29. Killian
29
KILLIAN
I ntrigued, I step out of the bright sunshine and into the air-conditioned luxury Queens hotel. Owned by none other than Lucian Agosti himself, it’s dripping in the same opulence the Italian don is known for.
It’s a pretty place—if you’re interested in all that posh snobbery. While I like comfort, I’m not overly concerned with the rest. I prefer a good view, a hardy meal, and a fiery Russian woman in my bed. One particular Russian woman, that is.
“Mr. King,” Lucian says, striding toward me in his finely tailored Italian suit and custom Florentine leather dress shoes.
He buttons his charcoal suit jacket, looking perfectly at ease as two men flank him silently.
As he reaches me, he extends a well-manicured hand. “Welcome,” he adds. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”
Taking in the impressive lobby once more, I grasp his offered hand, then meet his sharp hazel eyes. “Yes, what is this meeting about?” I ask.
He smirks. “Cutting right to the chase, then. Join me in my office?”
He gestures to a bank of elevators, and from the corner of my eye, I catch Lance’s scowl of disapproval. But we came all this way. I might as well hear what he has to say. And if I don’t like it, or if the Italian tries something, I can kill him.
Not that I think he will.
Lucian Agosti is smarter than that.
“This is your headquarters, then?” I ask as we step onto the private elevator he calls.
“Hardly, but it’s comfortable and convenient, so I thought you wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.” Lucian’s practiced smile is as perfect as his hair, groomed until nothing’s out of place.
My eyes narrow as my suspicion starts to grow. Still, I follow him off the elevator at the fiftieth floor, and he shows me down the hall. One of his men opens the office door for us, revealing a spacious room with a table occupying most of the space. Upwards of twenty chairs surround the table, all looking uniform and exceedingly comfortable.
But the wall of windows looking out over the city is what captures my eye. He has a great view of the Central Park Tower from here—the building where the Sokolovs live. Where Natasha likely is right now.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lucian asks, following my line of sight.
“I’ve seen better,” I say cheekily, and behind me, Lance snorts.
Amusement curls Lucian’s lips, and it’s nice to see he has something of a sense of humor as well. Though, now that I think about it, that proved true when I burst in on his meeting with Boris as well.
“I assume you didn’t bring me here to discuss views,” I observe, pulling out one of the chairs and settling into it. And just to get a rise out of Lucian, I lean back to prop my feet on his immaculate conference table. “Your man mentioned something about discussing a deal?”
An alliance with the Italians wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. They’ve got the men when it comes to sheer numbers, so staying on good terms with them would be smart. Not to mention good for business. I would prefer to work with men I trust—which currently is not Lucian. But from what I understand, he’s a man of his word on the rare occasion that he decides to give it.
Considering him thoughtfully, I watch Lucian as he sinks into a chair on the other side of the table. With a flick of his fingers, he signals one of his men. And in a flash, the man knocks my feet off the table. Lance steps forward, immediately ready for combat. But I stop him with a gesture as I laugh.
“So, what is this deal I’m here to discuss?”
I watch Lucian keenly, though I feign disinterest. Because, while I won’t give him the upper hand by admitting it, I am intrigued by what he has to say.
If I intend to keep developing the Kings’ strength, I need to make big business moves. And with no progress on the Sokolov front—which it’s starting to look like I might never achieve an alliance with Boris—I need to find another way to expand my empire.
That means, right now, if I don’t want to negotiate with the Italians, my only other option would be to challenge the Sokolovs outright. And that’s the last thing I want. For more reasons than just Natasha, though she’s quickly becoming my most convincing one.
“I thought we might attempt a joint business venture, combine our families’ strengths to handle a few…roadblocks in the way New York is currently being run,” he says tactfully.
Quirking an eyebrow, I lean forward to rest my elbows on the table. “Speak English, Lucian,” I command.
“You’ve got the connections. I’ve got the men. Together, we could run this town.”
That’s about as plain as it gets, and I sense the direction he’s going even if he’s not ready to come right out and say it. “You want to run the Sokolovs out of town.”
