Strider’s Misstep (Mayhem Makers: Wretched Soulz MC)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

JASMINE

“ M rs. Aster, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Unable to act like the grieving widow, I wave his condolences off. “We’ve been separated a while.”

The lawyer nods as if it’s of no consequence and turns to the well-dressed man sitting to my left-hand side. “And my sympathies to you too, Mr. D’Angelo.”

“There’s no need. We were business partners, not friends.” Michael D’Angelo—his real name, I kid you not—glances toward me, his eyes narrowed in disgust. We’ve learned a lot about each other during the week since Barclay died. He’s the consigliere of the local Mafia family, answerable only to the Don himself.

To my right sits Strider, looking totally out of place in his customary worn denim jeans, motorcycle boots, T-shirt and cut. While the Italian is dressed in a sharp dark grey suit, which I suspect is something like Armani, individually tailored, of course. A crisp white shirt, silk tie, and gold cufflinks complete the look.

Michael is an attractive man—sharp features, aquiline nose, hair expensively cut and styled. He’s the same height as Strider but doesn’t have his bulk. Though I suspect anyone would be wrong to underestimate his strength. He oozes confidence from every pore, and from the moment I first met him, I knew he was a man you’d think twice about arguing with. His words are measured, each one thought out before being delivered so they can’t be misconstrued.

He's a male among males. Other men instinctively know this, straightening their backs when he walks into a room as if they don’t want to come up lacking. Only Strider and Chaz seem unaffected, their self-assurance matching his.

The lawyer starts talking in some kind of legalise, and I let my mind drift. We all know what we’re about to be told. The Mafia and the Soulz had written Barclay’s will, hackers from both parties working together to forge both his and witnesses’ signatures. After the negotiations were completed, though an original hadn’t been thought to be in existence, Barclay’s home and office had mysteriously burned to the ground. Something Michael hadn’t been surprised about.

I think back to when I’d met him.

Strider hadn’t wanted me anywhere near the Mafia man, but I’d reminded him I had a right to be included. I’d been riled I hadn’t been able to question Barclay’s guard, so this time, I wouldn’t be missing out.

As I’d walked through the door, Michael’s eyes had widened, and he’d stepped forward to take my hand, raising it to his lips.

“Bella.” He lowers his head and lets his lips linger on the back of my hand. Behind me, Strider growls, but he still takes his time in straightening and maintains the touch of his fingers around mine. “Barclay was a damn fool. He had a tesoro, but by his own foolishness let it slip through his hands. If I’d seen you first ? —”

“She’s mine,” Strider interrupts.

Michael laughs and finally lets go of my hand. “And for that, I truly envy you.” He points to a table. “Now let’s all sit and get down to business.”

I’m placed between Strider and Chaz, which puts me straight across from Michael. He knows full well what he’s doing when he catches my eye and winks. I blush, and again, a rumble comes from my man.

Refreshments are brought in—coffee and delicious looking cannoli with a variety of fillings. My mouth waters at the chocolate-filled one, and I can’t resist reaching out to take it.

The men content themselves with coffee and start to talk while I’m licking the delicious essence off my fingers. Again, I spot Michael staring straight at me. After shaking his head, he clears his throat and then turns his attention to Strider. “This could all be solved simply. Katrina could be placed under my protection.” I read the undertone of his words, he probably means under him literally. I’m not blind to the very male interest I see in his eyes. While he’s a good-looking man, he’s certainly not the one for me.

“Katrina,” I point at myself, “is not a commodity to be bought and sold.”

At the same time, Strider says, “Already told you, Katrina belongs to me.”

Chaz says nothing, just looks on, his face fixed and intent.

Chuckling, Michael takes a sip of his coffee. “Worth a shot,” he begins, then sighs. “So how do we sort this mess out?” He brushes his hand back through his short hair, which remarkably stays in place. “Abraham James, Katrina’s father, got into debt with Barclay Aster. Aster used some dubious methods to increase interest and keep raising the debt.” He pauses, then frowns. “Unbeknownst to me.” As Strider goes to speak, he raises his hand. “I’m not lily white. I admit my business practices range from grey to black, but we have a code, and when we give our word, we live by it. Aster manipulated James until he got what he wanted from him, his daughter.” He points at me. “You.”

