King of Bourbon Street: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mafia's Throne Book 1) Read online

  King of Bourbon Street

  Mafia’s Throne, Book 1

  Aidèe Jaimes

  King of Bourbon Street

  The Mafia’s Throne Duet

  by Aidèe Jaimes

  Copyright@2021 by Aidèe Jaimes

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  * * *

  Copy edited by R.C. Craig

  Cover Design by Aidèe Jaimes

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  About

  Books Under Aidèe Jaimes:

  Books Under Haden Hudson:

  Chapter 1

  DILLON

  “Tell me who Enzo Marcone protects.”

  “No one.” The man strapped to the chair in the middle of the empty room squints against the light shining in his face, desperately trying to see us.

  “Who’s in his inner circle?”

  “You know the names of his capos; you don’t need that shit from me.” Again, he attempts to peer through the glare, trying to figure out exactly who we are.

  “There has to be someone. A girlfriend?”

  “No. He has no weakness. How many times do I have to tell you!”

  “Liar! I hate fucking liars!” Will backhands the man, practically knocking his head sideways. Blood spurts from his mouth and sprays several feet across the floor. He coughs, wincing from the earlier pounding he received to the chest. “What is his weakness?”

  This has been going on for hours, ever since my men were able to trap him on his way home from one of Marcone’s ritziest clubs on Bourbon Street, The Royal Hit. We only needed to case the place for two nights before we realized there’s a reason for the name. It’s where Enzo comes to play, to enjoy the perks of being considered the king of the city. Where he sits and rules over his henchmen.

  All night, the who’s who of mob royalty comes to pay tribute, to worship at his feet in hopes of getting his approval of a shady deal. A simple nod shows his agreement, and a flick of his heavily ringed fingers can get anyone thrown out. Just. Like. That.

  It’s the privilege his throne affords him. A throne I covet.

  A throne my ass will one day occupy, and then it will be him at my feet.

  But a king is not easily dethroned, a ruthless one much less so. And the Marcones are exactly that. Ruthless.

  Danny Dudeck, a soldier working close to Enzo reminds me of this, “The Marcones have no weakness. Haven’t you heard? They’d kill their own if it meant saving their skin.”

  “Stop fucking lying!” Another whack.

  This time, Danny’s neck cracks, and for a moment, I’m afraid he’s dead. But only a second later he hacks, regaining consciousness, and straightens himself. “I’m not a liar,” he groans. “His own father shot him in cold blood, just to show the world he could.”

  Will raises a fist, ready to strike again.

  “Careful,” I warn my second-in-command.

  “If what you’re saying is true,” Will continues, “why the loyalty? Why so many faithful subjects? I don’t buy it.”

  “He pays exceptionally well. People do a lot of things for money.” He coughs, and his head begins to droop, but he’s still aware.

  “Is the pay worth your life? Because I’m about to snuff it out.”

  I push off the wall I’ve been leaning against, watching with my arms crossed over my chest. “Enough,” I say. “I want him alive.”

  “Why? So he can run to daddy and tell on us?”

  “We’re not letting him go.” I walk to him, dig my fingers through his bloodied hair and yank back, forcing him to look at me. Now, with me this close, he can gaze straight into my eyes and see the truth in what I say. “I’m not going to kill you. But it will be up to you how you spend the next few weeks. Or months.” I shrug. “I don’t know how long this will last. Either way, you decide whether you want to be pampered in captivity or you want me to slowly pull out your entrails and feed them to you. I promise it can be done without your dying. Right, Will?”

  “I’m not sure, but I can certainly try.”

  “Do you believe me?” I ask.

  His pupils dilate so wide, I can hardly see the blue of his irises. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you!”

  “You see?” I turn to Will. “Sometimes civility works. You don’t always need to resort to violence.”

  Will smirks. “We all have our methods.”

  “All right,” I say to Danny. Taking a handkerchief from my coat pocket, I wipe the corner his mouth, soaking up some of the blood and spit collected there. “Tell me what we want to know.”

  Gruffly, he whispers, “Come closer,” then mumbles something unintelligible.

  Unable to make it out, I lean toward him. “What was that?”

  “I said, go fuck yourself, you short fuck!” He screams the last word so loudly that my eardrum nearly bursts. I cup the side of my head with one hand while I fist the other and slam it hard against his jaw. The impact causes his chair to flip backward. His head hits the concrete floor, knocking him unconscious instantly.

  “What happened to civil conversation?” Will asks, rolling with laughter.

  “That was me being civil.” I scrape my sleeve against my cheek, removing the spit he left on me. “No need for insults,” I toss in Danny’s direction. I fucking hate it when people call me short. “Get him out of here, then meet me at the club.”