“Out of business,” he corrects. “They’re a well-respected family. But Boris refuses to play nice, and I think it’s time he faces the fact that he’s not the only man in New York with power and influence anymore.”
“‘Refuses to play nice’?” I ask, plucking the words from his statement. Does that mean he’s been attempting—and failing at—an alliance with the Russians as well?
“I heard your little speech at their charity ball. And while I probably would have recommended going about it a different way, I share your sentiment. In fact, I approached Boris about marrying his eldest daughter, Tatiana, not long ago, but the old man turned me down flat.”
“Really?”
It’s not surprising that Boris turned Lucian down, considering the old codger doesn’t appear to want anyone to marry his daughters. But for some reason, I’m surprised Lucian approached him in the first place.
“He’s stuck in the past, guarding his daughters like a medieval lord. Only he’s forgotten the whole point of keeping them locked in his tower is to save them for a good match. And by the time he dies, they’ll be shriveled old maids, no longer suitable for marriage.”
Lucian’s lips curl into a cynical smile, and I bark a surprised laugh. It’s not the worst analogy I’ve heard, and I can picture it. Only, I’m not so sure Lucian has the Sokolov girls figured. Not like I do.
And I’m not about to give away my best-kept secret.
Not to anyone. But certainly not to the pretentious Italian.
Still, I imagine Tatiana is much like her sister in the fact that no man is going to dictate who they marry. Not even their father.
My best hope is to take advantage of the gift I’ve been given. And I aim to break down Natasha’s walls before she gets smart and realizes just how ineffectual my blackmail is. Because I could never actually follow through with exposing her identity.
I’m incapable of doing anything to hurt her anymore.
Thankfully, she hasn’t discovered that just yet.
“Perhaps someone should do the world a favor and take out the old pakhan , put his girls out of their misery before they wind up dying virgins,” Lucian jokes, his eyes glinting.
I scoff, my mood turning sour at the poor humor. “Is this your attempt to rile me up into doing something stupid like shooting Boris?” I mock, bristling as I suddenly find doing business with this man far less appealing.
Lucian just shrugs.
And my plummeting mood hits the basement as I realize I might have hit closer to the mark than I would have thought. “If that’s your plan, you’re a rash idiot, and I don’t make deals with fools,” I state coldly.
Surprise flickers across the Italian’s refined features as I stand abruptly.
“Nor do I intend to do business with a man who has a death wish,” I growl. And there’s no doubt in my mind that going after Boris directly would be suicide.
But more than that, I can’t imagine killing the man who raised Natasha—even if he is a pain in the ass when it comes to letting me marry his daughter.
At one time, I might have had the fleeting thought that life would be simpler with Boris Sokolov out of the picture. But that was before I realized how much Natasha loves her father.
And just like I couldn’t hurt the Russians who came to smash up my pub, I could no sooner kill Boris than I could cut off my own hand.
“Are you sure you want to walk out those doors?” Lucian asks, his voice holding a hint of warning.
“Do you intend to stop me?” I growl, my shoulders tensing.
Beside me, Lance is immediately prepared to spring into action. And the Italian guards look very much on edge.
“Of course not,” their don says, his eyes curious but intent as they continue to watch me closely. “But you would be walking away from a partnership I guarantee you’ll want to accept. And when I find another way to get what I want, you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the offer.”
“I sincerely doubt it,” I state.
Turning, I stalk toward the door, my senses on high alert. Lance steps into the hallway first, ensuring no one’s there to stop us. And as I follow him across the threshold, I pause.
When I look back over my shoulder, I find Lucian still watching me.
“Watch yourself, Icarus,” I warn. “You don’t want to try flying too close to the sun.”
Anger flashes in the don’s hazel eyes, and his men bristle visibly at the thinly veiled threat. But I’m not about to walk out of here without at least attempting to put the smug prick back in his place.
And as I leave, Lance walking protectively at my side, the atmosphere is exponentially more tense than when I entered.