16. Harrison

I head out the door,my mind racing faster than my feet can keep up. ‘Family business' is always the convenient excuse that no one dares question, but in this case, it's a grim reality I can't escape.

I'm not even out of earshot before I start hearing their hushed tones, plotting and scheming behind me—typical. Callum's got that fire in his belly; he'll burn this whole fucking place down before letting anyone dictate his life.

I pull out the buzzing annoyance from my pocket again—another message, this time from a contact at one of our hotels. Shit's going down there, something about a planned raid—it's enough to pull me away from the current clusterfuck.

My family business, a chain of luxury hotels, has been a cover for the mafia's money laundering for decades. I grew up within this reality and have embraced the role thrust upon me to further the organisation's interests.

Crestmont offers a legitimate front for illicit dealings, and my involvement ensures that the mafia's financial operations run smoothly. My connections help maintain the illusion of normalcy while facilitating the mafia's covert activities. The casino night was all about funding and laundering. It was a huge coup for the Syndicate and tied many of the players to us through bribery and corruption. We need another event like that, similar but different to gather as many of the students under one roof as possible to pretty much seduce them into swinging their bridges towards us.

I shoot off a quick message to Cal, so I don't forget and also so they can start planning. Whatever shitshow is waiting for me on the other side of the city is probably going to take all day.

The cool autumn air does nothing to temper my frustration. We need to protect our corners, keep up appearances, play the parts we've been rehearsing since birth.

"Fuck!" I spit out when I realise I have no car here. We all piled into Thayer's to make the short journey.

"Problem?" Aaron asks, appearing behind me like a fucking ghost.

"Family business. No car." I keep it short and to the point. He doesn't need to hear me rambling on like an idiot.

He stares at me with eyes just like Vogue's, and it unnerves me for a second. "Take mine," he says and hands me a set of keys from the side table near the door.

"Thanks," I manage to grunt out. I'm not a fan of owing the guy anything, but I've got bigger fish to fry right now. I grab the keys and head out into the brightening day.

The ride is smooth, the engine of Aaron's midlife crises hyper car in the form of a Bugatti Chiron, which makes my eyes ache to think of the cost of this fucking machine, purring like a beast content with its last meal. But my mind's too busy to enjoy it. The streets streak past in blurs as I plan my next moves – dealing with the hotel shitstorm, strategizing with Cal, Quen, and Thayer about Aaron's mandate, and figuring out how to keep Vogue safe in all this mess. It's a fucked-up juggling act, but I'm not dropping any balls on my watch.

Pulling up at the hotel, I slide into the role expected of me – Harrison Bennett, suave businessman with an edge that says, ‘don't fuck with me.' My phone buzzes again; another alert, another problem. That's my life – one crisis after another, neatly wrapped in expensive suits and fake smiles.

Inside, I'm met with nervous glances and hushed whispers from the staff – they know when shit's hit the fan. I put on my game face and throw myself into damage control mode as I meet my parents in the hotel Reception, their faces furious and worried at the same time.

"What is it?" I ask.

"The police have been sniffing around all morning," my father hisses, a vein pulsing in his temple.

My gut clenches. This is bad, real bad. If they dig too deep, they'll uncover the whole damn operation, and we'll be fucked six ways to Sunday.

"So, what's the plan?" I keep my voice even, despite the chaos brewing inside.

"We handle this discreetly," my mother says, her lips barely moving. "We need to contain this before it blows up in our faces. You've been handling that contact, Jacobs. We need you on it."

I nod, already mapping out potential fixes in my head. Payoffs, threats, the usual dance of keeping the law at bay. It's a tightrope walk I've done a hundred times.

"Okay," I say. "I'll sort it out." It's not just an empty promise; I will fix this.

Stepping away from my parents, I dial a contact in the police department on a secure line, ready to pin him down for information on what they want at the hotel. Anonymous tip? Evidence? A mole in our ranks? I need to know.

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I wait for the ring to be answered. When it's finally picked up, I get straight to the point.

"Lieutenant Jacobs. It's Harrison Bennett."

