Chapter 2 #2
“I told you I was fine, Marcus,” I insist, hoping my answer will finally kill this conversation. I’m not so lucky.
“You shouldn’t let her get to you.”
“I didn’t, and I don’t.”
“You’re telling me seeing Julianna or, shit, even Kingsten, as well as about half of the Capuleti family in your hotel didn’t just piss you off? Even a little?”
The same fire I felt earlier at seeing Julianna Capuleti and her entire family sparks in my chest again. Right now, I know it’s impossible for me to hide the way seeing them here has made me feel. Kingsten, Holt, Julianna… They all fill me with hatred and anger.
“The Capuletis are fucking ignorant.” I attempt to sound bored, not half as bothered as Marcus suspects.
“If my face and family name are such a fucking threat, maybe they should do a little research into who owns the hotel hosting the wedding and reception before deciding to attend. I had every right to make my presence known.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t kick them out, or worse.”
“Me, too.” I sigh heavily again. “I just needed to make something abundantly clear to Julianna before heading into this meeting.”
“So, that’s why you were talking with her? You found a way for her to repay her debt?”
I fight the memories threatening to distract me, once again, then I shut them off, before they eat me alive. “Just get us to Club Verona, Marcus.”
“Yes, sir.” He pauses before cutting the silence again. “Was risky, you know.”
“What was risky?” I mutter against my clenched fist pressed to my mouth.
“You walking in there as if one of them simply seeing your face wouldn’t have gotten you killed.”
I shift my attention, pinning my stare to his as we approach a red light. “I’m already heading toward that possibility right now, aren’t I?”
What light was in Marcus’s gray eyes completely diminishes. He knows I’m not joking.
“This deal is too important for me to focus on some Capuleti-Montgomery rivalry. Or her.”
I need to focus on the task at hand and make it to my club on the other side of Manhattan before my time runs out. I need to be there, or else this deal falls through, and while I won’t find myself staring down the barrel of Kingsten Capuleti’s gun, it will be someone else’s.
“You’re sure this will end it once and for all?” he asks, worried.
Being the only child of Dominico Montgomery means Marcus was the closest thing I had to a brother growing up.
He knows more about me than anyone else and is the only other person on this earth who knows my deepest, darkest secrets.
As the years have passed, with the need for my protection, he’s transitioned easily into filling the role of my personal bodyguard.
I know if it came down to it, he’d take a bullet for me.
“Rhys promised me it would end after today.” I ignore the sickness growing in my stomach. “I have no reason to believe he’d back out on his word. The guy may be involved in all sorts of crazy shit, but he never breaks a promise.”
“Good,” Marcus says, pulling into the parking garage underneath Club Verona.
I grind my teeth, taking two seconds to get my shit together. “Let’s get this shit over with.”
Once we’ve parked, we walk into my club without speaking.
Security and the bouncers I’ve hired to work the club flank me at every entry point, following as I make my way to the private VIP suite I reserve whenever Rhys O’Connell, leader of the Irish mafia, requests it to make deals with his clients.
But all that ends after tonight with this one final deal.
The club is packed, as usual. Although I own hundreds of clubs and hotels around the city, Club Verona continues to be one of my most popular, bringing in the most revenue and attracting all types of visitors from across the world.
Decorated in rich maroon leather furniture, gold leaf painted walls, and fitted throughout with crystal chandeliers is what makes Club Verona my swankiest club.
Thumping music vibrates across the floor as Marcus and I pass the main dance floor and head up the staircase toward the secluded VIP section.
“Mr. Montgomery.” My security guard working the club acknowledges me as he reaches out and parts the curtain.
I give him a nod in response. Marcus follows as I enter the VIP lounge. A large, glossy, oval table sits in the middle of the room, separating two long, leather sofas.
“Right on time,” Tobias, Rhys’s right-hand man, announces from his position in the center of one of the sofas, his thick Irish accent commanding the room.
Standing in the darkened corner is Tobias’s security guard.
