Glitter and Greed (Brooklyn Brothers #4) Read online

  Glitter and Greed

  Brooklyn Brothers Book Four

  Melanie Munton

  Copyright © 2021 Melanie Munton

  By

  Melanie Munton

  Glitter & Greed

  Brooklyn Brothers Book Four

  Copyright © 2021 Melanie Munton

  All rights reserved

  Cover Design by L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations

  www.mayhemcovercreations.com

  eBook Edition

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people except when loaned out per Amazon’s lending program. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then it was pirated illegally, and you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  This is a work of fiction and any similarities to persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Playlist

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Also by Melanie Munton

  About the Author

  Also by Melanie Munton

  Southern Hearts Club:

  The Divorce Attorney

  The Six Month Lease

  The Mix-Up

  Brooklyn Brothers:

  Lace & Lies

  Scars & Sins

  Booze & Bullets

  Sultry Nights:

  Salsa (Sultry Nights 1)

  Tango (Sultry Nights 2)

  Rumba (Sultry Nights 3)

  Samba (Sultry Nights 4)

  Mambo (Sultry Nights 5)

  Standalone romance:

  King of the Court

  The Unforgettable Kind

  Slow Seductions series:

  Casual Affair (Slow Seductions #1)

  Sweet Attraction (Slow Seductions #2)

  Cruz Brothers series:

  Playing for Kinley (Cruz Brothers #1)

  The Art of Sage (Cruz Brothers #2)

  Always Mickie (Cruz Brothers #3)

  Timid Souls novellas:

  Stubborn Hearts

  Unexpected Love

  Possession and Politics Trilogy:

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Playlist

  Movement – Hozier

  Play With Fire – Yacht Money

  Glitter and Gold – Barns Courtney

  Naked – X Ambassadors

  Wrong Side of Heaven – Five Finger Death Punch

  Popular Monster – Falling in Reverse

  I Feel Like I’m Drowning – Two Feet

  No Remorse - Metallica

  Untitled (How Does It Feel?) – D’Angelo

  Crazy – From Ashes to New

  Broken Bones – Kaleo

  Icky Thump – White Stripes

  Mobscene – Marilyn Manson

  Uprising – Muse

  The Man Comes Around – Johnny Cash

  The Drug In Me Is Reimagined – Falling in Reverse

  In Hell I’ll Be in Good Company – The Dead South

  Human – Rag ‘n’ Bone Man

  Seven Nation Army – Postmodern Jukebox ft. Hailey Reinhart

  Seek and Destroy – Metallica

  My descent back into Hell came much sooner than I thought it would.

  And this place couldn’t be considered anything but Hell. Not when its entrance was down a piss-stained alleyway that smelled of rotted filth and human excrement. Not when hardened criminals were its only inhabitants. It was so deeply embedded in New York’s dark underworld that no light could ever reach it. No sunshine. Only shadows.

  I never thought I’d come back.

  Never thought I’d sink this low again.

  Yet here I found myself, opening the heavy metal door to my past. Stepping into the Pit of Demons. The Dungeon of Death. The Hall of Hades. This was where my former self had reigned supreme. Back when I was known as The Undertaker. Because my face was the last thing my opponents saw before everything went black. I had been the king of these monsters. Had ruled over this subterranean purgatory of rabid dogs, like a bloodthirsty succubus.

  This…was The Slaughterhouse.

  The familiar cacophony of flesh hitting flesh reached my ears. No gloves, no bells, and no protection. This wasn’t my ring at the gym I owned in Brooklyn. This was strictly bare-knuckle, street rules, with a heavy buy-in purse. Most people had no idea a place like this even existed. You had to know someone just to step foot inside this hellhole, and that someone was guaranteed to be the exact opposite of an upstanding citizen.

  The stench of sweat assaulted my nostrils as I bypassed one display of violence after another. The male grunts of pain and agony invaded my memories, dragging me back to places even worse than The Slaughterhouse. Blindingly hot, dry deserts. Humid, muddy jungles. I’d had orders to follow back in those days. A country to serve. Brothers who relied on me to seek and destroy every target.

  I swore I’d never return.

  The weight of my shame was like an anvil, falling heavily on my shoulders.

