Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

“What’s my guarantee that you won’t go to the FBI after this?” he demands. “You’re asking for a lot of trust without much to back it up.”

“I’m backing it up with a hell of a lot of money,” I tell him. “And as for why I won’t be going to the FBI unless you force me to? I’m about to transfer fourteen million dollars into your account. I don’t really want to have to explain to the FBI, or anyone else, why I did that. I’ll find my way clear of it eventually, but in the meantime, it’s a clusterfuck I don’t need.”

My answer must satisfy him, because Valducci holds the bank account number out to me. He waits for me to take it, but I don’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, I leave him hanging as I look him squarely in the eye and say, “I’m going to spell it out one more time, just so we’re clear. You take this money and you wipe your hands of my brother. You don’t answer his phone calls, you don’t let him gamble in any of your places, you don’t take any money from him, you don’t ask any favors of him. Use the money to buy yourself another congressman or three. Use it to make up for the money you’re going to lose when the Atlantis stops throwing you kickbacks. I don’t actually give a fuck what you do with it. But Brandon is dead to you forever. Understand?”

His eyes cut to Sebastian when I mention the Atlantis, but all he says is, “Oh, I understand. But what happens if he doesn’t get the hint?”

“He’ll get the hint. I’ll make sure of that. You just hold up your end of the bargain and everything will work out just fine.”

I finally take the number and enter it into the box on my phone. I hit send and seconds later, Valducci looks at his son, who has his own phone out—I assume to check the success of the transfer. He nods to his father, then leaves the room. Beside me, Sebastian tenses and it’s my turn to shift in case I have to intercept him. This part of the plan is almost done. The last thing I need is for his emotions to fuck it up at the last minute.

“If this is some kind of trick—” Valducci starts.

“There’s no trick. I’m not here to cheat you.”

“No. You’re just here to get your little brother out of my big, bad clutches.”

“You’ve got that backward.”

Confusion flits across his face, but the look I shoot him makes it clear that our part of the conversation is over. I have nothing else to say to this bastard and frankly, just being in the same room with him makes my skin crawl.

Sebastian takes the extended silence as a cue to step in with his own agenda—namely getting the Atlantis out from under the mob’s thumb. His father’s been in bed with them for years, kicking back a small percentage of the casino’s profits from the minute the place opened its doors. But Sebastian doesn’t do business like that and even if he did, there’s no way Valducci or his son would get a penny of his money. Not after what happened to Aria.

I stay seated, lending Sebastian my support and influence through his negotiations, the same way he lent me his through mine. Silently, but with a whole fuckload of intent. It doesn’t take long—after all, Sebastian has years of evidence piled up against Valducci. He could go to the FBI today and hang the man out to dry—and since he just took over the casino and had no prior knowledge of the kickbacks, he’ll come out of it just fine. His aging, decrepit father might be indicted, but the man has had multiple strokes and doesn’t have long to live as it is. There’s no long-term advantage in prosecuting him, either. Frankly, there couldn’t be a better time to make the move to get out from under Valducci and everyone in the room knows it.

Of course, threats only get us so far—and we both understand that. Especially when this is only the first step in our plan; the endgame is a number of steps down the road, for both of us.

When we’re back in the car, Sebastian says, “You know I’m not letting this go, right? The first step is to get the Atlantis out from Valducci’s grip, but after what he did to Dylan and Aria, I’m not walking away until he’s shut down completely.”

“We talked about that.”

“The money you wired him…when the FBI comes in—”

“It’s from an untraceable bank account in the Caymans. They won’t link it to me.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You have an untraceable bank account in the Caymans?”

“When I first started making serious money, one of my advisors suggested I start one. Just in case I ever needed it someday—with post-tax money, of course. Nothing that needed to be hidden. So I did.”

“And have you used it?” He looks more curious than worried now.

“Today was the first time I ever needed to. And hopefully the last.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“Very nice.” I look out at the streets as we head back to the Atlantis. The Strip is lit up even though it’s barely noon, and everything looks bright and beautiful and perfect. At least until you look a little closer. Then the seedy underbelly is visible, no matter how hard the huge hotels try to hide it. The sex pamphlets littering the streets, the homeless people making their way through the throngs of tourists, nearly lost amid the money that runs like a river through this place.

I’ve always been okay with Vegas, never had Sebastian’s aversion to the place. But I’ve never had much to do with it outside of the glitz and glamour. Now that I have…now that I have, I don’t think the place will ever be the same to me again. I only spent an hour with Valducci—an hour where I had the upper hand—and still I feel like I need to take a shower. Like I need to scrub every inch of my body to clear away the stench that seems to have seeped through my pores.

When we make it back to the hotel, I bid a quick good-bye to Geoffrey and Sebastian. I’ve got plans to see my friend later, but right now I really want that shower. And Chloe. It’s only been a couple hours, but I feel like it’s been way too long since I held my wife.

Except when I get to the suite, it’s empty. Figuring that she’s hanging with Tori somewhere—probably at the shops downstairs—I call her phone. It goes straight to voicemail.

It’s not the first time that’s happened—Chloe is not as good at charging her phone as she should be—so I call Tori as well. Same thing. Straight to voicemail. I don’t know Tori’s phone habits one way or another, but it’s weird enough to raise my antennae.

I cross the living room into the bedroom. Once there, it only takes a few seconds for it to register that Chloe’s gone. Not down at the shops or out at lunch gone. But packed her bags and left gone.

I call the front desk and ask if Tori has checked out of her room. Before the clerk even answers in the affirmative, I’ve walked to the bathroom. Seen the empty counter where Chloe’s toiletries usually go. And I know.