Chapter 6

Six

Aster, three more shit-tastic years later

T ime does not heal all wounds. The only thing time did was make me sour toward the male species and land me as a glorified greeter.

Let's start over. Hi. My name is Aster Constantine. The smartass chick in my family who no one has a clue what to do with. And since this fucking invisible crown on my head won't fall off, I am stuck under my father's fat, controlling thumb. And my cousin's. Only he's nicer about it.

So what's my job description besides unloved, unwanted mafia princess? You'll love this.

I serve as a gatekeeper for my family's murderers-are-us club in the bowels of Chicago,

Yay.

Not really.

It's not the surroundings that make the job insufferable. It's the hard-ass people with no people skills that make my life a misery. One more person jerks their chin at me and says, "Hey you, take my coat," and I will take my new switchblade to their fancy furs.

I look to the heavens for about the fifth time in the last hour of my shift. All I find is someone needs to replace some light bulbs in the freaking chandelier. Again.

"Hey, coat girl. Grab me a drink."

I jerk my head up so fast I see white dots. My hand is on my blade and I am already five paces from my target when a hand clamps around my arm.

"Whoa, there." Dark brown eyes narrow on me with patience. " Tsk tsk . You can't kill members, chica brutal. Calmate . Let me get this."

My cousin's partner, and one of my three bosses, is too nice for his own good. Well, nice to me. To others, he's a walking nightmare in a ten-thousand-dollar suit.

"Relax my ass, Santi. And I'm not a brutal girl," I counter. "Just fed up with assholes not getting the stabby end of my blade."

His chuckle is less than humorous. "I see. Wait here."

He crosses the expansive room and says something to the mobster with no people skills that has him turning white where he sits.

Two seconds later security is hauling his ass out the front door.

I raise a hand and smile, "Bye, bitch."

Criminals are one of two things. The biggest arrogant assholes you will ever meet or so charming you lose your sense of self-preservation just welcoming them to the club.

I rub at a throbbing pain in my heart when a trio of names lingers a minute in my head. Mirsha, Luther and Viper are the latter in spades. Dickwads like this one are the former.

I can't blame people like him, though. Everyone with the smallest amount of villain in their blood wants to be a part of Club Genesis. Miles of marble flooring, tens of beautiful ornate crystal chandeliers, countless plush leather settees and all the free booze you can handle with your membership is hard to resist, and unlike the Gilded Key Society, no one said you had to have people skills to get in.

And let's face it, crime pays well. And no one says no to money. Not even blood money.

You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. This place has five levels of crime, which includes the sketchy basement I have seen no one leave after entering. The four other levels are used for anything from taking a hit out on your enemy to making shady deals every acronym agency in the country would love to know about.

I'm not judging, but if you enter through the revolving glass doors of Club Genesis, you need to know what you are getting into. You need someone pushing up daisies, want to do an arms deal with some South American baddies or need someone scouted out with a find-and-retrieve contract…done. Club Genesis is the place for you. As long as it's not human trafficking. Come on. We have to have some limits.

What's the cost? A Genesis membership isn't cheap. To get in the door, it's eight million dollars. A onetime payment that gets you access to all the dark dealings and shady shit happening in Chicago's criminal underworld. Once in, there are only two ways we revoke your membership: you die or you talk. Which means you die.

Not my words. I'm just passing the rules along. Number one being nobody talks about Club Genesis in case you missed that the first time. It doesn't matter who you are. We handle business in-house. No badges get involved. Not unless you want to see how well the men of Genesis are with a gun and shovel.

Hmm. It's a blood-in and blood-out kind of deal, now that I think about it.

But it's not all doom and gloom. Your eight million earns you access to the city's top chefs. After all the crime talk and stabby times, we offer an exquisitely prepared filet mignon with an irresistible side dish of the best pasta Alfredo.

Really, my cousin Harlon has thought of everything since taking over for his father a few years back. Five, I think. His father fell in love with an undercover cop looking to take down the Constantine family after a friend of hers went missing. Few people know that. As it turns out—and you did not hear this from me—the dude double-crossed my dear, cold-hearted uncle which ended with the other guy getting offed.

Hence the undercover cop.

