Page 52 of Mafia Obsession

Daria smirks. “And if he’s on another assignment?”

“I’ll do it myself.” I hide how I really want to be the one to choke the last breath from David Sinclair.

Rhys Quinlan shows up fifteen minutes on the dot, and my hostess brings him to a table across from Sinclair. He sits at a curved banquette with a complimentary bottle of Jameson.

Wanting to show a position of strength, I wrangle Atlas and Ambrose as well as putting all seven of my guards on alert. We reach Quinlan’s table, and before I can remark on the alcohol choice, Quinlan greets me first.

“Ares.” He says my name with his usual lack of warmth.

“You see my persistent problem.” I point across the dance floor to where Sinclair sits, his date rubbing his dick under the table.

“I see.” Quinlan clocks him looking bored.

“Rarely do these leeches stick to drugs and weapons,” I say to keep up the ruse that Sinclair’s disrespect is transactional and that I’m merely being territorial. “Human trafficking usually follows. No one is using my club for anything illegal. Withoutpermission or payment.”

“It’s easy to launder dirty money with expensive liquor,” Rhys remarks dryly.

“Next, he’ll be making deals with other families. All without our blessing,” I hiss to make this a potential Quinlan Empire problem. “That ends tonight.”

“Why don’t you let me throw him out?” Rhys fires off a curveball. “Make an example out of him, and maybe he’ll move on.”

Not expecting the hesitation, I bristle, “If you make a show of kicking him out, the distributor or mafia boss he’s dealing for might show up next.” I then drop the hint, “You should know powers are consolidating.”

Rhys doesn’t react to my comment.

“This man needs to quietly disappear,” I add, meeting his eyes.

“Making people disappearismy specialty.” Rhys downs his drink.

“I have my seven guards standing by.” I straighten and signal Wrath to gather everyone.

“What happened to guardsguard?” Rhys mocks my earlier comment, standing up.

“They are here to guardme,” I clarify and stand as well.

“In case handsy-man over there has an accomplice planted somewhere?” Quinlan asks, snorting.

I grip the assassin’s shoulder. “I talk. You destroy, got it?”

With my seven guards in a formation to act as a visual barrier to the rest of my customers, I approach Sinclair’s booth first. I make eye contact with the woman and signal her to leave. She pulls her hand away and flees the table.

Sinclair looks at me, then takes in Quinlan and my guards. The way he pales shows he understands what he’s up against. What he unleashed. And how he miscalculated everything.

“How many times are you going to come here and embarrass yourself?” I say to get it off my chest.

“Fuck off, Zervas.” The alcohol fuels his bravado, but he won’t have a pulse in a few minutes. “Do you think I don’t know what you really want?”

At the sharp disrespect, Quinlan comes abreast of me. The look of terror in Sinclair’s eyes suggests Griffin’s assassin has earned himself a reputation for being feared on contact.

Quinlan leans across the table and rasps in hisPeaky Blindersdeadly accent, “Do you want to tellmeto fuck off?”

Sinclair opens his mouth, but Quinlan isn’t here to talk. He reaches across the table and with one hand drags Sinclair out of the booth by his leather jacket. Everything on the table ends up on my floor, the shattered glass amplifying the assassin’s force.

My guards and brothers continue to block the scene while creating a path to the back room of my club. That’s where people find out what happens to them when they’ve reached the end of my patience.

Quinlan, who’s done this before, tosses Sinclair down into a metal chair and takes over.

I salivate to watch him experience the worst beating of his life.