was known to have his hands and fingers in many pies including drugs and the distribution of illegal weapons. He also had a sizeable reputation in human trafficking, owned various strip clubs and companies in the adult film industry, which catered to both online and offline sales.
Dimitri had first started out with a solid relationship he'd built up with the Lucifer's Saints, one of the biggest and fiercest motorcycle clubs in the States. The Saints were the club to fear in this part of the country just like the Aces MC in Oregon continued to be a constant pain in my ass. Hell's Horsemen ruled Montana and large swathes of California. The Silver Demons controlled a good portion of New York, and the Hellions MC ruled parts of the south I'd managed to "visit" while on an assignment.
Fortunately, because I was freelance, I didn't only do hits for my own former "club"-if that's what I could call my previous affiliation with the White Knights-but I did jobs for other mostly outlaw and "gray" motorcycle clubs.
Some didn't mind I was a woman and others had an issue with it but passing through an MC's territory, it was a firm and hard rule you gave who ever was in charge the respect they deserved.
I knew Dimitri was no longer just doing business with the Saints; he'd branched out and become friendly with Angelo and Raymond Jackson-Northern Nevada's very own Original Gangster-because if he planned to do business in their territory, he'd better have a fucking A-Okay. Angelo could have ruined him alone with all the union contacts he had; and without the union , everyone knew a hotel couldn't be built, regardless what the Feds thought they'd done to dismantle mob control in the early eighties.
I stepped out of the vehicle, stretched, and followed Max inside only after donning a pair of blacker-than-black Ray-Bans. I preferred to keep a low profile and the last issue I needed was an informant or other unsavory "business associate" recognizing me. Not that I thought they would be here in this elegant hotel at this time of the day but one could never be too careful.
Max walked with the careful and leisurely ease of a man used to getting what he wanted. I should have been the least bit intrigued when he bypassed registration and we boarded an elevator that took us directly to the nineteenth floor in the hotel.
I leaned back against the elevator and closed my eyes. They felt gritty due to lack of rest and exhaustion in general. I didn't sleep very much in the most ideal situations and nothing about my life had been remotely typical since I'd left Las Vegas with Max.
"What are you thinking about?" he questioned in a voice dripping with the sound of tightly controlled male sexuality.
"Nothing. Everything. Your asinine offer I'm supposed to consider." I stood tall and gazed at him, my head slightly cocked. "Why didn't we go to the Registration Desk?"
"I have a suite here I use on a fairly normal basis. When I'm in Northern Nevada, this is my home base. A hotel is one of the safest places to be, especially when it comes to security," he explained before his blue-green eyes turned away from mine.
We didn't speak further until the elevator reached the top floor, he stepped out first and I followed behind him ever so reluctantly before we fell into a casual walk, side-by-side. If Max wanted me dead, I hardly believed he would have gone through all this trouble to try to recruit me in the first place.
Once we reached a large set of cream double doors with subtle gold accenting, he reached over and slid his card key through a small, magnetic strip. The light turned from red to green on the door and he opened it with a certain sense of grandiosity.
I walked inside, carrying only my bag with a few keepsakes and clothes along with my handbag. I dropped my larger duffel bag on the floor as I walked through the hallway. Marble floors were tastefully paired with Persian rugs. There was a lot of stainless steel, dark wood and glass. The whole place screamed bachelor pad, from the black leather sofas in the living room to the matching leather bar stools in front of the kitchen island.
I expected it to be a bit tawdry and tacky but the elegance was extremely understated and presented itself in other subtle ways most people who only came from money would appreciate. Being the former child of parents who were very well off, I could only smile at the sense of nostalgia it brought back to me.
"The hotel's interior designer was Mrs. Raymond Jackson herself. I think that explains the toned down look and feel to the place," Max explained as I walked around in awe.
"Yes, it screams German elegance. I wouldn't have pegged a Russian owning this place if it weren't for the tacky outside décor."
"That was, unfortunately, designed by yours truly."
I whipped around to face Max. "You're kidding, right?"
"I wish I was." He smiled easily and for a moment there, he almost fooled me into believing it was authentic. "I have a degree in architecture. I don't use it very often but Dimitri and I are quite . . . close. He insisted I design this hotel for him. I would have preferred not to but at the same time, he's like a father to me. I knew exactly what he'd envision his hotel to look like."
"How altruistic of you," I replied dryly, taking a seat on the leather love seat in the living room.
"It wasn't altruistic at all. The man paid me a shitload of money. Who was I to say no?"
It was hard not to look around at all this extravagance and not feel drawn into the lifestyle if I hadn't known the money to build it was awash with blood. The Koslakov family was legendary in the brutal and inhuman ways they dealt out punishment to thieves, traitors and enemies alike. Men like him and the Navarro family who controlled Aztecas Infierno-a cartel and motorcycle club combined-made men like Angelo Abandonato and Raymond Jackson appear to be men on the wrong side of the law from another time in history.
Unlike Abandonato and Jackson, the Koslakov Mafia and Aztecas Infierno Cartel had no code. They didn't believe in justice, honor or loyalty. There was just a perpetual bloodlust for the almighty dollar, euro, pound, yen, and any other currency that could pay for designer goods, favors and power.
I sighed out loud and realized with growing urgency I'd grown quite tired. I needed to get some rest if I expected to be any good for the rest of the day.
"Why don't you relax?" Max's voice echoed from the state-of-the-art kitchen. "Can I make you some chamomile tea?"
"Ugh! No thanks but I will have a cup of green tea if you have any," I replied.
"Yes, there's some green tea here. I keep several kinds. One cup of tea coming right up."
I closed my eyes and tried not to succumb to the drunken feeling of exhaustion as it wound its way under my skin but no matter how hard I tried, it remained. It sunk deeper, becoming a part of me as my limbs ached from being trapped in an SUV for more than seven hours. I was drifting downhill faster and faster toward oblivion and the land of dreams.