Rouge: Act 2 – Scene 11

Kian

“No phones,” a deep voice emerges out of the loud commotion on the casino floor, and I lift my head away from my screen. The tall, black-haired bouncer’s pale face blooms red, the color made even worse in the flashing lights of a nearby slot machine. “Shit, Mr. McKennon, I’m sorry. It’s dark—”

“Don’t let it happen again,” I order before sliding my mobile in my pocket and exchanging it for my chip.

The rules in my family’s casino obviously don’t apply to me, but watching my wee wife on my security app is officially my new favorite obsession. Which means I need to put the distraction away and get my head in the game.

I don’t recognize the high roller room’s bouncer, but the fear in his eyes is familiar. The Garde has come a long way from its Mafia roots, but we’re still not above the old ways. My own methods can scare the life out of even the most seasoned criminals.

“You’re new.” It’s not a question, I already know the answer. “What’s your name?”

“L-Lorenzo, sir. I’m sorry, Mr. McKennon. I didn’t recognize you with your head down.”

Scanning the casino, it doesn’t take me long to find the issue.

A woman dances on the closest game table, but she’s looking studiously away from us. The bouncer, however, glances guiltily at the woman before returning back to me.

I sidle up close to him, flipping my silver chip casually as I take up the space between us. My lips lift in a wry grin.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” I tip my head toward the woman with her tits pushed up to her chin by a sparkly black bra and slip my chip back into a pocket in my suit jacket.

The bouncer relaxes a fraction and watches her like an eejit with a dopey smile on his face.

“Yeah, boss, she’s a smokeshow—”

He grunts as the barrel of my gun pokes into his ribs. At the angle I’ve positioned myself, no one can see my weapon in the dark hallway. I clap my hand on his shoulder as his wide eyes snap to mine.

“Now imagine this is a knife. Imagine me running this blade between your ribs and into those precious lungs. I could carry you to one of the porter’s cleaning rooms without anyone knowing you’re drowning in your own blood until it’s too late. Is staring at that pussy worth your life?”

“N-no.”

“Smart man, because it’s not worth mine either. You’re here to keep McKennons—and anyone loyal to the name—safe.”

I pull back and squeeze his shoulder hard enough to make him wince as I holster my weapon. A bead of sweat snakes its way down his temple and drips onto his suit jacket.

“McKennons aren’t ones to give second chances, but you’re new, so I’ll let this be your warning. This is Vegas, Lorenzo. If you let something as common as pussy get in the way of your job, you’ll be bobbing to the surface of Lake Mead next time there’s a drought. Got it?”

He gives me an enthusiastic nod and I squeeze his shoulder once more for good measure, making him wince at my grip.

“Good luck with that wandering eye, soldier.”

I step past him into the high roller room, where the atmosphere is instantly quieter and less smoky. The table games are more subdued since the stakes are higher and the players are more experienced than the average tourist. I stroll to the red curtain in the back of the room.

Merek meets me there with a scowl so fierce that it furrows from his brow all the way over his shiny brown scalp. His lips frown within his short, salt-and-pepper goatee and his huge arms are crossed, nearly bursting his all-black suit.

“You see that?” I know he did. Merek’s going to light poor Lorenzo’s arse up.

“Wish I hadn’t.”

“You’ve got to watch your men, mate. I don’t want to have to sink my own soldiers.”

“Oh, it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of that myself.” Before he pulls back the curtain, he nods toward the room and I bend slightly to hear his low whisper. “Got five of them in there with your father. Muñoz, Milton, Thomson, and that Italian, Luciano, with his capo from New York.”

Aside from my father, I trust three of those men with my life. Another is loyal to McKennon wealth and power, and the last shouldn’t even be in the bloody room, but his boss will keep him in line.

“The usual suspects then. Do they know?”

He nods. “No one’s said anything yet, though. I think they’re waiting for you to arrive to talk about the implications. Fair warning, the Luciano’s second already had a couple drinks in him before he got here. I suspect he’ll get rowdy.”

“Perfect. I have some pent-up aggression I’ve been dying to get out.”

Merek snorts. “Getting married is supposed to, uh, relieve that tension. It did for me, at least.”

“Yeah, well, your wife likes you, mate. We can’t all start off on the right foot.”

“Try not kidnapping her next time. I hear that helps.”

“Fecking arsehole,” I mutter under my breath as Merek laughs quietly at my expense and pulls back the curtain enough for me to enter.

