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“French.” His voice strikes me like a bolt of lightning. I can’t help but notice it.
“Excuse me, Garrix is a gentleman. He doesn’t like me flirting with the ladies on the job.” He fakes a scandalized horror that belongs on Broadway.
“I’d prefer a gentleman over a clown like you,” I barb him. “Or are you a mime, since you should be talking less?”
French mimes the walls of a cube-shaped box around him. Then his hands pantomime the cranking a lever with his left hand, while gradually raising his middle finger on his right until it’s standing erect.
“It’s a little small, could use more girth,” I dryly comment.
All four of us laugh, even Garrix. I have the feeling he’s a serious man who doesn’t laugh very often.
I still feel his eyes on me from behind me like a physical caress. Turning my head slightly, I confirm my suspicions. He winks at me, having zero shame in getting caught checking me out. Only a true predator would look at someone like me with such attentiveness.
We come to a metal door at the end of a hallway. Garrix unlocks it, then we file into a sparse, minimally decorated office. There’s just a solid wooden desk with a laptop and a matching round conference table with six chairs. The man sitting behind the desk seems to be about my father’s age, probably in his mid-fifties. He’s slender, with silver-gray hair and a matching beard. His face reminds me of the Danish actor I saw in that fantasy movie last week. His thin lips rise in a half smile when he sees Maximo and I walk in.
Rising from his desk, he reaches for my palm, shaking it firmly. “Maddalena Vettore, it’s good to meet you.” His voice has a slight British accent, as if it’s been eroded by an extended time away from the motherland.
“Likewise. Thank you for considering a partnership with Nuova Notte.”
“And you must be Maximo Vettore,” he says to my brother, shaking his hand before inviting us to sit down at the long table.
Garrix sits next to me, with Maximo on my other side.
“I don’t want to waste our time, so I’ll get straight to it,” Fox starts. “I want an alliance. You dominate the arms trade on the East Coast, and we carry out many jobs that involve the use of various kinds of weapons. I would rather buy straight from the source and cut out the middle broker.”
“I can appreciate that,” I say, purposely keeping my response short. Papà always taught me that listening is more important in negotiations than dominating the conversation.
Garrix’s thigh presses into mine underneath the table. I cross my legs, trying to knock his leg away from mine and create some space, but he doesn’t budge. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be some kind of intimidation tactic, but it has the opposite impact. My body tingles as soon as our knees touch.
Cristos, I really need to get laid, like yesterday, if I’m reacting to something this innocuous.
“I also heard the Russians are getting too big and making careless decisions…” Fox lets the statement trail off.
On paper, we’re allied with the Russians, but that relationship has been wearing thin as of late. They’re pulling reckless stunts that ruffle our allies’ feathers and pushing for a marriage between our families that we won’t give them.
“If we ever have issues, it would be nice to have additional backup,” I comment.
“We always have our friends’ backs,” Garrix chimes in. When I peer up at him, he’s staring at me again. I should find it creepy and disrespectful, but having such a dangerous, intense man paying attention to me only turns me on.
His hand brushes my back slightly and I shiver. I fucking tremble. Like a virginal ingénue. I haven’t been virginal in quite some time and I’m no innocent broad.
“Good to know.” I mentally steel myself against whatever I just felt, steering the conversation toward payment. “Don Vettore told me that the payment was agreed upon ahead of time, and will be rendered after the demo.”
“Yes, six million for this shipment, and a six million retainer for regular, smaller shipments throughout the year. I also threw in one free job from us within reason.” Fox gestures toward his second in command. “You’ll work directly with Garrix, who will coordinate the drops on my behalf.”
“I look forward to seeing you more often,” Garrix says after leaning in closer to me. Gabe clears his throat, but he doesn’t move.
“Likewise.” I know this deal is too important to let anything happen between us, but I can at least get pleasure out of seeing his face when we meet for the drop offs.
“Alright, let’s get this demo started,” Maximo says.
Fox, Garrix, French, Gabe, and I make our way back out to the main area of the warehouse, then take another hallway toward the back of the building, leading us to a gun range. A few crates from the main shipment are stacked against the wall. I take my hatchet out of my weapons holster and use the sharp edge to pry the lid off the smaller top crate.
I take a long leather box out and hand it to French. “Your thank you gift.”
He smiles as he opens the box, revealing a machete nestled in velvet lining. Its gleaming silver blade catches the fluorescent lighting as he takes it out with a gentle grip on the leather handle.
“This is why we’re friends—you share my love of sharp objects,” he marvels as he admires the craftsmanship, running a hand up and down the blunt side of the blade like he was caressing a lover.
