“And you’re the cute and cuddly mob?” Ryker asked sarcastically.
“I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Faulkner,” Nico said with an amused smile. “However, I want to handle this as a business opportunity. The time of breaking kneecaps is long over. If you turn down my offer of a partnership, I can guarantee someone else will take it,” Nico told him.
“I believe that,” Ryker told him, relaxing a little. “What exactly are your plans, Mr. Saccone? I know you may not want to answer, but there is a reason I’m asking.”
Nico looked him over as if trying to gauge his intent. Then he finally answered. “I need a partner to make sure certain shipments are top priorities when they arrive and are expedited to their destinations without having to go through customs and or any type of inspection. I want you to be that partner.”
Ryker leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “I appreciate your doing this the right way, Mr. Saccone, so I won’t jerk you around. Faulkner Shipping has always been—and will always be run—solely by me. The reason I am successful is because I’m willing to stand up to men like you. I’ve expanded my business dealings so much that when Di Maio types come trying to intimidate me, I have the ability to take them down without even blinking. I have the power to do that to you and your family, too. However, because you came to me and asked respectfully, I won’t.” Ryker watched Nico react, or rather not react. So far only Mary Alice had elicited a response from him. It was admirable. “How do you intend to run your business here?” Ryker asked, stopping Nico from standing up.
“What do you mean?” Nico asked as he sat back into his chair once again.
“I’ve heard the threats the Di Maios are making. I’ve seen some of the pain they’ve already caused. Do you intend to fight your way into power and kill anyone who opposes you?”
Nico smiled then and gave a little laugh. “This isn’t the sixties or even the eighties, Mr. Faulkner. I don’t have people killed for not wanting to work with me. I’m a businessman. I make deals.”
“Lawyers, the new mafia?” Ryker said sarcastically.
“God no. Lawyers are more ruthless,” Nico said dryly. Ryker’s lip twitched in amusement.
“I like you, Nico. I don’t like Di Maio. Let’s make our own little deal,” Ryker said, leaning back in his chair.
“What do you have in mind?” Nico asked with interest.
“You leave me and my shipping company out of all your activities and we’ll peacefully co-exist. Not only that, but I know a company that’s failing that would leap at your offer. If I have to dance with the devil, I might as well choose my devil.” Ryker saw the smile on Nico’s face and knew he had a deal.
“Deal.” Nico stood and held out his hand.
“Glenn Vincent is the man you want to contact,” Ryker told him. “But if I hear of any violence, or trafficking of humans, drugs, or weapons, I’ll destroy your entire empire.”
“That’s fair,” Nico told him before dropping a card on Ryker’s desk. “If you ever have any issues, please contact me directly.”
Ryker waited until Nico left before reaching out and pocketing the card. He hated this side of business, but knew it was inevitable the mob would come knocking.
“He was better than that Di Maio character,” Mary Alice said from the doorway.
“That he was. Let’s hope we don’t get dragged into this turf war.”
After he finished his meetings for the day, Ryker grabbed a late dinner at Port, his favorite downtown Charleston restaurant. The five-star restaurant was a short walk from his offices and had a three-month waitlist for reservations. However, since he was a silent investor in the restaurant, there was always a table waiting for him.
“Mr. Faulkner,” the waiter said respectfully as he handed him the menu and told him the special.
Tonight was just like any other night. He ate alone and worked twenty-hour days. He would work during dinner, sending emails, texts, checking shipping logs, and such until he was done. Then he’d head over to his port office and work until exhaustion set in.
Memories of that night in high school kept him from sleeping many nights—the sound of the scream, the way people looked at him. So he worked. Ryker Faulkner had gone from happy high school jock and prankster to a broken and tormented man in the span of just a few minutes.
Only work kept the memories at bay. So he’d worked, and worked hard. He’d graduated with two majors and two minors. He’d started his shipping company and built it into the largest one south of New York City. Then he’d expanded. He invested in Charleston first. This restaurant, the hospital, the parks, and then he got aggressive about expanding his sphere of influence after meeting Drake Charles out of Atlanta. Next, he invested in the tech sector, then the sciences, then small startups that happened to hit it big with inventions that were becoming everyday items. Movies, medicine, and more followed. He had his hand in it all. In some he merely had a hand, others he owned outright. In a couple of days, he was going to do his first joint ownership of a tech company. It was a new venture for him, but he was confident it would yield the results he sought.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Ryker?” the waiter asked as he cleared the empty plates.
“I’ll take my regular to go,” Ryker told him as he tossed a couple of hundreds on the table. He ate for free as a part owner, but he always tipped the waitstaff since they were losing out on a table for the night.
The waiter returned shortly with a to-go bag filled with a tuxedo chocolate brownie topped with hot fudge and white chocolate ice cream. It was the best part of Ryker’s day. His dessert.
Day after day, night after night, it was the same. Work in his downtown office, dinner at Port, and then work the rest of the night at the shipping port office. Day after day, night after night. Anything to keep the nightmares at bay.
Six months had passed since Ryker’s meeting with Nico, and Ryker’s nonstop routine still hadn’t changed. Two days ago, his youngest cousin, Tinsley, had been married. Yet here he was driving to his North Charleston port at ten at night. He’d already had a hell of a week. His former assistant, Bianca, had been begging for her job back. He’d fired her a couple of months ago when she’d gotten too possessive of him and had called his cousin Tinsley a whore, not realizing they were related. Since then, she’d been coming around more and more. At first, she’d tried to beg to get her job back. Then she’d threatened. Either way, she kept turning up, like the proverbial bad penny. No matter how many times he told security she wasn’t welcome, she weaseled her way into his office.
Tonight, though, he was over it. He had a meeting to prepare for. He greeted security and made his way up to his office that overlooked the entire port. Before he knew it, it was after 4:30 in the morning.
Ryker rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long breath. He really should try to sleep. He was prepared for the meeting in New York City in a couple of days. The business was running smoothly. His investments were growing. He shouldn’t feel restless, but he did. He needed to do more. He needed to make his mind stop going back to that night.
The sudden rumble of an explosion followed by the blare of fire alarms had Ryker shoving away from his desk and rushing to the window.