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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 again, but I hold the case up for them to see, and pop it open, sliding one of my smokes out. Makaio already has the Zippo lit beside me, and I lean in to light the end of it.
“I fucking hate my job. Hate. My job. If I didn’t have to deal with all my father’s shitty loose ends, I’d buy a boat and sail around the world, fucking every woman at every port, until I die of some raging STD. You’re the first of many loose ends.”
“What are you saying? You’re gonna … sell the fucking company?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Do I look like I’m over here trying to produce an heir?” With a shrug, I take another drag of my smoke. “It’s going to happen eventually, unless the key to everlasting life suddenly comes in the form of daily suppositories and denture glue.”
“You can’t do that. We’ve been partners a long time. You don’t just ditch a business partnership.”
“I believe a man’s odds eventually catch up to him, Stefano. We have been doing this a long time. And at some point, someone is going to get wise to the fact that I have been moving large shipments for the mafia. It’s going to be very bad. And my dreams of sailing and fucking? Gone like a prostitute when the meth runs out.”
Beside Stefano, Vincent sits rubbing his fingers together, the harsh breaths coming out of his nose reminding me of a bull seeing red. “What do you propose?”
“I’m glad you asked.” I lean forward to flick the ash of my cigarette in Stefano’s drink. “I’ll hand off your shipment and, as a courtesy, waive the usual cut. To honor my grandfather’s verbal contract with your grandfather, which, let’s face it, with the rising inflation, probably didn’t amount to much back then, I’ll buy out your arrangement for three-million up front, and another three-million when the business sells.” I catch the quick exchange of glances between Stefano and Vincent, as I ease back into my seat.
“How soon?” Vincent also reaches for a pack of cigarettes out on the table in front of him and lights one up.
