Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2) (24 page)

Her hands tighten on the
black books she’s laid on the table. Tinney’s gaze goes to them.
 

“My mother?” she chokes
out.

Tinney holds her stare
as tears well in her blue eyes, and he wonders how anyone ever believed Caleb
was anything less than her brother.
 

“Beth never forgave Gabe
or Emilio for the marriage. Gabe broke her heart when he forced her to marry
Emilio. It was the biggest mistake he ever made.
 
When she realized Emilio had been having an
affair for a decade, she couldn’t handle that. She was furious.”
 

Emma licks her lips,
trying to wrap her mind around that. Fifteen years of lies and betrayals. She
can imagine how angry Beth was over that—even if she can’t forgive her. “Why
did Mikie agree to it? Why did he side with Mother?”
 

“Because Emilio was a
threat. As long as Gabe had Emilio, Mikie was on the outside. He hated that and
this solved the problem for him.”
 

She laughs, a bitter
noise. “My father was a problem? Easy enough to pull a trigger and take care of
that.”
 

Tinney stares back,
impassive.
 

“Why did no one ever
tell me?” she demands, tears standing in her eyes.
 

“The children should not
carry the sins of their fathers,” he says.
 

Emma laughs, hysterical.
“We are being fucking buried by their sins. When Gabe was killed—was that a
reprisal from my father’s people?” Tinney’s face goes blank and she nods to
herself. “Does Seth know?”
 

“He does now,” Tinney
says. He leans forward, startling her with his sudden intensity. “Your parents,
Gabe, even Mikie were destroyed by their secrets. Because no one trusted each
other.”
 

“They were destroyed because Emilio couldn’t keep it in his
pants,” Emma snaps.
 

Tinney gives her a
faintly reproving look. “And because he never told Gabe he was in love with
Miriam before he married Beth. Because Beth wouldn’t tell Gabe who Isaac’s
father was. Because Mikie wouldn’t talk to Gabe. Secrets don’t work, not for
the Morgans—you have too many from the world. You can’t keep them from each
other. Remember that, or you’ll end up just like them.”
 

Emma recoils, her eyes
going wide. Secrets—aren’t they what killed Caleb? Secrets and mistrust that
turned to hate. She opens her mouth and closes it again. Tinney stands and
leans down, brushing a kiss over her forehead. “You are a good queen, Emma.
Trust yourself. Trust

Seth.”

Without waiting for her
respond to that, he turns and leaves the little café.
 

She isn’t terribly
surprised to see Seth outside, his gaze trained on her. There is worry and a
little bit of anger in his eyes. She shifts in her booth, slipping out and
gathering her father’s journals. Her mind is spinning—for every question that
has been answered, there are more.
 

They can wait. She sets
them aside and exits the café, going to stand before her king. Seth’s entire
body is tight with tension as he stares at her. “I’m sorry,” she says
softly.
 

He nods once, and some
of the tension eases. Not all of it. Not enough. He wraps an arm around her
shoulders, tugging her into a hug as the snow spirals down around them.

Chapter 32
.
Graystone Apartments. New York City. December 7
^th
 

Emma
Carefully Arranges The
chair and frowns critically. Two bottles of red wine are sitting
on her low coffee table with three glasses. A few files are nearby. It's
everything she needs for this meeting, but she still feels under-prepared. Like
a little girl playing at being an adult.
 

Caleb would laugh if she
told him that. Laugh and drag her into the uncomfortable situation with an arm
tossed over her shoulders, pleased with himself as he forced her into something
that wasn’t in her comfort zone. He always loved pushing her boundaries.

She sighs and smooths a
hand over her sweater. It’s a strange thing—not quite formal and not quite
casual, and that more than anything has her off-balance. She's chosen to dress
down for this—a long sapphire cashmere sweater with a deep cowl neck over pair
of black tights and blue ballet flats with cream polka dots.
 

What would he think if
he could see her now? He taught and protected her—but he was not able to see
her as a queen. She rubs the still tender skin of her wrist and releases the
breath she's been holding, glancing around again.
 

Caleb's picture catches
her eye. It's one of her favorites, taken of them at Seth's graduation party.
He’s grinning at her and Seth as they stand by a bar, looking beautiful and
alive and carefree, and so young it hurts.
 

The elevator chimes
softly and she straightens abruptly, coming out of her musings as Seth enters
the living room. He glances over her and the space with quick, assessing eyes.
 

“Does it meet with your
approval?” she asks tartly, her fingers twisting nervously.
 

Seth smirks, strolling
toward her with his hands tucked in his pockets. He looks loose and comfortable
in jeans and a button-down, two buttons undone around his neck—immediately, she
wonders if he's been with Vera again.
 

“Don't worry so much,
sweetheart,” he says soothingly. “We aren't selling the proposal.

Just fine-tuning the
details.”

