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“I think it’s fairly obvious.”
He rolls his eyes as he exhales heavily. “Do you seriously think participating in underground fucking cage fights is in the best interests of the firm?”
“I don’t think what I do in my personal time has any effect whatsoever on the firm, actually.”
“You do understand that Crown and Black is now the most elite and sought-after law firm in all of New York City, right? You appreciate that you and I and Taylor worked our asses off to get it to that level? And here you’re playing Fight Club with a bunch of degenerates?”
“I prefer to think of it as networking and professional outreach. Degenerates have a way of frequently needing legal assistance, Gabriel.”
He arches a brow, clearly unamused.
“And I’m sorry, is this really about the firm’s reputation, or your political aspirations?”
I know for a fact that my brother has been meeting with a political consulting firm recently, and frequently. He keeps denying it whenever Taylor or I bring it up, but he’s about as sneaky as Elmer Fudd under Bugs Bunny’s watchful eye.
“There are no political aspirations, Alistair,” he sighs.
“Clearly,” I murmur as I rake my fingers down my jaw. “Well? Did you just come to break my balls about being here, or was there something else?”
“You weren’t answering your phone, and this is important.”
“You have my attention. Is it about the Chinellato case?”
“You really think I’d drive all the way out to fucking Brooklyn to go over that with you?”
“Maybe you just missed me?—”
“Alistair.”
There’s an icy coldness in his tone and a warning in his eyes that has me on edge in seconds.
“What the hell’s going on, Gabriel.”
He clears his throat and looks away. “We have a meeting tomorrow morning with a very eager, very wealthy, very notorious prospective new client.”
My brow creases. “That’s…generally considered a good thing, no? I don’t know about you, but I personally quite enjoy money and making more of it.”
His eyes lock with mine.
“The prospective client is Massimo Carveli.”
The name is all it takes for me to go from neutral to DEFCON 2. For my blood to turn to acid, my teeth to grind to dust, and my every muscle to tighten and coil.
Massimo Carveli is many things, including the head of his family organization after the death a year or so back of his father, Luca. He’s rich, powerful, enjoys expensive European sports cars and fine wine, and recently moved here to New York.
He’s also a complete fucking psychopath with extremely violent tendencies, a knack for cruelty, and a lust for even more power and wealth.
But there’s one thing that Massimo Carveli is that more than anything has a way of stabbing me in the heart and making me bleed, which is quite a feat considering I’m sure my heart was ripped from my chest cavity ten years ago.
He’s Eloise LeBlanc’s husband.
There’s a ringing in my ears as the world turns red at the edges. My fists clench so tight my knuckles pop. My jaw is grinding so viciously that I taste copper.
“Look, Alistair, we can?—”
“Alistair?”
I blink out of my blood-soaked daze when the second voice interrupts my brother. When I turn around, I see Antoine, one of the organizers of the evening, standing there.
