needed another reason to be excruciatingly intrigued by this girl. She’s like a bad hangover after a long night of drinking, but hell if that’s going to keep me from grabbing the bottle again. One sip is enough for now, while my conscience pummels away at my head for trying to corrupt an innocent teenager.
It takes over two hours to drive and ferry to the restaurant in Boston, where the Scarpinatos requested to meet. I’ve no doubt it’ll be teeming with their men, waiting for the moment they can open fire on me. But all that bullshit about family being the most important thing in the mafia is just that: bullshit. The truth is, they haven’t been relevant in a number of years, and their numbers are dwindling. They’d have to fuck their own sisters to keep a pure bloodline nowadays. If not me, some other asshole would’ve come along and silenced Franco, because you don’t walk around with a mouth that big without someone wanting to shove the barrel of a gun into it.
Straightening my jacket, I enter the dimly-lit restaurant that looks like a two-dimensional wanna-be of Tuscany, with painted arched doorways and awnings on brick walls. Out the rear door on the patio, I find Vincent and Stefano, Franco’s uncle and cousin, seated at a table toward the back. Stefano, the younger one, reminds me of a dark-eyed Ray Liotta, with his black hair and dimples, who waves me over.
“Here we go,” Rand says beside me, the nervous wobble in his voice bringing a smile to my face.
Standing off to the side, behind the Scarpinatos, are two stocky men, bodyguards judging by their stiff and guarded posture, who eye-fuck Makaio as we approach.
“Gentlemen,” I say, taking a seat across from them, alongside Rand, while Makaio stands off to the side behind me, eye-fucking the men right back.
Ordinarily, they’d offer a hug and a handshake, but I didn’t give them the opportunity, which is why I’m guessing Vincent is looking at me like I tried to cop a feel under the table, or something.
“Been a long time, Lucian. How you been?” Stefano asks, nowhere near concerned with etiquette. That’s the problem with the new generation--they just don’t care anymore.
“Excellent.”
“Sorry to hear about your father. He was a good guy.”
“Yeah, well, when the big man says it’s time …”
I watch the two of them give the sign of the cross, before kissing the crucifixes dangling from the chains at their neck. It’s incredible. The obligations of religion that force them to show respect to a man they’ve plotted to kill on at least one occasion. As much as my father tried to keep the peace with them throughout his life, nobody’s perfect. I almost want to say it again, to see if they’ll repeat the ritual.
Stefano leans in and rests his elbows on the table. “We called you to this meeting to discuss the status of our arrangement.”
“Which one are we talking about? The shipment I’ve withheld? Or the future shipments I refuse to deliver?”
Rand clears his throat beside me, probably holding back a torrent of piss right now.
An un-genuine smile stretches Stefano’s lips, and he sits back in his chair, hiking his elbow up on the seat. “See, that’s not gonna work. We have a longstanding history with your company. A contract.”
“If you’ll kindly produce the contract, I’m happy to discuss the terms of it.”
“It’s a verbal contract, asshole. Between our grandfathers.”
“Both of whom are now decaying in the ground, asshole.” This meeting’s off to a great start. I can practically hear the fragile threads of Stefano’s patience snapping inside his head.
Nostrils flaring, he shifts his jaw in annoyance. “We have suppliers looking to move a shit-ton of product.”
“Fantastic. I trust you won’t be at a loss finding a replacement to ship it for you.”
Jerking forward, he slams his fist against the table, like an angry toddler, and at Makaio’s lurch beside me, the two bodyguards behind Stefano reach behind their backs for what I presume are guns.
“I ought to knock that smug fucking smile off your face!”
Still wearing that smug fucking smile, I quirk a brow. “Careful now. I wouldn’t want over a million-dollars-worth of product to end up as fish food.”
Rolling his shoulders back, he exhales a long breath and raises his hand, signaling for his men to stand down. “You’ve been doing this a long time. Why the sudden change of heart?”
As I pull my cigarette case from inside my coat pocket, his men lurch