And the dude? Let's just say that there is a reason I tell people Club Genesis no longer offers the service of cooking up your enemy. No fileting, broiling, dicing, slicing, or otherwise preparing the enemy in any culinary fashion is part of my spiel when we welcome new members.

Yeah. You thought your family had skeletons in the closet. The number of dead bodies in the ground, closets, trunks, lakes and cement foundations at the hands of my family trumps yours any day of the week.

Despite the somewhat colorful history attached to my name, I still want to step in and become the next powerhouse of the heart of Club Genesis. It is that or me sitting at home waiting for my father to marry me off.

Hard pass. I'm done with men and there is no way my controlling father is finding someone to breed me off to.

Since I can't have my dream, I have to settle. An undertaker is next to being God in this place. If I can swing the gig, it's goodbye front door and sixty grand a year and hello seven-figure position inside the underworld's most elite society. And with that title comes respect.

And freedom.

With that I can do what I want with whoever I want. I guess that's what I am really after. I am tired of being passed over or treated like a pretty wallflower. It's not really entirely about the higher paycheck, to be honest. I want what should come with the invisible crown on my head. I want people to see me . Hear me . Respect me . And why not fear me too, right?

That is when I will have true freedom.

As you know I am a woman with a plan and the one I cooked up this time will—fingers crossed—move me up the inner ranks of Club Genesis and it's just about time to set it into motion. Not my dream life, mind you, but a plan on how to get one step closer is a good start.

I flick on my smart watch and the dark screen lights up.

Three. Two. One.

Tiny white numbers roll over to four in the afternoon. Time to channel my best Black Widow girl power. Now I just need to hone my killer instincts and slay my goals. "Okay, then. Let's do this," I tell myself. Time to push some boundaries and test my cousin's tolerance levels.

I have only a handful of hours left in the day and I need to make every single one of them count.

I throw up the peace sign to an aging doorman who covers my position while I'm on break. I'm only an hour into my shift, so that gives me about ten minutes to plead my case, grovel if I have to, and ultimately sign my new employee contract before I am due back.

I head to the elevators, my boots gliding silently over polished marble.

I feel the eyes on me before I hear the words, "Aster, moya sladost ." My sweetness.

I slam my eyes closed and send up a prayer for some restraint because my hand itches for my blade again.

The sound of a familiar voice has my feet slowing and my hand itching to meet the right side of a pushy Russian's fuzzy face. But teaching manners to an asshole isn't on my schedule for the night. I swivel around and tilt my head to the side in recognition of the Russian mobster hitting on me and insulting me all in two words. Treating armed thugs with kindness is the number one rule of staying alive in this place.

The burly man in a too-small leather vest over a crisp white shirt waves me over. I have to give it to the man. Joseph Romanov never gives up. We do this every freaking night. From the number of chicks in tight dresses fawning all over him, I'd say his persistence has paid off, and he thinks it is only a matter of time until I give in.

"Come. Come. We play, da ?" He pats the one side of his lap not already holding a handsy escort.

Hard. Pass.

Money can't buy class.

I admit, his winks are cute and I don't mind the dad bod, though he's only five years older than me. It's his inability to commit to one woman and the complete lack of respect for life that is a huge turnoff. I can just see date night turning into me helping dig a shallow grave somewhere.

And he is nothing compared to them , the infuriating voice in my head adds. Just thinking about my godfathers has me refocusing on the dull ache in my chest. I've worked hard at suppressing the cut of pain they left behind. It's cost me a lot of personal reflection and about fifteen grand in therapy.

"Not tonight, big guy." Or ever. But I raise my hand and throw him a cute little air kiss and keep my boots moving in the opposite direction. His group of Russian mobsters with thick accents and thicker beltlines try their hand at getting me to fall into their laps. I ignore them and focus more on the loaded revolver in their boss' hand.

"I have a new game," he rumbles.

I cock my head to the side. "Do you now?"

"You come with me to The Gilded Key. You will love it. Find out how I make you reach orgasm with loaded gun, da ." Before now, I found his broken English sort of endearing and sexy.

Not anymore. And I never want to hear that club mentioned to me again. There's one in New Orleans and another being set up in Seattle which means it would take a plane ride to get to either location.

Another hard fucking pass.

"Joseph. You make such noble offers," I deadpan. Every single day, some stupid crap like this happens. What the fuck is wrong with people?