His voice is cautious, wearily respectful. "Mr. Bennett. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I heard there's been an interest in my family's business. Wanna tell me why?"

There's a pause, and I can practically hear his mind working overtime, deciding how much to reveal.

"We received some concerning information," he eventually admits. "Routine check."

"Cut the bullshit," I press, my patience running thin. "You and I both know there's nothing routine about this."

Another pause, then a reluctant sigh. "We've got orders from above. Seems someone high up has their sights on your operations."

I clench my jaw. This isn't some low-level nuisance; this is serious heat coming our way.

"Send me what you know," I say curtly before hanging up.

There's no time to waste. The Syndicate does not fall because of a few nosy cops; we've weathered worse storms than this. Seconds pass, and the secure phone buzzes, flooding with information about the possible raid.

I scan through the encrypted messages, pieces of a puzzle that could spell disaster if not managed correctly. It's clear we have a leak somewhere, some traitorous fuck who thinks they can play both sides. No one fucks with the Bennett family, not unless they want to find themselves six feet under.

I pocket my phone and turn to find my parents talking with hotel security in hushed tones. "We have a rat," I tell them flatly.

Their expressions harden immediately. "Fucker," my father hisses.

I leave my parents discussing damage control and stride towards the hotel security office.

They look up as I enter. "We need to move anything that isn't on the up," I say without pleasantries. "Get it packed and shipped to the shell corp warehouse in London. Every last piece of the pie. Got it?"

The security team nods, their faces reflecting the severity of the situation. No questions, no hesitations – they understand the drill. We've trained for this kind of shit; simulated raids, cops on the take, all while running a tight operation that keeps the luxury facade intact. It's a well-oiled machine, but even machines falter under enough pressure.

Then I turn on my heel and, with narrowed eyes, call in the squad—an elite team of loyalists who owe their entire existence to the Syndicate.

"I've given instruction to the guards on duty to move the shit to London, but I need you to intercept and divert. You know where."

"On it, Harry," the leader's voice grits out.

We hang up, and I slip back into the security quarters, eyes out for anyone who looks suspicious enough to take down right now.

Unfortunately, it's not as easy as that. Fuckers. Every one of them acts cool and collected.

So, I oversee the operation, ensuring that each questionable document and every incriminating piece of evidence disappears like a ghost in daylight.

It's a fucking ballet — everyone playing their part in perfect synchronicity. The stakes couldn't be higher and fuck me if I'm going to let this family topple because some prick got cold feet or a conscience.

Once I'm confident everything is moving as it should be at the hotel, I step out into an alley for a moment of respite, joined by my mum, who lights up a cigarette.

"How are you?" she asks with a slight smirk.

"Good," I reply with a chuckle. "You?"

"I'll be better after this is sorted. You did good, Haz."

"Yeah, it's worth the effort to grease the law enforcement wheels. I know I've been a bit absent lately, but things with Vogue Jameson have become a bit heated in more ways than one."

"I heard," she says, crossing her arms against the slight chill in the air. "Anything you want to share?"

I smile. "Let's just say the dynamics are complicated. But we're handling it."

Mum gives me a look that's half-knowing, half-warning. "Just be careful. These things can get messy, especially with the business in the mix."

I take that in, knowing she's right. The last thing I need is for personal entanglements to taint the business. But Vogue isn't just some fling; she's become an integral part of the equation.

"We've got it under control," I assure her. "Vogue has stepped up and is training with Aaron. Things have moved fast, but she's on it."

She takes a drag from her cigarette, blowing out smoke that gets carried away by the wind before disappearing into nothingness. "Make sure you keep your head on straight, Haz. Emotions have a way of clouding judgment."

"I know." And I do – but that doesn't stop my chest from tightening at the thought of Vogue being anywhere but by our side.

The moment passes, and she crushes her cigarette under her heel and with a soft smile, she heads back inside. I take another moment and follow, tying up loose ends and making calls to ensure our bases are covered when the inevitable knock comes. In this life, you're always waiting for the other shoe to drop; you just hope you're prepared enough when it does.