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“Sit, sit, my friend. I heard you were back in town, so I thought I would finally pay you a visit,” he said, smiling.
I glanced at Pedro and Andreas who were standing with their hands on their guns. Gino was fifty-plus-year-old short man with fake tan and dyed hair. He thrived on making himself look younger. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’d gone under the knife a few times.
I wanted to believe no one knew about my plans with the Russians but there was a reason why he was here. I suddenly wished Marcus had taken care of him in a permanent manner, but then I’d owe him a lot more than I did. I’d have been dumb to think he wouldn’t show up at some point to finish what we started.
I’d been keeping my eyes open, although this restaurant wasn’t a place Gino would frequent. There was some animosity between him and Stefania, the details of which I wasn’t privy to.
“We are just about to have dinner, Gino, but please join us,” I said, keeping my tone even and calm.
“I wouldn’t eat in this place if you paid me,” Gino spat, and I wanted to stab the motherfucker for insulting Stefania in her own place. Luckily, she was still at the back and didn’t have a clue what was happening here. His bodyguards stayed by the door, blocking the exit and staring daggers at Pedro and Andreas.
Gino was ready for a fancy showdown. Typical. I smirked.
My only concern was respecting Stefania’s place of business and making sure no damage was done inside. I needed to bide my time and play my cards right.
“Pedro, Andreas, leave us. Gino wants to have a private conversation,” I stated, drinking some of my beer.
Both of my men left reluctantly, walking past the wall of muscle that was Gino’s man. The Italian in front of me rubbed his hands together, looking on edge at my fixed perusal.
“How was your trip to Russia, Sebastian?” he blurted. “I bet it was much colder than you expected.”
“I went back home to Serbia, not Russia,” I said coolly. “What it is that I can do for you, mate?”
I hated beating around the bush. We had to get this over with.
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Dimitrei. I know what you’re up to. You fucking went to Russia to negotiate with these fuckers.” Gino banged his fist on the table.
A few other patrons in the restaurant now glanced back at us. I took a deep breath, restraining an urge to throttle the man. He was volatile and dangerous, but I’d taken steps to cover my ass. He wasn’t dealing with a spring chicken. Deals came and went in this business—it came with the territory—and this wasn’t his time.
“Their offer was much more lucrative, Gino,” I told him. “And their product is pure. Top notch … while you hadn’t showed me anything yet. Can you tell me why?” I leaned forward in my chair, my gaze hooking his.
“But they are foreigners, the fucking Russians,” he blabbered. “We own Chicago and if we would join forces, we could do so much more together.”
That was funny, coming from him. We were all foreigners in this country, but the difference was that I’d lived here all my life and Gino, well, he had been here barely a decade and he still thought he could buy everyone.
“Their product is already on the streets and as I said, it’s very good quality. That means fewer issues. It’s a better deal,” I said.
Just then, Stefania arrived with the food. She looked a little surprised seeing that I was no longer sitting with my men. “Hey there, handsome. Here is your food—” She noticed Gino and her face twisted. “What is he doing here?” she asked in a cold tone.
Gino glancedat her and then at her tits and I clenched my jaw. If this fucker was going to try anything, then he was dead.
“Oh,carissima, I think I would eat you up for lunch if you let me,” he purred and then pinched Stefania’s ass.
She jumped away from him, enraged. “Ma che testa di cazzo!” She turned to me. “Get this dickhead and his ugly, fake-sunburned, shit-colored face out of here now!Coglione!” she spat. throwing her hands in the air.
Not needing to be told twice, I launched myself at Gino and grabbed him by the lapel of his shirt.
Bringing my face close to his, I shook him. “You’re lucky I don’t want to make a mess or I’d blow your brains out,” I said through gritted teeth. I pulled him out of the chair.
In that moment, two shots were fired and chaos ensued. Stefania screamed. A split second later, I felt the fucking punch going straight into my jaw as Gino wriggled free. People got out their seats, shouting and rushing toward the exit. I couldn’t see my men anywhere.
Grabbing Gino, I landed a fist in his face, once, twice, and the third time, I heard a snap. He shouted in agony and brought a hand up to his bloodied face, holding his nose which was twisted at an unnatural angle. His eyes sparked with rage.
“You’re fucking dead, Dimitrei. Dead and gone!” he shouted, while one of his men raced to me and kicked me in the ribs.
We struggled for a while until I blocked one of his punches and grabbed his crotch, squeezing tightly, then pulling. He cried out and fell back, holding on to his family jewels. I looked around. Everyone seemed to have vacated the place, and luckily, there wasn’t a whole lot of damage. Just a big old mess of overturned chairs, scattered food, and broken plates to clean. Stefania had gone to the kitchen to keep her staff safe, away from the commotion.
Sometime later, a worse-for-wear Andreas staggered in. “Pedro is dealing with the other guy.” He winced and cupped his jaw. “That fucker had a mean uppercut,” he muttered. Blood dripped from Andreas’ arm, the one attached to the hand that held a gun.