  I consoled myself with the knowledge that I hadn’t returned to The Slaughterhouse to fight. Only to seek information. I was the only person in my family who had connections with the underground world of high-stakes, illegal fighting. Doing this job was my familial duty. And my fraternal twin brother Rome felt it was his duty to have my back down here, just like he had years ago when this scene had been my therapy. Back before I felt I had any purpose in life at all. Back when I had difficulty readjusting to civilian life after my time with the Army Rangers.

  I had survived m
y time overseas.

  Yet I had almost killed myself in these underground fights. For nothing.

  I hadn’t been defending my country then. Or protecting my family. Or serving a greater cause. My time in The Slaughterhouse had been all about fulfilling a deep-seated urge inside me. One I hadn’t been able to silence or escape from. One that had only been quieted with violence and satisfied with pain.

  To my revulsion, ever since I stepped foot inside the gargantuan basement warehouse that served as a makeshift fighting complex, temptation had tightened its evil hold on me. Coiled inside me like a snake, squeezing until I couldn’t find my breath. My nerves were already on edge, and my temper was on a hairpin trigger.

  All tell-tale signs of my addiction. To fight. To harm. To annihilate.

  With my bare fucking hands.

  So many times I thought I’d conquered it, and so many times I’d been proven wrong.

  A familiar face caught my attention from across the room. As I headed in his direction, I grappled for control, struggling to ignore the chain link fence surrounding each ring. There were four total cages, each one in use at all times on Fight Night. I kept my gaze trained forward, unsure of what I’d feel if I glanced at the fighters locked inside those cages. The need to barge in there and join them?

  Possibly.

  So, I just kept stepping. Dodging the barbaric spectators, some who were practically foaming at the mouth with their thirst for bloodshed. No doubt every single one of the sadistic bastards had money on the line.

  I even deflected the female attention. Last time I walked the grounds of The Slaughterhouse, I’d reveled in that shit. I’d encouraged those women’s hands, invited them into my bed. However many I needed on any given night to keep the nightmares at bay, that’s how many I would get. Sexual release helped to keep those demons locked in Hell. To silence the voices of the dead that terrorized me when the sun went down. Some nights it would take multiple women, multiple rounds, multiple positions. Some nights I didn’t sleep at all.

  Because some nights, there was no cure. No medicine. No therapy.

  Some nights, I had to remain trapped inside my own head.

  But this night, I avoided all of it. Ducked from their coy expressions. Rejected their seeking hands. These were the type of women who actively sought out hard men like me. The kind that needed a man who could dole out pain as much as he could withstand it. A man who had become hardened to life and let it show in every honed muscle of his body, every tattooed inch of his skin, every dark stain on his soul. These women descended into this world of degenerate hostility, purposely looking for someone who could fuck them hard and dirty against the blood-spattered wall because it was naughty and taboo.

  Like me, they were looking for their own thrills.

  I could have used a woman like that right then. No judgment and no emotions. In fact, a big part of me was craving it. Unfortunately, I knew none of them was going to cut it. Because I was idiotically hung up on one particular woman. One I’d had a single brief encounter with over a fucking month ago and hadn’t been able to expel from my head since. I didn’t even know anything about this woman aside from her place of employment and the presumably fake name she went by.

  And the fact that she has the most killer body of any woman I’ve ever seen.

  Alek Tyrone, an old acquaintance I honestly never thought I’d see again, spotted me as I approached. He smirked when I came to a stop beside him. “Luka fucking Rossetti. Been a long time since I’ve seen you in this shithole.”

  I mimicked his position, crossing my arms over my chest. “I could say the same thing, Tyrone. What are you doing back in my city?”

  He tipped his head toward the cage in front of us where two fighters were tangled up. “Vetting some new talent. We need fresh meat in the Windy City. A new champion to mix things up.”

  Alek ran the Chicago chapter of this fighting ring. Almost every large city in the United States had illegal rings like this that weren’t exactly discussed in polite society. Sometimes the cops were aware of them, sometimes they weren’t. Alek worked for a man named Rocco Sandoval, king of the Chicago underworld, and an evil son of a bitch from what I’d heard. I’d known Alek for years and considered him a friend. The only reason he mixed company with a man like Sandoval was because Alek’s father had been Rocco’s best friend and business partner since Alek was a kid. The king of dark Chicago was practically family to Alek, and family tended to blur the lines of right and wrong.

  “Where’s Rome?” he asked.

  In a barely discernable move, I inclined my head toward the back of the room. “Keeping an eye on things.”