Well, he couldn’t have been talking about anyone else. Though the testosterone in the room is almost suffocating, I’m moved to speak. “Then he controlled me by continuing to increase my father’s debt.”

Michael nods as if I’ve been an attentive pupil. “Exactly. And your father took his own life so that you could get free, which meant Aster’s cash cow had died. That may not have been so bad if you hadn’t disappeared, as you’d have gotten your father’s legacy. Which,” he pauses to give a very European shrug, “as Aster was likewise in debt to me, is half mine.”

Strider growls. I place my hand on his knee. I don’t care how much or how little money is coming to me. I don’t really want any part of it. With my new career and Strider, I have everything that I need. I might have been raised rich, but I’d been poorer than I’d ever believed. What’s more important than money is love and family.

“Aster divided his assets between his business partner, me,” he indicates himself with a grin, “and his beloved wife.” He raises an eyebrow toward me.

Strider snorts. “With no will, his wife would be his only surviving beneficiary.”

“And what would Bella Katrina here do with a trafficking empire? Or the whorehouses and drug dens?” He shakes his head. “Tut, tut, Strider. She couldn’t have maintained control.” He inclines his head toward Chaz. “You both know that and what we agreed. I’m happy to split the businesses down the middle to avoid bloodshed and ill will between us. After all, we operate in the same state.”

Chaz leans forward. “Soulz get the money laundering businesses, the gun trade ? —”

“Yes, yes,” Michael interrupts. “The more morally grey areas, as we agreed. The ones your more sensitive souls, pun intended, can stomach.” He laughs.

“And Katrina gets her father’s legacy,” Strider states.

“What’s left after James’s debts are paid, yes,” Michael agrees.

“I don’t want any of it.”

“Then give it to charity. I don’t give a fuck what you do with it.”

“We’ll deal with Abraham James’s will first. Everything was left to you, Mrs. Aster, but as you couldn’t be found, the executors sold the assets and set up a trust. That now comes to you.”

I nod. Most will go to Michael in any event, but all I want to do is cast off all the shackles of my previous life and revert to being Jasmine. If I never hear the name Katrina again, I wouldn’t be more happy.

“Now on to Aster’s will.”

Again, I tune him out as he lists all the businesses my late husband owned, slightly amused to hear them referred to by innocent-sounding names and descriptions like laundromat and bakery, and not as the fronts for whorehouses or trafficking warehouses that I now know them to be . I shudder, not wanting to think of how evil were the hands that once had touched me. If it was my decision, I’d walk away from everything my father and Barclay had left.

I know though that the Soulz are a one-percenter motorcycle club. And while the opportunity to take businesses of the type we’re talking about might not appeal to me, it was a treasure trove to them. If they’d walked away from everything, they’d have appeared weak. By coming to an amicable arrangement between the Mafia and MC, they were making connections that might stand them in good future stead, allies rather than enemies.

At last, the lawyer asks, “So, any questions? In short, we’re just waiting for probate, then everything will be split as I’ve just described.”

There are no questions from me or anyone else, though Barclay might be screaming from hell that none of this was what he intended. Luckily, the lawyer has no connection with the world beyond.

We leave with polite handshakes and insincere condolences offered and accepted with the same dishonesty.

Outside, I take a lung full of blissful fresh air.

“I offer you lunch,” Michael’s deep, cultured voice says. “In the best Italian restaurant in town.”

Strider hugs me into his side. “You’ll forgive us if we have to decline.”

Michael chuckles, reaches forward and takes my hand. “ Bella , you know where to come if you ever get fed up with walking on the grey side.” He chuckles at the growl that comes out of Strider’s mouth.

Reclaiming my hand and placing it on the arm of my man, I tell the consigliere, “If I were ever inclined to swap grey, it wouldn’t be for black.”

Not suggesting he’s in any way offended, Michael laughs. He raises his chin toward Strider. “You’re a lucky fucking man. It’s just bad luck Barclay saw her first. If I’d seen this delightful tesoro , I’d have claimed her for myself. And, I’d never have left her to doubt for a moment that she was the most important thing in my world.”

“She is in mine,” Strider pronounces. “We might have a truce, Michael, but if you step one foot over the line, I’m going to burn your fuckin’ world down.”

Is it wrong that my panties grow wet at his declaration? Other women might swoon at the smartly dressed, well-put-together man, but me? I prefer my rough and very tough biker.