Chapter 3

 

Rake

 

“Let’s talk.” Damian Corsetti looked him up and down and walked away, knowing Rake would follow. He led the way across the bar to a corner booth while his thugs followed close behind. “Sit.”

Rake slid in and stayed near the edge, but Corsetti’s thug, Christopher, slid in beside him and pushed him toward the corner.

Corsetti took his time getting comfortable. Hunter came over to take his order, his face devoid of emotion, though he flickered a glance at Rake.

“Top shelf. Whiskey.”

“Yes, Mr. Corsetti.” He brought it over in a flash and gave Rake a fresh one.

The smell turned Rake’s stomach, but he stayed still. He wasn’t as good at hiding his contempt as Hunter, but he’d try his best.

“Congratulations on the fight, Rafael.”

“Thank you, Mr. Corsetti.” Smug son of a bitch.

Rake gritted his teeth and gripped his glass, though he didn’t lift it. He met Corsetti’s blue eyes and his eyebrows twitched. Was he imagining things, or was Corsetti amused? Like he knows what I’m thinking. Rake needed to be careful.

Corsetti wore a black summer-weight suit and a blue shirt that made his eyes stand out. If he didn’t know any better, Rake would have called it Tardis blue. But that was ridiculous. His thick brown hair lay slicked back but somehow not greasy, and a pair of unframed glasses poked out of his breast pocket. Corsetti lifted his glass to drink. With the exception of a vintage gold Rolex, he wore no jewelry. A gorgeous man—fortysomething and getting better looking with age. If Rake hadn’t been so disgusted with him as a human being, he might’ve tried his luck getting him into the nearest bed.

Corsetti drained his glass and set it down with a quiet click. “You’ve been working hard. I could use a guy like you. Trustworthy. Loyal. Strong.”

Rake strained to hear his low voice over the ruckus. “I’m flattered, but I have a career.”

“I respect that. I’m not trying to take it away from you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

Christopher, the mean-looking son of a bitch, shifted and smacked Rake behind the head. “Watch it.”

“You can watch my fist when it disappears into your face if you touch me again.” Rake bit his tongue to stop the words that spewed out of his mouth, but he didn’t take them back. He wasn’t his father; he had to at least try and stand up for himself.

Corsetti waved Christopher off and regarded Rake with a cool stare. The hair on his arms rose, but he refused to look away.

Corsetti broke eye contact and stared at the crowd. “I like you, Rake. Your father says you’re obstinate, but I see that as an asset.”

“How so?” Rake asked after Corsetti paused.

His eyes flicked to Rake. “It’ll be more fun to break you.”

Rake choked on air. “Something tells me you’re not talking about the fun kind of breaking.”

Christopher’s hand left the table and aimed for Rake, but he was too slow. Rake snatched his wrist and twisted. Christopher grunted but held on. Tough bastard.

“I told you not to touch me.”

Corsetti lifted a finger, and Christopher pulled his arm out of Rake’s hold with a snarl.

“What if I say I don’t want to work for you?”

Corsetti’s grin caught Rake off guard. It made him look ten years younger and carefree.

“You can owe me for the fights, then. Sixty-five percent of your winnings.” He pressed his index finger on the tabletop. “Starting now. You refuse me, and you won’t be fighting anyone. Work for me, and I’ll only take thirty percent.”

Hollowness expanded in Rake’s chest, and waves of heat and nausea spread from his gut. “I don’t have it. You know, it’s not like they hand me the whole purse at once. I only get a percentage, after taxes and paying my manager and trainers.”

Corsetti sighed and stood while he buttoned his jacket. “You’ve been fighting since you were sixteen, Rafael. I’ve left you alone long enough, out of respect for your father, but it smacks of favoritism. You’re bound to have money saved—it’s not like you live extravagantly or gamble it away. I would have heard if you did.” Corsetti leveled him with a cold stare. “You have until noon Friday.”

They left, and Rake slumped into the corner.

Hunter appeared at his side. “What did he say?”

“I have to give him sixty-five percent of tonight’s winnings by noon Friday, or work for him.”

Hunter sagged next to him. “Well, fuck.” He gestured to Lila for a bottle, and she brought it over with a worried frown.

Hunter poured them each two fingers, and they drank.

 

***

The next morning, Rake entered his bank at nine a.m. on the dot. He left several minutes later with his life savings, which didn’t add up to much.

Corsetti hadn’t considered Raymond da Silva’s debts when he’d calculated Rake’s net worth. He’d spent a hell of a lot of money over the years paying back his father’s loan sharks.

Rake hadn’t done it for his father. He’d done it to save his own kneecaps. Those fuckers didn’t care who first borrowed the money; he and Ray had the same last name, so one or both would pay them and that was that.

Hunter met him on the sidewalk with a takeout coffee. He was barely awake after being up all night with him to talk strategy. “Rake, you’re not a gambler. Do you even know how to get to twenty-one in blackjack?”

Rake was too hungover to argue. “Fuck you. I know the face cards are ten.” I think.

“What’s a straight? A full house?”

He ignored him, and Hunter stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. “That’s your entire life savings. What are you gonna do when you lose?”

“If. If I lose. That’s why it’s called gambling.” Rake shoved around his friend, but Hunter pulled him to a stop. “What the hell else am I supposed to do? I won’t get that money by Friday, and even if that were the case, I have other debts that have to be paid before Corsetti can get a cut, and I refuse to work for him.” He blew out a breath. “Hell, maybe I should let Corsetti and the loan sharks fight it out and see who wins.”

Hunter ripped off his sunglasses, not one to be distracted from his point, and said, “Borrow it from Luis. Christ, I’d give the money to you if I had any!” Hunter scowled at a tourist in a fanny pack and his wife who stared. “What?”

Gasping, they scurried away.

Rake kept walking. “I know you would, man, and I love you for that. Luis won’t give me anything. He barely pays for gym fees.”

“Wait. Just wait.” Rake stopped. “Seriously, what are you going to do if you lose? Are you going to work for him?”

Rake stared at his friend, then closed his eyes as his shoulders fell. “I don’t know. I don’t have any way to fight against him, and you know as well as I do, he owns the cops in this town. If I don’t win, and I refuse to work for him, he’ll kill me. If I lose,” he shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel, “the only thing left to do…is run.”

Crestfallen, Hunter nodded. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

Rake gripped him behind the neck and brought him in for a hug. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.” With a thump on the back, he let him go and continued through the crowds on his way to the Bellagio while Hunter followed.

He prayed to God this worked.