The Red Room is small, with only four tables for baccarat, blackjack, roulette, and poker. Cigar smoke fills the room, stinging my eyes despite the fact that I should be used to it by now. Only the poker table at the far right has any players, and their chatter is punctuated by the sounds of poker chips clacking together on the card table.

“My son! Saved you a seat, lad,” Dad calls out with a long, Royal Courtesan cigar between his lips. Its gold wrapping and diamond-studded band glint in the light from the Tiffany stained glass overhead.

I pass the roulette table to sit in the empty seat beside my father and the Muñoz, already set up with seltzer and poker chips. There are six high-ball glasses at varying degrees of emptiness around the table, and the Muñoz’s glass sweats into its teak McKennon Hotel and Casino coaster.

Focus.

After counting the chips in front of me, I slip my hand into my pocket and rub my thumb over the design on the chip I keep there. I sip the cool, sparkling water my father ordered for me and let it fizz in my mouth before swallowing. Taking a deep breath of the cigars’ sweetness tingeing the air, I allow it to fill my nostrils, ridding the mouthwatering scent of my father’s whiskey two feet away.

We both learned quickly what helps center me. Analyzing my surroundings, identifying the tiny tells everyone lets slip through, and remembering the people that matter to me most have been my three best techniques to stave off any cravings. Ignoring temptation is a lot easier than it was a year ago, before my mission with Lacey gave me purpose. I use those methods now, adding in the delicious vision of Lacey adorably pissed as feck at me upstairs. After my pulse relaxes again, I finally sit back to assess the other players and home in on the task at hand: a meeting of the families loyal to our name.

Merek informed me well about the attendees. There are no surprises so far other than the fact that each one smokes the same million-dollar cigar my father has.

“You broke out the Gurkhas, I see.”

“Celebrations like this are perfect for them, don’t you think? Here—” My father’s worried glance is brief. No one else at the table would’ve seen it, and it disappears as he extracts a long cigar from the case at his right. He hands it to me along with a McKennon Hotel and Casino matchbook. “I already cut this one for you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I let go of the chip in my pocket and strike a match to toast the foot of the cigar. After letting it rest a moment, I place the cap in my mouth and draw in the smoky, rich chestnut, vanilla, and caramel flavors. The taste swirls over my tongue and I enjoy it before letting it escape slowly between my lips.

“Goddamn, that’s good.”

I don’t allow myself many vices anymore, but bloody hell, a good cigar over a poker game is worth every breath.

Benecio Muñoz raises his to me and smiles kindly. “I hear congratulations are in order for our wild ace.”

“Definitely fit the nickname with this latest stunt.” Vinnie Flores, the Luciano’s second, smirks with the kind of confidence only a man wearing a bad comb-over and a tracksuit can have. “It’s been a while since you’ve graced us with your presence.”

Everyone else is dressed to the nines in their suits and obviously still has their wits about them. But the pungent scent of booze wafts toward me with Vinnie’s slurred words.

I can’t stand the guy, but his drunken state not only helps me abstain, it’ll also make it easier to beat him in this game. He’s always had a chip on his shoulder with me for some reason, but he’s loyal to the Luciano name and they are loyal to ours, so I’ll bite my tongue about it until I have to address it accordingly. Merek warned me that he’s been behaving in bad form, so we’ll see if tonight’s the night.

“Marrying the Red Camellia. Bold move,” the Milton points out as he leans forward around his heavy belly and tosses his chips into the pile to raise the bet. “One that was… authorized, I presume?”

“My choice was within the bounds of the order given by my father,” I say without argument behind it. I knew my decision would be questioned as soon as I made it, but I don’t fecking answer to them. “Once I’m given the card, it’s mine to play as I please.”

“What were the other ‘choices’?” the Luciano asks. His family is part of an outfit in the Northeast. Historically, their ties still intersect with the Mafia, so they’re ones to be wary of. But the Luciano has pledged his allegiance to our side, so we let him in. At least for now.

“I think it was defilement or overdose,” the Thomson offers casually. The deep wrinkles in his dark-brown skin are mostly smile lines, but they’re in a distinct frown right now. His loyalty is nearly as unquestionable as the Muñoz’s and the Milton’s, but his friendship with the Luciano is solid, which is probably why he fielded the stupid question before I had to.

We all knew the answer. I was supposed to either kill Lacey or “ruin” the Red Camellia by sending Monroe a video of a masked stranger deflowering his virgin bride. Monroe would’ve dropped her like a bad habit and it would’ve destroyed Lacey’s “purity” for all other Garde marriages. The lack of suitors would, in effect, extinguish her family’s line like they had tried to do to mine.

