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Brooks makes a face. “Doing better after the last scope. It pays to know people.”
I glance over his shoulder. “Is Dimitri here? I didn’t see him at the funeral, either.”
Dimitri Santos is a world renown orthopedic surgeon, making his fame by working on athletes around the globe. He’s done all of Brooks’ surgeries. Hell, he’s one of the few people alive that I’d trust to work on me.
Brooks says, “Haven’t seen him, but you know he’ll be here.”
“He might not. He can afford the fine.”
“We both know he’s not the type to go against a summon if unavoidable.”
“He hasn’t been the same since Serafina…”
A shadow passes across Brooks’ face. “Has he said anything to you about it?”
“Not since her funeral.”
I’ve seen men go through loss over the years, but I’ve never seen anyone as devastated as Dimitri was when he lost Serafina. The look in his eyes at her funeral will haunt me for a long time. It was the look of a man who lost the love of his life and will never be the same.
“Gentlemen, the bar is closing, but servers will be around shortly with more drinks,” the bartender says.
Brooks curses as we move away from the bar. Like clockwork, servers enter the room carrying trays filled with tumblers of vodka. One stops in front of us, and Brooks grabs our drinks before the man moves on. Does it matter that most of us don’t like vodka? No. But it’s the drink of choice of the Brotherhood, which means we all get vodka whether or not we fucking want it.
Brooks grimaces as he finishes the drink, setting the glass aside.
“Ready to do this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You going to ask them what in the fuck they’re doing to protect the council members?”
I snort. “Yes.”
“Good.” He tugs at his tie. “God knows I don’t want to get summoned next.”
“It’ll happen, eventually. Even if someone didn’t murder DeLeon, Zhang and Blanc won’t live forever.”
Brooks grabs another tumbler from a passing server, even though it’s intended for someone else, and tosses it back.
“Fuck. I’m not ready for this.”
My answering smile is wry. “I feel your pain.”
Across the room Grant Carter enters, and men flock to his side. He does what he does so well, chatting with the surrounding people, making each person feel heard. His gaze searches the room, meeting mine. He gives me a small nod, which I return.
Brooks says, “Wonder what he’s going to do if this trend keeps on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m not sure he can be the next United States President and an Elite Member at the same time.”
“It’s been done before.”
Four times, to be exact, starting with Washington.
Brooks looks like he’s on the verge of grabbing another drink. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
An older man approaches us and says, “Brother Moretti, it’s time.”