  “What should I do with him? Do you really want me to torture him?”

  “No. But that’s what he chose.” Sighing, I shake my head. “I fucking hate violence.”

  “I say we kill him.”

  I glance up at Will, who’s sitting lazily on the velvet lounge across from me.

  Then Nial Shannon, the man seated in a chair on the other side of the room, casts a narrowed gaze toward me and offers his opinion as well. “I don’t know how you ran things in New York, but here, killing a man like Enzo Marcone won’t get you what you want. All it will do is turn the famiglia against you. Not to mention any associates loyal to them.”

  Nial is the owner of SMU Technologies and the single biggest contributor to the campaign of our dear senator, amongst other high profile politicians. Which means that when he speaks, they listen, and so do I.

  “If I’d planned on killing Marcone, he’d already be dead,” I tell them both. “That’s the last thing I want. In order for him to work for me, I need him very much alive. It’s much easier to take over an empire than to build one from scratch.”

  “He won’t take kindly to being dethroned. Not to being replaced by a…” His eyes scroll from my face to the tip of my shoes, and he smirks.

  “By a what?” I hiss.

  “By a Callaghan. He won’t like it at all.”

  Th
oughtfully, I run my fingertips across the leather of the chair I’m sitting in, appreciating the buttery softness of the old material. It’s probably been here since before I was born, held men of power, men that ruled over this city. It’s borne witness to secret meetings in which men have been brought to their knees.

  I like this chair. However, what I’m after is a throne.

  “You don’t need to tell me that. All I’m interested in knowing is whether you’ll back me when the time comes.”

  “You mean if,” Nial corrects.

  “I mean when.”

  He shakes his head and stands. “If you can bring any Marcone to their knees, you’ll have my support. Until then, I was never here.” Nial nods and slips out quietly.

  “I don’t like him,” Will says. “He’s only loyal to money.”

  “We need him,” I begrudgingly admit. “Once we’re in power, we’ll need men like him to help us keep it. It’s business.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I agree with Nial. Killing Enzo would mean war, and I much prefer peace.”

  “What if you can’t find his weakness?”

  I chew on the inside of my lip. “All men want something they’d be willing to trade anything for,” I say. “Even a kingdom.”

  “What if there’s nothing he wants? We’ve offered him everything. Money, power in New York. What else is left?”

  A knock on the door stops me from answering.

  “Come in,” I command.

  Ginger enters with a tray of drinks and a single red rose in a glass bud vase. “Your orders.”

  “Set them on the table.”

  Her auburn curls bounce with each exaggerated sway of her hips. She doesn’t need to walk that way around here, not with us. But it’s what she’s been trained to do, a movement that compliments the tight tuxedo corset and three-inch platform heels.

  Though she’s not one of the exotic dancers men come to see, she must still dress for success. In a place like this, sex sells. Hell, sex sells just about anywhere.

  A thought begins to take shape in my mind, but before it has a chance to fully form, one of Ginger’s heels betrays her, and she trips violently. The glasses come crashing down with her, shattering into a million pieces, sending shards and water flying everywhere.

  Will bursts out laughing, but one annoyed glance from me ends that on the spot.

  “Shit! I’m so sorry!” Ginger cries out, getting to her knees, and attempts to pick up the mess. Then she produces a towel from somewhere and dabs it up my pant leg. “Shit, shit, shit! I got it all over you.”

  I try to stop her, but she’s so nervous, she continues. I lift a brow to Fabian, one of my guards, and he immediately moves to help her.

  “I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry. I-I-I promise this won’t happen again,” Ginger stammers.

  “It’s all right.” I take the towel from her hand before she can reach my crotch and when I go to pat my lap, I notice the rose has landed there. Lifting it to my eyes, I run my thumb over it in much the same manner I did with the chair. Feeling the delicate petals, the rigid stem, and the sharp thorns.

  Forgetting everything around me, I stand and walk to the one-way glass I had installed the very day I bought this place. It’s a window to the world of sin below, where patrons watch the dancers on the stage and allow themselves to be seduced. All the while, I watch them. I study them.

  A lot can be gained from simply hiding in the shadows and observing human interaction. You learn what drives them, what compels them and motivates them. What makes them do what you want them to do.

  “Dillon, what are you up to?” Will asks with narrowed eyes. “I know that look. Your wheels are turning. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking…” I begin as I press the pad of my thumb hard against one of the thorns, feeling the skin break. When I peer at it, a large drop of crimson has formed. “Sometimes it takes something as fragile as a rose to pierce through a man’s tough exterior.” As I say it, I crush the petals in my palm and smile.

  Chapter 2

  ENZO

  Dillon Fucking Callaghan. I crumple the sheet in my hand as fury fills my veins.

