Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
15
Trent
“What are you doing?”Cyrus asks as he strolls into my office.
I’m surprised to see him here. Usually, he doesn’t grace me with his presence. Normally, in typical Cyrus fashion, he orders me to his compound in Connecticut.
But not today.
Nope, here he is, striding into my space like he owns the place.
As per usual, a scowl has settled on his face.
The man never smiles. He always looks like he’s plotting someone’s murder.
As long as it’s not mine, I’m cool.
“Making you money,” I reply, not looking up at him from my computer. In reality, there’s a game of online poker in front of me. I’m up several thousand.
“No, idiot.” He lounges on the luxe leather chair on the opposite side of my desk, legs kicked up beside my nameplate like he owns the joint. “I know you’re making money. A shit ton, by my calculations, and I’m thankful for that. What I mean is, what are you doing with that girl?” He snaps his fingers. “Paula.”
The way he says “that girl” rubs me the wrong way. She’s mine to play with.
Fuck.
I’m territorial.
I can’t even stand her.
But if you asked me at gunpoint, maybe I’d admit that her in a towel is now my new favorite memory. That’s neither here nor there. The truth is, I need to get over my weird obsession with her.
“It’s Payton,” I correct casually.
He snorts, picking up a metal Rubik’s cube off my desk. None of the fifty-four squares share the same shade. There is no way of winning. But knowing Cyrus, he’d find a way.
“Are you sure it’s not Phoebe?” he quips.
I shrug. “Might be Penelope.”
It’s a striking image to see Cyrus Reed here in all his glory. It’s striking that this building—my building—exists at all.
It’s been a long road coming.
My father left me with nothing but the clothes on my back and the desire to be successful. Yes, maybe I didn’t set out to be the owner of the most ruthless hedge fund in New York City, but I fully enjoy the position I hold.
“I don’t know why you keep this thing,” he says, tossing it in the air and catching it just before it slips past him.
If his desired effect is to have me on edge, it’s working. I’m not afraid of him. He’s my brother-in-law. He wouldn’t hurt me. But nothing about the man would make anyone relax. I don’t know how Ivy does it.
“It’s a reminder.”
I don’t elaborate.
He toys with the cube. It occurs to me that revenge is technically his right as well. Payton will be taking money that, in fact, should be his by proxy. He is married to my sister. Ivy’s third of the multimillion-dollar estate is half his, entitling him to a little under four mil.
To us, that kind of money is pocket change. Him more so than me.
Sure, I’m worth a lot.
But Cyrus is in a whole other league.
I’m no billionaire. Pretty damn close, but not there yet . . .
After my next investment, I could be, though.
Which reminds me . . . I have more pressing matters than spending my time thinking about the money Payton is soon to inherit.
I need to talk with Cyrus about an investment I want to make. Using funds he and a few other clients are part of.
“Of?” he asks, tossing the cube back into the bowl, bored with it.
“Of life.”
“The cube is unbeatable.” He lifts his brow.
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Didn’t take you for a loser, Aldridge.”
“I am the cube in this situation, Reed.” I mimic his flippant tone. “Life is the player.”
A satisfied grin spreads across his face. He looks like a wolf, only more deadly. “Or, in this case, Priscilla.”
His wanting to talk about Payton right now and asking these types of questions is grating on my nerves. We need to talk about work.
Not girls.
Sure. That’s the reason you’re annoyed.
It’s not because thinking of Payton right now is a bad idea. Nor the fact that I’m fighting a very strong desire to see her naked again. The memory of those perfect tits popping up in my head every few minutes isn’t doing me any favors.
Neither is the prospect of hate-fucking her all over the house.
The idea holds great promise.
I shouldn’t take it off the table just yet. Seduce her. Dump her. Leave her wanting. It’s more appealing than it should be.
However, with her spine, I doubt she would be game for that.
More like she will one hundred percent be against it. I’d have a better shot at convincing her that Santa Claus is real, and I play golf with him every Sunday.
Not happening.
I finish the online poker game, exiting out of the tab without enjoying the victory. “You’re not here to talk about her.”
“Maybe I am,” he says, shrugging. “Ever think about that? Ivy wants answers.”
“Then tell my sister to call me herself.”
“She’s been busy.” Lame excuse.
“I’m busy, too, yet I would find time for her if I had questions.”
“Give her a break. This is hard for her, too. Maybe harder.” The rough edge to his tone offers no leeway. It’s an argument I won’t be winning, nor do I want to.
I exhale. “You’re right.”
We are both quiet in thought for a minute before Cyrus speaks.
“I hear you moved that girl in. Petunia.”
“Petunia? Couldn’t come up with something better?”
“Your mother would like it.”
It comes off as a “yo mama” joke, but it’s not. He’s absolutely serious and so fucking right. Mom’s thing is gardening. So is Ivy’s, for that matter. Fitting, considering Mom named her after a flower and me, the Latin word for gushing waters.
Growing up, Mom would cement into us the fact that, like a flower and water, I need Ivy to see beauty in life, and Ivy needs me to grow. She failed to mention that we needed to depend on one another because our dad was destined to utterly and spectacularly fail us.
