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Beside me, Don Salvestro grunts. Sal and Bernardo are old school, Godfather types. Speaking out of turn at Salvestro’s table could get your tongue cut. The grunt says he doesn’t approve of my man speaking out of turn. But he also understands that this is my war room.
“Shooting practice!” Anton roars with a laugh. “Yes! Perhaps so.” His smile holds too long. His eyes linger on Dominic behind me. “Perhaps next time, he puts one through your cousin’s balls, nyet?”
The smile drops. Thankfully, hothead though he is, Dominic is smart enough not to take the bait.
“Enough,” I growl. “This is not a negotiation. We’re here because of a wrong your family has done to mine. As such…”
“As such, I give you something shiny, yes, I know,” Anton grunts. He looks at me. “And I have brought you something shiny I think you will like.”
Money won’t interest me. I have more than I know what to do with. I’m too busy to spend much of it anyways. But power though, I would take. A slice of the Korolyov import business would be good, for instance.
“This gift…” Anton looks at me. “This will settle the matter with my son?”
I glance at Salvestro. He nods quietly and puffs his cigar.
“Yes,” I turn back to Anton. “It will.”
“Good. That is good. Good for business.” He smiles. “And I think you’ll like her.”
My brow furrows. Her?
“Excuse me?”
“A woman,” Anton leers.
I scowl and shake my head. “I have no interest in one of your whores,” I hiss. I’ve had no interest in women for years, actually.
Anton chuckles. “No, not like that. This is a gift for a man like yourself. She’s not a whore. She’s a wife.”
I blink. “I think you need to re-think this...”
“A wife?” Salvestro’s heavily accented voice is like whiskey and sandpaper.
Anton looks eager. “Yes, Don Salvestro. A wife, for Micheal here. To ease this tension between our two families. For business, yes?”
“No,” I snarl.
“Si.”
I startle. My head whips back to Salvestro. “No…”
“Si,” he grunts. He nods quietly. “Si, you will accept, Micheal,” he growls. “You will do this.”
I understand that Sal and his cousin are old school. I understand that they’re my bosses. But this is a step too far. This is far too old school. This is fucking medieval.
“Don Salvestro,” I growl. I lean into him. “The answer is no.”
“Si, Micheal.”
My jaw grinds tight. “Salvestro,” I hiss quietly. “When I assumed command of your interests here, our agreement was autonomy—”
“Then I am amending our agreement, Micheal.” Salvestro says without emotion. He puffs his cigar. My temper rises.
“I am not…”
“On this, I insist, Micheal,” he grunts.
“Don Salvestro…”