Vinnie snickers. “Guess Kian wanted to make a wedding video rather than a sex tape.”

Ignoring the gobshite, I nod to the only woman in the room, waiting patiently with a deck of cards in her hand. “Deal me in.”

She nods once and whips cards out to each of us in quick succession. As the new game starts I answer the question they’re all dying to know.

“Killing the Red Camellia would extinguish her line, returning Garde money back to the pot. But grief is not nearly as satisfying as humiliation, and Charlie O’Shea deserves the latter.”

“You didn’t humiliate him, though. You married his daughter,” the Luciano points out as he pushes his neat stack farther into the table with a steady hand.

“A third option we didn’t foresee. I’ll check this round,” my father replies, holding his cards casually. It’s his biggest tell. His grip always shakes when he’s got a good hand, so he exaggerates a relaxed posture to lessen the tremor. “My son has proven himself to be disciplined and of sound judgment. If he chose to play the game this way, I trust him.”

“So all that dancin’ around like a whore last night was sound judgment?” Vinnie chortles, but the room turns chilly and his poised boss stiffens. “Did your boxing days back in Dublin help with your twinkle toes? You’ll have to prove you can still throw a punch like a man before someone lets you back in the ring.”

“Mind yourself,” I warn calmly and puff my cigar. “I’d hate to have to call your bluff, Vinnie.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him scowl and shift in his seat. His frown lifts up in the corner, though, and in my periphery, I catch him fidgeting under the table.

I don’t care that the bastard is testing me right now. Of course there’s pushback after being absent for so long. Figuring out how to get the Keeper’s overprotected daughter alone was my main assignment, effectively putting me out of commission for most other jobs the past year. Coming back into the fold might take cracking a few skulls to remind everyone who the feck I am. If Vinnie wants to be the first casualty, so be it.

Jobs aside, it’s also been a while since I’ve attended a game with so many Garde families as players. It’s rare we’re ever all in the same place. Garde tradition is that we only get together for charity benefits—which are sacred moments of good PR for the families—and highly secured meetings, such as this one, thanks to Merek and his team. If we gathered too often, it would be easy for our enemies to take us all out in one hit.

It’s why my father insisted I spend most of my life in Ireland and why the heirs to the two richest and most powerful names, the O’Sheas and McKennons, were never allowed in the same room. Our union was supposed to be a monumental effort to reunite the two dueling factions in the Garde. I thought the O’Shea was too greedy to let the deal go through, but Lacey’s reaction has me wondering now.

I glance around the table, reevaluating our alliances and taking in their wee tells. Is there more at play here?

“As crass as my second may be…” The Luciano’s annoyed eyes dart to Vinnie. At least the boss has good sense even if his capo doesn’t. “You can’t sidestep the question. Why did you marry her when that wasn’t the plan?”

After drawing in more smoke from my cigar, I blow it out slowly through my lips, taking all the time I want before repeating myself for this motherfucker.

“I was within the bounds of my orders, I owe you no other explanation.”

“That may be true. But if my family name is to back yours in any future Garde… repositioning, we need to know we’re not dealing with a, well, with a wild card.”

The players around the table shift in their seats as he continues, but my father and I keep playing the game, as if he’s not challenging us in our own fecking casino.

“A lot has changed in the past few months while you were in deep with your assignment,” he continues. “In New Orleans, the Bordeaux’s twin extinguished the Chatelain line and killed Monroe’s cousin, Jacques. The Baron will likely want payback at some point.”

“The loss of the Chatelain wasn’t a huge shake-up.” Dad’s face remains relaxed, but he stretches in his seat. The move makes him look bigger, and at nearly my height, he’s already of formidable stature. “And the Baron’s cousin was a snake in the grass, playing all sides. The Bordeauxs aren’t Garde, but they have no intention of growing their territory into one of ours. If the Baron decides to retaliate, it’ll be on his own dime.”

The Luciano grunts and my father narrows his eyes at him. “Although, this might be of concern to you… the Bordeaux did warn me that the Chatelain had business with a syndicate up Northeast. With him and the Baron being interested in your neck of the woods, I’d caution you to be worried about your own territory rather than Louisiana.”

“I know nothing of the dead Chatelain’s dealings.” The Luciano shrugs, his face blank. On anyone else, it’d look innocent or clueless, but the Italian is an emotional player. Being emotionless is his tell.

“Better find out then, lad, before it encroaches on yours,” my father mutters, knowing as well as I do that the Italian is lying.

