As it turns out, Dorian is quite well-connected with underworld figures, but not in the way I'm expecting. Unlike Sean and Ian's underworld connections—often common thieves, prostitutes and pawnbrokers—his are black-market dealers in stolen art and antiquities, well-to-do, pampered and quite generous with their wealth.
The yacht we're on is jointly-owned by Dorian and the pristinely pressed and nice-smelling, sun-bronzed and darkly handsome Latino—his black-market broker—who greets me with an extended hand in linen slacks and a white shirt with the buttons completely open down the front. It's well-stocked and the champagne starts flowing the instant that I take his hand and climb aboard on the swim platform.
"Señorita, I am Carlos," he purrs appreciatively with an ear-candy accent, holding open a pristine white Egyptian cotton robe and helping me into it. "Such a pleasure to have you join us."
