Twisted (Never After #4)(4)
This week, it was the governors and the CEOs of the world. Next week, it could be the capos or the jefes, depending on who it is we need to have in our immediate pocket. It’s a tenuous game we play, being masters of the universe, but it’s one I enjoy.
Controlling most of the world’s diamonds means you control most of the world, and a diamond is never just a diamond.
That’s not to say Sultans isn’t a reputable company. It is.
We’re unique in the way we operate. Where most diamond retailers are the bottom of the food chain, Sultans has built itself as a stronghold in every facet of the industry. We have jewelry stores in every major city across the United States, several in other countries, and we’re expanding every year.
It’s only once you pull the curtain back from all the stores and sales numbers that you get to the truth. And the truth is that we also control a large majority of the diamond black market.
No one can deny that I’ve done more to advance our position both politically and socioeconomically in the past eight years than Ali accomplished in a lifetime. And it’s been my goal to take over Sultans ever since I was a young boy, when I was watching Ali Karam on TV being lauded as the most powerful man in the world after his father died and left the company to him.
He’s everything I wished I could be.
There’s only one issue.
For some reason, he doesn’t want me to take the reins. Not officially anyway, which is complete bullshit considering no one else has poured their blood, sweat, and tears into his legacy more than I have.
With his declining health—the extent of which he hasn’t told anyone other than those in his closest circle—there’s an under current of anxiety that taints the air, specifically when he speaks of his daughter, Yasmin. She came back six months ago, a fresh graduate from whatever university he had her stashed at, and he started calling in suitors for her hand immediately. Like it’s the eighteenth century and he’s on borrowed time.
Part of me almost feels pity for the poor fool who will end up saddled with the spoiled brat. She has no attributes other than looking nice on an arm and being the heiress to a billion-dollar fortune, and all that is ruined by her desperation to have her daddy’s attention.
When Ali told me he was bringing in suitors, I grew suspicious. A quick trip to his personal lawyer and a flip of my staff later, I learned the ins and outs of Ali’s will. He’s leaving everything to his daughter, provided she marry someone “suitable.” Ridiculous.
I have no doubt in my mind she’ll jump at the chance to take over her family’s legacy, to make her father happy, even if it means marrying someone she has no interest in. She’s never been the type of person to go against something Ali wants, especially if it gains his favor.
She’ll be its ruin. She’ll be my ruin.
Unless I become the man she marries.
The thought makes my stomach curdle.
Samuel, the poor fool who thought he’d be introduced to Yasmin this evening, was the first of what I assume will be many unfortunate casualties. But after careful consideration, I’ve decided that until I have a plan in place, no one will get near Yasmin Karam.
Ali lets out a sigh, sinking into the deep burgundy leather of his oversize chair. He coughs suddenly, surging forward. The sound is jagged and rough, as if it were forced from his lungs by steel hands and dragged through barbed wire on its way up his throat.
My brows crease, something tightening in my sternum. “Do you need water, old man?”
His eyes tear up as he waves me off. “No, no. I’ll be fine.” He pauses, his finger running over his trimmed and patchy salt-and- pepper beard as he stares into space. “Did you find out what happened to Samuel?”
I try to adopt a sympathetic face. “Never made it on his flight, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to get in touch, but no luck so far.”
“Hmm,” he hums, his body slouching. “And the lamp? Any news?”
Frustration bleeds into my middle, spreading like molasses. This blasted lamp is quickly becoming the bane of my existence, especially considering everyone is after it, but no one knows if it even exists.
If it does, then I need it in my hands and under my control. You can wield a lot of power with a lost relic said to be a spelled lamp of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh, and there’s a rush of people trying to find it first.
The idea that it’s actually spelled is ludicrous, of course, but the myth combined with the history are enough to make it priceless. And if I have the lamp, then I can finally center Sultans as not only a powerhouse in the diamond trade but also antiquities, which is the one area of the black market we haven’t yet entered. It’s not enough to be one of the players in the game. I want to control it all.
Convincing Ali of its importance was easy. It’s finding the damn thing that’s giving me problems.
I purse my lips, fingers tapping against the rim of my tumbler. “Still looking.”
Ali jerks forward but stops as another harsh cough pours from his mouth.
I blow out a breath, setting down my tumbler of whiskey on the table and walking over to where he sits, reaching out my arm. “Come on, old man. You don’t need to put on a brave face for me. Let’s get you to your room so you can rest. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
His eyes flare, and I can see the way I’ve offended him by the stark lines that burrow deeper with his frown. But then yet another coughing fit overcomes him, his thin skin showcasing the bulging blood vessels underneath.