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“I have money. Lots of it,” I say with flourish. “Money you currently need. Managing all those drug fields in different countries must be taking a toll on you. I heard Zanetti’s blocking your contacts at the border, keeping your stuff from coming into the country. I can fix that for you as well. If there’s one thing the Russos are good at, it’s underground work. My uncles might have been idiots, but they did well to maintain my father’s connections.”
Roman’s gaze flicks up from the contract at that. He leans backward in his chair, eyes inquisitive.
“Let’s set the contract aside for a moment. I want you to tell me about you, Russo. You show up in town out of nowhere, and we can’t find any information on you. Who the hell are you? And your father?”
I crack my knuckles, holding his stare. A part of me understands his request. It’s annoying, though.
“My father was the Don of the Russos about twenty years ago.” I say, scratching my jaw, pretending there’s not a tiny lump in my throat. “He was murdered one extremely cold night in ourfamily home. My mother was killed, as well. I was ten years old, and I had to watch it happen. Fun times.”
The room grows eerily silent. Roman’s expression is unreadable, but when I look at Michael, I see some sympathy directed at me. It would piss me off, except I understand it’s not pity. I know Michael’s story. He lost his parents young, as well.
Roman clears his throat. “That’s fucking tragic, man.”
For some reason, that makes me laugh. “It’s alright. They died, and Uncle Miguel became Don. He was awful at it, but he managed to keep it together for a time. Then he grew older, sloppier. I’m sure you’re aware that he died about two years ago. Then Leo became Don, which was around the time I started preparing to return. Leo was an even bigger idiot than Miguel. Anyway, you know the rest of the story. And how I got here.”
“That’s vague as hell,” Roman states. “Where have you been the past twenty years?”
“Oh, you know, here and there. I lived in the U.S. till I was eighteen, then I left. Visited a couple of countries. I even picked up Jase over there in one of them,” I say, gesturing behind me.
Roman’s gaze doesn’t let up.
“Look, where I’ve been is irrelevant. What matters is that I’m here now, and I’m proposing a deal. Look it over. You and I both have important things to do. But you’re in big trouble right now and I need your help, as well.”
The words “I need help” feel like ash in my mouth. I haven’t wanted or needed any help since I was a kid. Not since I needed help saving my parents, yet… no one came until it was too late. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And the Russos will never amount to anything if I don’t secure our title. I made a vow to rebuild my father’s legacy, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
“Alright,” Roman says. “I’ll look over the contract. That is not a yes.”
“But it’s a maybe,” I state, unable to keep the triumph from my voice.
“Hmm. It’s a pretty big maybe. I’m not keen on marrying my sister off to a man I barely know. And there’s no way I could convince my family to agree.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You might not know what my word is worth yet, but I swear I’ll take care of your sister. If you agreed to a match, I’d treat Rosa like a queen. She deserves it.”
He arches an eyebrow. “You sound like you know her.”
I smile, getting to my feet and redoing the button in the middle of my jacket. “Like I keep telling you, I know everything,” I say cockily.
Roman’s unimpressed. “Stay the fuck away from my sister, Russo.”
Unfortunately for him, I don’t do well with being told what to do.
“Let me know when you’re ready to review the contract,” I tell him. “And I can promise you that if you agree, I’ll take it a hell of a lot more seriously than you took the contract with the Zanettis.”
His eyes narrow. “Fuck you, Enzo.”
I chuckle. “See you around, Roman.”
After one last look at Tony and Michael, I leave, feeling slightly accomplished. Jason trails behind me all the way to the car. He only relaxes when we’re handed our weapons. Three guns and two knives for him, which is overkill. I accept the weight of my gun into my palm and slide it into the back of my pants.
“So,” he drawls as he drives us away, “that went well.”
I shrug. “It went as well as it could have.”
“You think they’ll agree?”
“He doesn’t have any other choice,” I mutter.
“But you do.”