Emma wrinkles her nose,
annoyed, and Seth laughs, a soft noise. He moves to the chair and sinks into
it, opening the wine with practiced efficiency.
 

Her phone buzzes softly
and she answers it. “Yes, send her up. No, I don't think you need to search
her, Dom. She's a guest.” There's a pause as she listens and then, more firmly,
“Send her up.”

She hangs up and sets
the phone down before meeting Seth's gaze. It's questioning and she shrugs.
“Dom is feeling a little overprotective.”

Seth doesn't say
anything. It's the man's job to be protective and he's done well taking care of
Emma. Being close to Seth will mean most want to use her. Dom seems free of
that and he likes the giant bodyguard more for it. Loyalty is a rare thing to
be given freely, and more valuable because of it.

There is a soft swish of
elevator doors, and then the distinct click of heels on marble. Emma
straightens a bit as Aleja glides into the room. The other woman moves like a
hunting cat, and she wonders briefly just how many weapons the Cuban assassin
is carrying.
 

“Morgans, it is so good
to see you,” Aleja says warmly. Her eyes slip over Seth before they settle with
speculative regard on Emma. “Thank you for letting us meet here,” she adds with
a smile.
 

Emma shrugs and nods.
“It’s my pleasure. Please.”
 

The older woman prowls
deeper into the penthouse, and Emma perches nervously on the couch. Aleja
doesn’t hesitate, sinks onto the couch next to Emma. She’s wearing a thin black
sweater with a low v neck, and Emma watches Seth’s eyes trace that v, skate
down over her black skirt and leather boots.
 

Aleja seems oblivious,
but Emma doesn’t buy that for a second. No one could be on the receiving end of
that look from Seth Morgan and be oblivious to it.
 
Emma clears her throat, and Seth’s gaze snaps
to her, a boyish grin turning his lips. “Wine, Aleja?” she asks, and the other
woman makes a quiet sound of assent. Seth pours the red and passes it to Aleja,
who murmurs a low Spanish thanks before relaxing back against the couch.
 

There’s a beat of
silence, a quiet, awkward moment as the two Morgans watch her and she waits,
patiently. They are young—good at playing the game, or she would not be here,
but so painfully young. Seth has been part of her world long enough that she
has a good idea of what the Morgan son will do. But his queen…

She studies Emma from
under her lashes. The girl is young enough that it’s almost unseemly to be
working with her. But then Emma reaches for a thin file and flips it open, and
some of the unease at her age vanishes. Because this is where Emma is in her
element.
 
“We closed on Valhalla,” she
says. Slides a few glossy prints across the couch cushion.

“Our crew will be there
at the end of the week. We’ll have three weeks of downtime while upgrades are
done.”
 

Aleja makes a low noise.
“Three weeks is a long time. That’s a substantial hit, financially.”

Emma smirks, and Aleja
can see her cousin in that expression—not the quiet king watching this meeting,
but the man who fucked her on her father’s beach, whose bruises are only now
fading.
 

She wonders, suddenly,
just how similar the cousins are.
 

“We’ve scheduled four
moving parties. Our hotels will host, and Ratchaphure is providing the ladies
for entertainment.”

Aleja leans into Emma,
and feels the sudden tension in the younger girl as she brushes against her
arm. “These dates are soon.”
 

“Too soon for you?” Seth
asks quietly, and Aleja glances up at him. Meets his easy smirk with her
own.
 

“Of course not. My
cousin has been waiting for my word. He has everything you could ask for ready
to move north.”
 

Emma shifts at the
mention of Miguel, something both Seth and Aleja catch. But because she is
watching Seth and not the girl at her side, she sees the flare of jealousy, hot
and quick, before Seth tamps it down, and goes back to a charming smile.
 
Interesting. She can understand anger—has
seen it often enough in her father’s eyes when confronted with one of her
lovers. But jealousy is unexpected.
 

She sits back, putting a
little distance between herself and Emma, and sees some of the tension in Seth
relax. “Your Thai. He has seen these plans?”
 

Seth slides a smirk at
Emma, who answers, her tone very cool, “Yes.”

“The Ratphachure is very
dedicated to this alliance, is he not? To wear your mark.” Aleja glances at
Seth sidelong, but it’s Emma who answers.
 

And this time, the queen
is not distantly unamused. Her voice is hard and biting. “Not terribly unusual
when you are the syndicate asking for an alliance. And
his
was voluntary.”

“Emma,” Seth says,
quietly. Admonishing. Emma glares at him, and Aleja studies her, sees the
furious color in her cheeks and the defiant sheen of wet in her eyes. Aleja
makes a startled noise, and Emma jerks to her feet.
 

“Excuse me.”
 

She stalks silently from
the room, and Seth releases an aggravated sigh. Swallows his wine, and shifts.
“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I didn’t—” Aleja
pauses. Shakes her head. “When you were with us, it was a vacuum. We didn’t
know—or care—about who you left behind. She is very important to you.”
 