I hold my fake smile in place and play my part of keeping his attention on me while security moves in behind them.

This is a weapon-free zone and they know it.

I am not exaggerating when I say the Romanov family is flat-out mental cases and will do just about anything for money which makes Junior here unpredictable. The eldest of the five brothers needs someone to teach him a lesson about how to be a decent human being, but I am not that person.

Leaving him and his crew for security to deal with, I step into a discrete elevator and pass my security key over the reader before punching a blue number five. We've upped the security game in the last couple of weeks. Why, I don't know. Harlon and his two partners, Santi and Cassius, have been on edge for a while. I suspect it is something to do with the woman in their shared office.

Seconds later, I step out onto the third floor. Cool air, the scent of recently polished leather and silence greet me.

Left of the reception area is a small lounge. It is made up of a collection of sofas and low knee-level tables where Genesis' runners gather, looking for a contract to fulfill. Or collect payment on one. It seems they are all out on jobs tonight with how the place is as quiet as a graveyard. And I love it. Or, I will learn to love it. Like I said, I have goals. If all goes well, this will be where I come to work tomorrow.

To get to my cousin's office on the fifth floor, I have to stop here and take another elevator up. Just another level of security to keep people where they belong. One thing your five-million-dollar membership doesn't get you in this joint is direct access to Harlon's floor and after tonight I might lose mine.

I head to the back wall and punch the button for the top level. A few seconds and I'm whooshed up a couple of floors.

Polaris, my cousin's suspected lover and his best friend's, is looking over inventory. She is also their relatively new executive assistant. Juicy stuff. She is in her usual spot in front of his office door, looking pensive which makes my spidey senses want to dig for gossip.

Polaris is a broken soul and what has her brows pulled in deep thought might be bad memories and not lustful desires. Everyone here instantly bonded with her the second she came to live at Club Genesis. I want to ask what is on her mind, but think better of it for now. She was kidnapped, tortured, and then nearly sold off into an underground sex slave trade. Only her sister, a mean-ass Russian biker gang, and the men of Genesis saved her from a far worse fate than working for my family. Everyone is a tad bit overly protective of her. Including myself.

There is a bigger story behind her hookup with the Men of Genesis, but I don't have time to stop and ask her how the rumored four-way romance is going. I do that and I will lose my nerve for the next part of my plan.

I keep my greeting casual. "Hey, sweet thing. Is he in?" I gesture to the closed door behind her.

Beautiful red lips peel back into a knowing smirk. "Yes," Polaris coos with an arched brow and the shadows in her eye retreat. The sass in her is real and what made us fast friends after she arrived here a couple months back. "But you should know that cousin of yours is in a mood."

My good mood drops to the floor. "Ugh. Not good. And Cassius and Santi?" They usually serve as nice buffers. I mentally cross my fingers.

Polaris shakes her head. "Stepped out. Club business with the Savages. Enter at your own risk."

Shit. The Savages are the group of Russian bikers who saved her and are pretty tight with Harlon. Them in town is not a good sign from recent experience.

"What's up?"

"I don't know for sure, but they say a new girl is arriving. Her name is Briar. From what Harlon said, her story isn't good. They pulled her out of a cargo ship hold."

Polaris' voice trails off and her eyes drift to a spot on the floor telling me this girl, Briar, will need a safe place to heal. There are a lot of lines my family crosses to make the money we have. Power and ruthlessness go in hand with my bloodline. But not at the expense of the innocent.

I reach out and take Polaris into my arms for a quick hug. "You okay? Do you need to talk about anything?" I pull back and look my friend in the eye.

"She's gonna need all our help."

"And we will."

She nods. "But that comes later. Right now is about you." I can practically see the ghosts of her past slink back into the shadows as she gives me a watery smile.

I take a steadying breath and hope it's not my last. "Wish me luck. Let's talk later, okay?"

Polaris nods and I blow through the thick wooden door, hoping I don't get a gun in my face before I have a chance to speak my mind.

The large slab of dark wood swings wide open to reveal my cousin sitting behind his desk, eyes down. His office is a large open space covered in browns, leathers, and a few gold ornaments that add a flare of color and wealth. The familiar scent of cigar smoke and fine whiskey linger in the air which tells me Harlon is either trying to relax or keep from killing someone.