I have half a mind to throw both Lucianos out right now, but even enemies can be allies under the right circumstances. We just have to keep them right for the Luciano in case he tries to fold.

I study the queen of diamonds card in my hand, crisply new compared to the identical one I’ve carried in my pocket the past year. Pretending like I’m only interested in its artwork, I listen and watch my opponents over its corners. Our casino only uses the deck I designed, and for this queen card, the upright one at the top holds a red flower while the upside-down queen grips a sword. And out of the corner of my eye, Vinnie makes the same move under the table. I silently add this second infraction to my list of grievances against him before I speak again.

“To answer your question as to whether I’m a wild card.” I clear my throat. “My reputation obviously precedes me, but I’m no loose cannon. Quite the opposite, I’m actually enforcing the Keeper’s own edict.”

“How so?” the Thomson asks. His wiry gray brows meet at the center as he casually places his bet.

“A Garde contract is law, and while the O’Shea believed he could break the initial marriage arrangement between our families, it’s never been done before without reason, and he gave none. The Red Camellia was promised to me. We were meant to unite the Garde and end the divisiveness within. Monroe thinks he has clout, but his family is new Garde. He’s only received half his inheritance because he doesn’t have an heir yet, and he wants to be Keeper. He needs Lacey for both—”

“Isn’t that why you wanted her?” Vinnie chuckles. “Squirt a McKennon kid in her so you can get those McKennon big bucks?”

I puff my million-dollar cigar, truly savoring the Royal Courtesan’s flavor for the last time. Once I’ve had my fill, I lean around the Muñoz to blow a gray cloud at the man digging his own grave. As Vinnie swats away the smoke, I extinguish the rest of my gold cigar in the drunk Italian fecker’s whiskey. It hisses as it hits the liquid and I leave it there, smiling at him as I settle back into my seat.

“I don’t need O’Shea money, or my family’s, for that matter. I was promised Lacey. The O’Shea stole her from me and tried to give her to another, but I stole her back. I don’t like when people try to take what’s mine, Vinnie. You’d do well to remember that in my own family’s casino.”

My eyes flick to his cards, letting him know I’ve seen him cheating—poorly—throughout the game.

Vinnie’s face is fecking priceless. His normally ruddy pallor has whitened to a sickly pale and even though his eyes burn with hatred, his cigar wobbles in his teeth with fear.

The Luciano’s olive cheeks have deepened to a rich, humiliated plum color and his dark eyes bore into his second.

Good. He should feel embarrassed that his own man is stealing in my establishment.

“It’s nice to know there’s honor among thieves, Luciano.”

“Lucianos are no thieves,” he counters.

Vinnie squirms beside him. Sweat prickles the eejit’s forehead as if he’s both angry and working hard to come up with a comeback at the same time.

“Aren’t we all thieves?” my father jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s all the Garde is. A society of thieves with good PR.”

“You even stole your own wife, Finneas. Like father, like son. It’s funny how history repeats itself,” the Muñoz chuckles along with the others while Luciano seems to relax. But I turn toward my father.

“What’s the Muñoz going on about?”

“You didn’t know?” the Milton asks and huffs a chuckle around his cigar. “It’s why the O’Sheas hate your family in the first place. Your mother was promised to Charlie, but your father stole her away the night before her wedding. The only difference between you and your father is you likely saved your wife’s life. The Baron’s a monster with his women.”

The truth in his last statement makes my blood boil, but I still can’t get over the first half. “Dad, they’re winding me up about you and Mam, right?”

My father’s fair cheeks rosy up at the story. “It is the way they say. But your mother and I were in love first, and Charlie knew it. He wanted her for her family’s power. I wanted her for her heart. Charlie may hate me for it, but I don’t regret a single thing.”

I said the same phrase to Lacey just this morning, and hearing my words from my father’s mouth hits me in the chest. I knew my parents were in love, but I had no idea they nearly destroyed everything for each other.

The Luciano scoffs. “Love? What a ridiculous concept. You know what I think? Never fall in love with a woman, let alone a Garde woman. They only want to manipulate you for their own gain. Jesus, McKennon, you’re a good man, but you’re a romantic fool.”

“Aye, perhaps. But us fools are the richest. Love makes a man strong. Greed makes him weak.”

“No. Power and status make a man strong. Love makes him weak,” the Luciano counters.

“Spoken like a man who’s never felt it.” My father gives him a pointed look and the Luciano glares a hole in his own cards.