“My mother also thought it’d be a good thing to name Ivy after her favorite flower. Morning Glory. Could you imagine what that’d be like in school?” I shake my head, snorting. “Dad convinced her to go with Ivy, and that’s about his only useful contribution to our lives.”
“Saved you a bunch of fistfights while Ivy went through grade school,” Cyrus points out.
“Yup.”
“Then again, you could’ve used them. You fight like shit.”
I hurl a pad of sticky notes at him, which he dodges easily. “Fuck off, Reed.”
“Nice try, Aldridge.” He settles in the chair, feet still kicked up. “Want to talk about the girl?”
“We aren’t women, Cyrus. I appreciate your concern, but enough of this pussy pillow talk shit.”
“Fine, then let’s talk money.” He straightens, lowering his feet, all business now. “Tobias is on my ass. He wants to know how much he’s got.”
“I’ll get him the figures this week.”
“He wants the figures now.” His voice is calm and steady as if he’s not commanding me to do something, but there’s a threat beneath it all.
There is always a threat with Cyrus Reed.
If I were anyone else, I might fidget under his weighted stare.
“What’s the rush?”
“I think he’s done,” Cyrus declares, and I swear, you could hear a pin drop. “I think he’s finishing the remaining shipments he’s got en route, and then he wants out.”
I lean forward against my desk. “Really?”
“Not sure. He was on the cryptic side. Per usual. But yeah, he wants to know how much money he’s got. Think he’s trying to see if it’s enough to retire.” He shakes his head. He knows as well as I do, there is no real retiring from this business.
“He’s worth over seven hundred million. How much more does he need?” I grin.
Greedy bastard.
“Enough to never have to work again and afford his security.”
No truer words have ever been spoken because that’s the truth.
It doesn’t matter if we are legit or out. We all will need security for the rest of our lives.
We have made too much money off the backs of others.
We have ruined and screwed too many bad men.
Men worse than us were sunk below for our rise to the top.
So, even though most of my clients are already semi-retired from whatever they did to become so powerful, there will always be a mark on their backs.
You don’t rule the underworld, leave, and suddenly go back to living a regular charmed life with a white picket fence and a golden retriever more accustomed to greeting the mailman than biting him.
We all still have one foot in the door.
Legit or not.
Well, at least they do.
Me, I’m still all in.
I still work with men who run the mob, drug empires, etc.
And because of that, I need ways to make them money. Sometimes, it’s just a way to clean the dirt from it. Other times, it serves a bigger purpose, and I need to find riskier investments that pay more.
Take my latest scheme.
I am about to short Torenzo Corp, a stock we all have been priming for the kill.
Due to a certain health code violation about to become public record, the stock will plummet, and we’re set to make a huge fortune.
The assholes who own it won’t know what hit them.
It’s going to be fucking fantastic.
The best part is, Lorenzo will get his revenge, and in the meantime, until he does, my clients will earn a windfall.
Now, we just got to sit back and wait for the article I carefully placed to hit social media.
“I anticipate, by the end of the day, with the amount Tobias has in, he will be worth nine hundred million. Is that enough for him to retire?”
“Make him a billionaire, and I’m sure the answer will be yes.” His voice is serious, but I still let out a chuckle.
These bastards and their money.
I’m not one to talk, but fuck. I would be happy with that gain.
Since Tobias came onboard, I have gotten him a return on his investment north of two hundred percent.
Again . . . Greedy bastards.
“You’re a tough man to please, Cyrus.”
“Good thing you’re on my good side. Imagine how hard I am to please if I hate your ass.”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure you don’t.”
“I tolerate you, at best.”
Say what you want, but I know Cyrus considers me a brother, and not just because technically he is now.
We’ve gone to battle together. You don’t live through the shit we have and not come out caring.
Regardless of how corrupt and ruthless you are.
The man is family, with or without my sister.
“When do you think the article will go viral?” he asks.
I lift my hand and run it over my jaw. “If I had to harbor a guess, within the hour.”
“Paul is going to be pissed.” He chuckles.
“Pissed is an understatement. His one chance at legitimacy is a complete joke. No one wants his damn sauce and taking it public was a dumb move. The second the story leaks about what is in the sauce, he will wish he never fucked with Lorenzo.”
Lorenzo is a fairly new client for me. He took over the mob after another client of mine, the former mafia head Matteo Amanté, stepped down.
Paul made a play at him when he first took over and tried to ruin him before he even started, but that’s a whole other story. One I don’t even know the half of. Probably won’t ever either.
Not my fucking problem.
But it is my solution to find.
Matteo came to me with the information that Paul planned on taking his family’s business public.
With the help of a few friends, his product will be dragged through the mud.
A thought that makes me smile.
“You look way too happy.”
“Just thinking of all the money I am about to make.”
“There is more to life than money, Trent.”
“Says the banker.”
He shrugs.
I laugh.
Family, money, and revenge.
That is all I care about.
Nothing more.