  “Fuck!” I slam my palms against the wood of my desk, sending pens flying in every direction.

  Dino and Connie stand simultaneously, the fur on their backs raised and their ears perked, listening for possible danger. Or perhaps they simply sense their master’s fury.

  “Calma,” I whisper to my Dobermans. “Posare.” They hear me, though I still see the tension in their muscles as they flex. Still ready to pounce. But they exercise great restraint. Just. Like. Me.

  All three of my capos watch me curiously, the question on their faces obvious. Why can’t we kill Callaghan and his mob?

  Beyond taking Danny, the fucking dumbass, they refuse to pay their stipend, refuse to acknowledge the hierarchy, to accept their place within our world.

  There is a rule, written in fucking blood, that every member of a criminal organization learns very quickly. Respect the order and pay your fucking rent or get the fuck out before you’re forcefully removed.

  They don’t belong in New Orleans. Hell, at this point, I don’t want them in all of Louisiana. Period.

  Not only are they transacting unauthorized business within my territory, but they’ve infiltrated our system, interrupted the perfect harmony in which we work. Rerouted shipments entering the city, costing me millions.

  They’ve put into question the loyalties of many of my associates. Men who can never be made but who are essential to the business. Men whose loyalty I’ve had to earn but now can’t trust, because I don’t know who’s switched sides.

  I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs in front of me, and crack my neck.

  “So what is it, Boss?” Lucian asks. “I can send one of my soldiers to off him.”

  “Fuck that. I’ll go in there and do it myself,” Tony says. “That prick stopped a truck from Juarez before it got to our border. And I still have to pay fucking Santos his share.”

  “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I’m afraid no one is killing him today,” I tell them.

  “Why the hell not?” Lucian growls.

  “Because he’s the son of James Callaghan.”

  He shrugs. “Never heard of him.”

  “Then I’ll educate you.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my desk and my thumbs under my chin, pinning them all with a hard stare. “James Callaghan runs the Kerry gang in New York. They work exclusively for Paolo Lombardo.”

  “Shit,” he says.

  “Exactly. We take on the Callaghans, we take on the New York LCN.”

  “So what then? We just let them ass-fuck us? Should I just bend over and take it?” Tony asks.

  “Like you wouldn’t enjoy it,” my brother, Adrian, says as he walks in. Late as usual. He throws an envelope and a small box on my desk as he saunters by, then stands in front of Lucian and snaps his fingers. “Up, Luciano.”

  Lucian rolls his eyes but gives up his seat. Adrian plops into it and flashes his straight white teeth at his subordinate. “Thank you, cuz.”

  Lucian gives him a slight nod. “Boss.”

  I sigh, regretting the day I listened to my father and made Adrian the underboss.

  “Adriano is loyal to a fault, Enzo,” Pops said. “He’ll never betray you and he would give his life for you. That’s who you want as your second.”

  It’s true, Adrian has always had my back. He’s the first to throw down, the first to put himself on the line for me. But he’s a child, takes nothing seriously and has no interest in leadership.

  “What’s this?” I ask my younger sibling, lifting the envelope to read the monogram on the seal. The letters DC are embossed on a silver flower.

  “It was hand delivered to me as I came into the building. Some hot-ass redhead gave it to me. Sort of hoped it was her number.” He elbows Lucian who’s now standing behind him. “But it’s just an invitation.
The box is boring too.”

  “So I see.” I open it and pull out a clean white card with the same monogram and a note written in neat small letters.

  I believe we’ve gotten off to a bad start and I’ve left you with a terrible impression. As I don’t want to wear out my welcome in your lovely city, I’d like to make a peace offering.

  You are invited as my personal guest at Original Sin tonight, where I will concede your stipend plus ten percent of my earnings. Perhaps this will open the door to a new conversation for us?

  Dillon C.

  “He’s summoning you, O King of Bourbon Street,” Adrian mocks, stoking the ire that’s been my constant companion since the day Callaghan arrived.

  I lift the lid to the black box, expecting to find a piece of jewelry or a fancy pen. But tucked into the velvet cushion, I find a marble chess piece. A black king.

  At first, I simply stare at it, unsure of what to make of the gift. Then it dawns on me. I take the piece out and bring it closer to my face.

  “What is that?” Tony asks. “A checkers thing?”

  “Chess, you fucking idiot,” Lucian corrects.

  “Why would he send you that?” Adrian asks.

  I wrap my fingers around it and bring it to my lips as I consider its meaning. “It’s a challenge.”

  “To a game of chess?” Lucian asks.

  My eyes flick to him. “To something bigger.”

  “You should tell him to go fuck himself.” Lucian takes the letter from my desk and reads it again. “It’s a trap. All of it.”