“Maybe he’s better off a cynic if falling in love makes him spout off sonnets like you, old friend.” The Thomson’s laugh lifts his wrinkles around his wide smile. “Your father’s a real poet, Kian.”

“Nah, if anything, I’m a philosopher. The poet was his mam. It just rubbed off on me.”

“Either way, the world would be better if we could all lust for the women we marry instead of the women we fuck,” the Milton chortles.

The room breaks out into laughter and my father raises his glass.

“May Kian be so lucky as to have found both in the same woman.” The rest of us raise our glasses as he cheers, “Sláinte is táinte. To health and wealth, lads.”

We all cheers and sip our drinks before returning to the game, but not before I catch that bastard Vinnie boldly making the same mistake he’s made all night.

Son of a bitch.

“Now that the congratulations are out of the way,” my father coughs and sits up. Feck. He’s either got a bad hand, or he’s about to piss me off. “I know it usually goes without saying, but keep this to ourselves for now. Other than a few loyal employees, you’re the only ones who know this information. It won’t be hard to figure out which one of you runs his mouth.”

“Dad? Keep my marriage… quiet? Why the bloody feck would I do that?”

My father makes a big show of sorting his hand, uncomfortable with me questioning him in front of the group. But I don’t care. This is shite.

“The original plan was to ruin the O’Sheas,” he explains. “But we didn’t care about the why of it all then, just revenge. Now you’ve aligned us with them and it’s fallen on us to fix things. Thinking about this from all angles, it’s as you said, laddie, the Baron is new Garde. Why would the O’Sheas break our contract to betroth Lacey to him? Even if Charlie hates the McKennons for what I did to him decades ago, he’s always looked out for the society. So why would he do something in direct opposition to what’s best for everyone?”

“Because Charlie O’Shea would rather get shivved than let a McKennon be Keeper of the Garde?” The Muñoz jokes.

“Oh, the O’Shea is smarter than that,” my father rumbles and shakes his head.

“I heard there was a murder at Rouge last night,” the Thomson points out. “The girl had Lacey’s fair skin, same hair color, costume, and everything.”

Grimaces mar each face and curses float around the table. The Muñoz shakes his head.

“That has the Baron’s stench all over it, Kian.”

“Might be worth asking one of our friends on the force,” my father proposes.

“Might be,” I answer as air huffs out of my nose in frustration.

I had a feeling there was more to the Rouge murder. It’s why I locked Lacey up in my suite to come to this meeting in the first place, to scope things out and keep her safe. But having the information said out loud by another Garde member and seconded by my dad confirms my fear that Monroe is playing dirty.

“Wasn’t Monroe one of the financial managers in the O’Shea’s businesses? Maybe he’s got something to do with the O’Shea’s arrest? Or trial, even?” the Luciano poses.

Alarm bells clang in my head, but I keep my face blank, not showing my hand. I don’t want them coming to any conclusions that could be detrimental to Lacey. I need to find out what Monroe’s got on the O’Shea myself.

I remain silent for a moment, organizing my own cards by value as I think everything over until I get the ace where I want it.

Keeping my marriage a secret is the last thing I want to do. I’d have that video of our midnight wedding playing on one of the many flashing billboards on the Strip if I could. But I can’t shake the memory of Lacey’s terrified sky-blue eyes when I threatened to send it to Monroe.

I nod to the dealer as I push my chips across the table. “I’m all in.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father’s bushy brows rise. The slight movement makes me realize he’s been watching me the whole time. By the way he regards me, I can tell he knows I’m already formulating a plan, but I don’t want the rest of the room to hear it just yet.

“You’re right, Dad. I’ll figure out whatever Monroe and the O’Shea are up to. In the meantime, we need loyalty and silence. This society runs on secrets, I’m hoping I can count on you to keep mine as I’ve kept yours.”

The families nod, but Vinnie’s dark-brown eyes light up like he’s finally figured out that comeback his two eejit brain cells came up with.

“The great wild ace doesn’t want to show off? Nah, I don’t buy it. What is it really, Kian?” His eyes suddenly widen in mock horror, putting on a show for everyone else as he asks, “Oh, shit. Maybe the virgin pussy wasn’t all that good?”

I calmly leave my seat and hover near the roulette table until I find what I need. When I do, it’s perfect timing with Vinnie shouting dramatically, focused on his audience.

“Wait? Was she not a virgin? Let’s take bets, fellas. I’ve got a hundo on the Red Camellia being a whore—”

Crack.

His taunt is punctuated by his own bloodcurdling scream.