  Alek knew well from my fighting days that I never ventured into this world without my brother by my side in case things went sideways. Hell, we rarely went anywhere without the other. Rome was currently propped up against the back wall, observing the action around him with alert, ex-sniper eyes. A lot of the high rollers in the room had their own bodyguards, so it wasn’t unusual to see a tatted-up, scary-looking dude mean-mugging every bastard that walked by him. In fact, Rome fit right in with this scene. My brother hadn’t been jazzed about re-visiting my old stomping grounds, but he understood the necessity of it. Information coming out of here could be too valuable to pass up.

  “And are you here as a spectator or a participant?” Alek prodded, both amusement and curiosity coloring his words.

  He was more than familiar with my former fighting career—it was how we’d met. Impressed by my skill, he’d tried to persuade me into moving to Chicago on the promise of turning me into a champion fighter there. A champion fighter that was guaranteed to attract big fish and a heavy cash flow. And he’d respected my decision when I turned him down.

  “Neither,” I answered in a clipped voice. “I wouldn’t even be here at all if I had a choice.”

  He quirked an interested eyebrow. “Do tell.”

  “I need some information.”

  He moved the toothpick in his mouth to the other side, chewing in thought. “What kind of information, Luka?”

  His demeanor slightly changed, along with the tone of his voice. He was a smart guy. He knew whatever I was about to say was as serious as it got, not to mention highly confidential. Conversations like this always came with some level of risk if the wrong people were to hear about them.

  “We’re getting new reports on Raphael Esposito’s activities,” I explained, referring to the New York mafia Boss who recently escaped police custody and was currently on the lamb. Oh, and he wanted my entire family dead. “Word is that he’s gotten into the human trafficking game. Know anything about that?”

  Alek blew out a frustrated breath, running his hand over his buzzed head. “Shit, man. You know I don’t deal in that fucked up business.”

  I did know that. Despite Alek’s sketchy pseudo-family affiliations, I’d trust the guy with my life if it came down to it. But I had to utilize every available resource at my disposal. My family members’ lives depended on it.

  “Have you heard names of anyone who does?” I pushed.

  “Why are you asking me? This is your city, isn’t it?”

  Averting my gaze, I swung it around The Slaughterhouse. “This place is a fucking cesspool of information, and I haven’t been down here in years. Whatever sources I had back then have dried up.”

  My eyes roved over the cages, the blood soaking the cement floors, the grunts of men pummeling themselves nearly to death, the money being exchanged between the suited men who weren’t putting their lives on the line.

  “I don’t know this life anymore,” I murmured.

  Alek was silent for a moment. “Yes, you do. Which is exactly why you were smart enough to get out of it.”

  I shot him a side glance. “You’re not dumb either, Tyrone. If I can do it...”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “You know that’s complicated. I can’t abandon my old man. He’s a lifer and,”—he shrugged—“I have to have his back.”

  Alek’
s fierce loyalty to the only family he had left was what I respected most about him. It was one of the many things we had in common. Even though his father had basically been a career criminal all his life, Alek was…different. He had a less shaky moral compass. A firmer hold on light and dark, good and evil. Sure, he still did some questionable deeds and lived a lot of his life in the darkness, but he wasn’t a bad person. But like he said, he’d never leave his father.

  “How’s he doing, by the way?”

  Alek rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. “He’ll out live us all.”

  I thought back to a few months ago when my own father had suffered a heart attack. He’d been back to fighting form within weeks, but it had scared the shit out of all of us.

  “Glad to hear it.” I lowered my voice, switching back to business. “I need names, man. We know Raphael isn’t working on his own, but we haven’t figured out who his partner is yet. Or if he has more than one.”

  The mafia had never been involved in the buying and selling of women before, so this news had completely blind-sided us. Raphael had established new connections with someone, and we needed to find out who as soon as fucking possible.

  Alek shook his head, regret clouding his features. “I wish I had something to give you, but I don’t. My business is fighting and collecting on overdue payments. If it’s not happening in Chicago, I know fuck-all about it.”

  I cracked my neck, sighing.

  “But there might be a way of getting that information to come to you.”

  My eyes narrowed. “How?”

  His grin was sardonic as his eyes flicked to the right. Taking the hint, I discreetly followed his gaze until it landed on a huge, shirtless man standing on the opposite side of the cage. With the way his fists were unconsciously flexing as he watched the action inside the fence, I knew right away he was a fighter.