I open my mouth to start in on my spiel when he beats me to the punch.

"What would it take for me to convince you to walk away?"

I knew I would meet a wall of resistance. I square my shoulders and try to keep the frown off my face. "Did Polaris tell you?"

"She didn't have to. It's all over your face."

My shoulders threaten to sag under Harlon's incredulous tone, but I force them to hold steady.

Come on Aster. Fight it.

"So tell me. What would it take for me to convince you to walk away from Genesis? Paris, Rio, Vegas. Where do you want to go to create a life and leave this shit family in the dust?"

Like that can happen. My father keeps me locked in this city with five little words: Leave and I kill them.

I know what he means and I know what he wants from me. For now I will stay, but I need this job so I can have enough wealth of my own to fight back against my father.

My jaw goes slack for a second and then I blurt out, "I didn't know you did drugs, Harlon. Do I need to call someone because there is no way you are not high out of your mind right now?"

"I'm serious. Answer me."

No one knows of my father's blackmail so I scramble for a legitimate answer he will accept.

Despite warning red lights flashing inside my head, I lift a slender shoulder and huff, "Probably a fucking miracle and you know it. Sapphire is only a couple of years older than me yet our cousin is knocked up, working as the current undertaker of this place and sleeping with the enemy. All damn three of them. Come on. It's my turn. I don't exactly see anyone lining up at your office door to throw their name into the hat, either." Harlon Constantine doesn't like to be challenged. Too bad for him it has become my favorite pastime.

A thick finger taps the papers and matches the thudding of my heart against my ribs.

With a hand latched around the edge of his desk, I lean forward and ignore the rush of blood in my veins. "I want this, and I have every right to claim the position."

You want something, you take it. Remember that.

My father directed his words to my six older brothers, but I still hold them dear to my heart. I am not a weak flower to be seen and not heard. I want this. It's mine.

Harlon says nothing.

"Sapphire can't stay on as undertaker forever and you have no one to wrangle your motley crew of assassins or handle the contract side of the business."

"Is that so?" Harlon's yet to look at me and it is pissing me off.

Unlikely as it seems, the air suddenly thickens and the large office my cousin shares with his two business partners closes in around me.

So this is what it feels like to be on the opposite side of Harlon's good graces.

I know I am playing with fire here and my heart is entering heart-attack levels, but I want to see how far I can push my unmovable cousin.

I slap a hand down on the papers before he can shoo me along like I am some pesky sibling. Twenty-odd years of that with my brothers is all I can take.

Damn it, why can't something be easy for once? "Don't fuck with me, Constantine. I'm not some underling you can use scare tactics on."

Dark eyes finally lift off a stack of papers neatly tucked under one another to bore into mine. But it's not the wrath of a dark lord I see. Hard, cold and calculating, sure. There is never a moment my cousin isn't working all angles and three steps ahead of the other person. But he looks more preoccupied and thoughtful than flaming mad.

I return his unmoving gaze and double down my stance. Most people would flinch under the heavy gaze of a Man of Genesis. But I learned at the knee of several criminal masterminds that showing weakness in any form is a sure death sentence. To dreams and lives.

Molten steel molds over my shoulders to lock my body into a firm stance. The hard, icy gaze I return is filled with the same stubbornness that runs in his veins.

"Looks like we have a bit of a standoff, huh? I want this. Sapphire backs me up and so do some runners. Even your sister, Belle. I can do this. Give me a shot. That's all I want."

He leans back in his chair and considers me for a moment. "Why?" And for a second, he genuinely looks perplexed by the idea someone would want this job.

I want to say because my life has no meaning without my godfathers and I have nothing else to live for. But no one wants to hear how much pain I live in every single day. So I lie. "I'm not cut out for being a boutique owner or a nail tech. I don't own a dress and I can't grab a gun with long, fake nails. I mean, look at me. Leather pants, knee-high boots and the stink of our family history clinging to me like cheap hooker perfume. What else can I do but work here? And don't you dare tell me I can get married. I will drop you where you sit, cousin."

"I don't believe you."

"Do I need to break out the crayons and construction paper?"

That earns me a grunt, but not much else.

"Being the next undertaker is practically a birthright."

