Page 83 of Marcus

Cella nodded and pulled her phone from the cupholder to pass it back. “There you go—you know where to find his name to call. I think he’d like that very much.”

In fact, she was positive he would. Something else for her to love about him. Like the man hadn’t already given her more than enough.

Tribute was, normally, one of Marcus’s favorite times of the month. It was something he looked forward to.

He mostly blamed it on the fact he was a Guzzi, and all Guzzis loved money like it was a second God they worshipped on every other day but Sunday. What appeared to be modesty in his wealth what with his Toronto penthouse, the three-level home in the suburbs, and a couple of flashy cars he liked to keep on hand, was really just smoke and mirrors. His closets were lined with custom Armani and whatever designer name he felt like buying. He had enough leather loafers—his favorite—to provide a small army with shoes. Oh, and his investment portfolio toted over two hundred businesses spread across Ontario and Quebec which he constantly added to.

Yeah, he fucking loved money. Because the more he owned, the less people might be able to take from him at the end of the day. With the control of things came power he could extend when or if he needed.

Usually, that would be enough to get him to give a fuck at tribute, and put up with the theatrics of the mafia that could literally take all day, but today was one where his patience had run particularly thin. Or perhaps that was just his impatience making an appearance because frankly, he just wanted this day to be done with already. He had much better things waiting for him tomorrow.

Like her arrival back in town.

Cella, that was.

With every week that passed without him seeing Cella, he became more and more anxious. A little fucking edgy. All things that weren’t particularly good for Marcus’s circumstance considering his life and position, but here he was doing it all anyway.

A true testament to his feelings, really.

Since tomorrow would accompany Cella’s arrival with Tiffany in tow, and today was tribute, well he was just ready for it to be done. Then, he could focus on his weekend with Cella since this was literally all he could have with her right now. Random weekends when she could make the trip, phone calls throughout the week, and text messages during the day.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

It’s all they had.

Marcus would take that over nothing.

“What’s your opinion on that, boss?”

Marcus raised his attention from the cup of coffee he was currently dazing out on to find all eyes in the restaurant had turned on him. Not surprising, considering every person inside the business currently was a made man that answered to him, and they were all there to hand over a portion of their monthly earnings to the boss.

That’s what tribute was all about.

The boss.

Another reason why he enjoyed this day was because of the memories it carried for him. From the time he was a young boy, he followed his father to every single tribute. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been made at the time because he didn’t need to be when he was the son. The oldest Guzzi boy—the firstborn.

A clear message, if there ever was one from his father.

Gian intended for him to sit here.

Marcus didn’t think his father meant for him to be this distracted however because he had not one fucking clue what the Capo across the room meant by his question. “My opinion on what, exactly?”

Beside him at his own table, Chris cleared his throat as looks passed around the room. So, maybe his distraction wasn’t going unnoticed—that could certainly pose a problem, if he allowed it, and he wouldn’t—by everyone else.

Marcus put his head back into the game. “I asked a question, did I not? I would appreciate an answer.”

“The rackets on the road construction downtown,” the Capo was fast to say, clearly hearing the warning in Marcus’s tone and knowing better than to play games, “I was discussing whether or not it would continue to be a profitable venture after this year seeing as how someone else won the bids for the next few years. We’ll have to rework a new deal with those companies, that is if they even will take a—”

“We have an entire year to figure the details out for that, oui?”

The man nodded. “Yes, but—”

“It would, undoubtedly, be easier to give up the rackets but the second we do that, someone else will certainly step in to take it over for their own business. And then that money we’re out will have to be made somewhere else by the Capos who should have had that cash coming in from the rackets. So, by all means, rid yourselves of the rackets if you want, but do let me know where you’re going to make up that cash elsewhere while you’re at it.”

There.

Let them make of that what they wanted.