He’s quiet, studying
her. Aleja smiles, a tiny little thing, genuine. Not the sultry smiles she used
to seduce him in Cuba. “I’ll apologize.”
 

He nods and she sets her
wine down, rising.
 

Emma is in the bar, and
her blue eyes are rimmed red. The look she levels at Aleja is just short of
hostile, and the Cuban hesitates.
 
Approaches slowly. Whatever else she is, however young and
inexperienced, she is still the queen of the Morgan syndicate, and she deserves
a little bit of caution.
 

“You know, my father
trusts your Seth. He sent me because he wants to further our alliance.”
 

The words startle Emma,
who goes still. Blue eyes watch her carefully, assessing. “But you are right.
He did not take our mark voluntarily. And that angers you.”
 

Fury flashes in the
younger girl’s eyes before she takes a breath and drops her gaze. Hair swings
down, almost a veil between them. She bites her lip and shakes her head. “What
happened in Cuba is between Seth and your father.”
 

“Except that I’m asking
you,” Aleja says. “Not as Papa’s envoy—but as one girl to another. Seeing that
mark on your cousin infuriated you.”
 

She circles the bar and
props one hip against it, watching Emma, ignoring the white powder on the bar
that the other girl is chopping. “It would infuriate me to see it on
Miguel.”
 

Again, the slight flush
and Emma makes a soft noise of assent. Aleja watches her chop the lines, her
hands so steady and capable, her red-gold curls shinning in the bar light. A
smile touches her features and Emma shifts the mirror to her, a slight
challenge in her eyes.

“I wanted to kill
everyone responsible for that mark,” she says, staring Riza in the eye. Brave,
idiotic girl. A smile tugs at Aleja’s lips and she tucks her hair back, dipping
down and taking her line. The coke hits hard, a trainwreck of sensation, fire
in her veins as her straightens.

It’s good blow, and her
fingers twitch a little as she passes the glass straw to Emma.
 

The girl is a
contradiction of vulnerable and untouchable, nerves and steel, self-doubt and
confidence. Her summer sky gaze is fierce as she chews the inside of her lip,
and her body is all sweet innocence as she leans down to snort her line.
 

When she straightens,
the tension is gone, and her eyes drift closed as she sways. Without looking at
the Cuban assassin, she pulls herself onto the bar, and reaches for a bottle of
vodka.

“I get it,” she says,
cracking open the bottle, and Aleja shifts. Emma smiles, a small but real
thing. “He loved Cuba. Even with the mark being forced—Seth loved your
syndicate. I hated that, more than anything.”
 

“You missed him,” she
says and the other girl nods.
 

“More than you would
ever believe.”

Emma takes a sip
straight from the bottle of Magnum Grey Goose and then tilts the bottle at
Aleja. She takes it, watching the younger girl as she follows suit. The vodka
is cold and leaves a trail of ice as it traces down to settle, so hot, in her
belly.
 

“You trust the Asian
alliance?”
 

Emma shrugs. “You heard
about the regime change?” Aleja’s eyebrows arch, but she nods. “Before Mikie
was killed, he tried to shoot me. He would have. I was in the open, and Seth
had been shot and there was nothing to stop him. Rama took two bullets, bullets
I should have taken. I trust him.”
 

She reaches out, and
Aleja tugs the bottle just a little, so that Emma’s gaze flares before she
snatches it back and Aleja rewards her with a soft laugh.
 

“And Seth? He trusts
him?”
 

“Of course,” Emma says.
Her expression flat lines. “We don’t make our decisions separately,
Aleja.”
 

Aleja smiles, and prowls
closer to the younger woman. “You know, my cousin says good things about
you.”
 

A wicked smile lights
Emma’s eyes, curves her lips, and Aleja sways. Because she’s seen that
unchecked charm before, and she can taste his kisses still.
 

“Funny. Mine does of
you.”

Aleja laughs, startled
by Emma’s unexpected honesty. “I’m glad father sent me here. There is much
about the Morgan syndicate that…intrigues me.”
 

Emma pauses in the
middle of lifting the bottle to her lips and Aleja lets her gaze slip down the
younger girl’s body, a blatant perusal that brings a rush of color to Emma’s
cheeks. She takes another healthy sip and Aleja takes the bottle, brushing her
knuckles over the side of

Emma’s breast as she
reaches for it. She can feel the shiver move through the younger woman, feel
Emma’s eyes following her as she lifts the bottle and drinks.
 

Morgans, after all, are
not the only ones with innate sex appeal.
 

There is a long moment
of charged silence when she lowers the bottle, and Emma makes a little smile,
weak. Motions at the door. “Seth is waiting.” She slides to the edge of the
counter, and drops down.