His angular jaw hardens, and his expression turns cold as stone. But he speaks his next words gently. "Walk away, Aster. You have a whole life ahead of you. Don't dig in deeper. Search for what can make you happy and don't be like the rest of us." For a second, the plea for me to see the light has me pushing away from his desk.

He falls silent for a moment and pushes to his feet. Tailored gray material of his pristine suit hugs his strong, muscular frame.

I match his tone and lock eyes the second he takes his gaze off the floor. Ghosts of the past linger in the depths of his dark eyes.

He carries the weight of the past and his current problems well. I can at least help with one of his issues. "Like you did, cousin? When your dad went to prison, you stepped up. You don't have to carry the weight of this family alone. You have me. Belle, Sapphire. The Savages."

A fog of worry and regret lingers over him, like the cloud of cigar smoke billowing up from a nearby tray.

Trouble is never far behind for a man in his position. He comes to stand in front of me, and his height has me tilting my head up. The man is dangerous to everyone except those he loves. I'm thankful to be among those he doesn't want to see dead.

It is tempting to tell him about my father, the years of abuse and the love I lost when my godfathers walked away from me. But Harlon has enough problems of his own to handle. All I need is this job and I can slowly resolve most of my issues.

It's growing late in the afternoon. A bank of monitors along the far wall shows several members arriving in the discrete underground parking for late-night meetings and deals. Instead of the place quieting down and emptying, it's only growing busier by the minute. Club members come and go at all hours, but the majority don't show until sundown. It's part of the whole underworld mystique. Crime by night seems to be their thing and mine.

"Come on, Harlon. Don't make me beg on my knees."

All Harlon has to do is give his kiss of approval and I could be on the third level—AKA the dark floor—sealing my place in my family's business and my freedom.

Harlon's hands come to rest on my shoulders. "I gave you the greeter job because it kept you out of trouble and we could all watch over you. I made your father a promise. Don't push your luck and have your father yank your chain so short you can't walk outside your house again."

Burn.

"What happened with Mirsha, Luther and Viper left him burned. You're lucky he hasn't clipped your wings entirely."

"Please, drive the blade a little deeper, cousin."

Silence.

"How much do you know, anyway?"

Harlon doesn't mean to hurt me, but it doesn't change the outcome of his words slicing into me.

"And what promise are you talking about, anyway?"

He answers one question, but not the other. "It doesn't matter. Not anymore."

Ominous warning much? Cold ice skitters up my spine. This man. If I didn't love some members of my family, I could kill them all some days. Okay, not really, but damn, I wish wearing my emotions and a soft heart were not my two major weaknesses.

He tips my chin up, and it's really hard to keep defeat from stealing over my expression.

I step away from him and take a second to gather my words. "Fine. Keep your secrets, but do I look like someone who will stay on a chain forever, Harlon?" My voice turns colder with every syllable, but nothing seems to stir him from the deadpan stare.

"I am not willing to put you in danger. You are too important. The answer is no."

My eyes widen in surprise. "What danger? What makes me more valuable than Sapphire or Belle? Or even Polaris?"

For a second the tight no room for negotiation expression that holds my cousin's face in a perpetual scowl softens. Wait. I might actually have a chance here.

And then that hope dies a swift, bloody death.

He slashes a hand in the air between us, and that hard look on his face returns. Whatever had him second-guessing his firm refusal is now gone.

"I've given you my ultimate decision."

Brutal.

My heart turns to lead and drops to the floor like a spent bullet. Now what? I could be petty and interject that he's only the head now because his daddy went to prison. It would be a low blow and I am not heartless.

I pick another line of attack. "Fuck you and all the men trying to hammer me into some place you think I should fit. You don't want to consider me? Fine. You're not my only option."

Lies , laughs a manic voice in my head.

A smirk tugs at the older man's face. "You're going to need that chip on your shoulder. Guard it well, along with your fighting spirit. You're gonna need that too, little cousin."

My lungs cramp from the level of profanities I want to hurl at him. "Again, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Go home. Have some birthday cake, blow out some candles and I will see you tomorrow."

Fuck. I forgot. "Who cares about another damn birthday?"

"Go, Aster."

His blatant dismissal burns me to the soul. "The hell you will." I give him the same fake smile I give every asshole in this place before turning on my heel and blowing out of this joint.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

I only wish I knew how prophetic my last words to him would be. And how right he was.