Tobias looks over his shoulder, wagging a finger toward the entrance of the room. “Leave us.”
His security guard nods once, his expression unwavering as he disappears behind the curtain to stand post outside the room.
“I told Rhys I wouldn’t be late,” I say, dragging my gaze back to Tobias as I move past the backside of the opposite sofa from him and head straight for the mini bar set against the far wall. “I meant it.”
A cigar is pinched between two of his fingers, and there’s a glass of whiskey set on the table in front of him. Beside it sits a large, metal briefcase.
Like me, Tobias is covered in tattoos, but instead of a snake slinking around his wrist and up the length of his arm, he has a shamrock with two daggers on the back of his hand.
A sign of the Irish mafia. I’ve considered getting my snake tattoo removed for years now but have yet to pull the trigger.
Tobias chuckles under his breath. “Do you always keep your word, Mr. Montgomery?”
I pause, wishing his client would just show the fuck up already. Making small talk with Tobias is the last thing I want to be doing. To hold in my frustration, I busy myself by pouring a glass of whiskey.
“When it comes to matters that, well… matter,” I confess, knowing Tobias can sniff out a lie from a mile away.
I’ve watched him drive the tip of his knife beneath men’s nails for lying about the most inconsequential shit before.
One time he removed a man’s fingernails one by one just for telling him he was from South Boston when he was actually from North Boston.
Details matter to Tobias.
He laughs, lazily lifting his cigar to his mouth. Ash drops into his lap as he wags it in my direction. “I didn’t like you at first, Montgomery, considering who your father is, but Rhys ensured me you were solid. I should have known better than to question him.”
I stare at him for a beat as my lip curls. I drown out the bitterness on my tongue at the thought of my father with a large swig of whiskey. “I’m nothing like him and I never will be.”
“Oh, I know.” Tobias takes a long drag of his cigar, puffing a few times before blowing the smoke out. “It’s the only reason Rhys O’Connell would ever make an agreement with the fucking Italians. When they’re willing to go against their own. You’ve proven that.”
Tobias grins, revealing his perfectly straight, white teeth.
Sickness fills my gut, and I finish off my whiskey with one large gulp before pouring myself a refill. Marcus eyes me wearily from his post beside me but doesn’t let Tobias know.
I don’t like talking about my family or my past, and there’s nothing I want more than to let go of the past. The only way to move on is to get through this shit with Rhys and Tobias.
“No Rhys tonight?” I ask Tobias. “It’s a big occasion, this being the last time he gets to use this room and all.”
I know it’s dangerous asking Tobias a personal question about the whereabouts of his leader, but I figure it’s better than talking about my sordid past. I turn back around to face him.
“No offense toward you, but he had more important matters to attend to.” He wears his poker face well. There’s more to his statement, but he doesn’t give a hint to anything else.
“No offense taken.” I lift my glass to my lips and take another large drink.
Satisfied with my short reply, he smiles. It doesn’t waver, even when the curtain finally parts, allowing Tobias’s client to enter.
A tall, bulky man dressed in a black suit stalks into the room. Beneath his black blazer is a gray collared shirt, no tie, open at the top, revealing a large gold chain resting against his chest.
I glance once at Marcus, hoping to reassure him with a small twitch of a smile. He does the same in response. Fifteen minutes, and this will all be over.
Turning back to the two men in front of me, I stand by and wait for them to get their business started.
“Ni neart go,” Tobias starts with a deep tone and one arched eyebrow.
“Cur le cheile,” the man finishes.
Must be their codewords or something in Gaelic. I have no clue what the fuck any of it means. Irish only conduct deals with their own. Or at least that’s Rhys O’Connell’s doctrine.
“I’m shocked Rhys O’Connell arranges all of his client meetings here,” Tobias’s client says, standing between the empty sofa and the oval table. “This place is a shithole.”
I curl my hands into fists by my sides, resisting the urge not to drive them into this fucker’s face.
The asshole looks down at Tobias, who hasn’t bothered to move with a smug expression. The only movement comes from the arm bringing his large cigar to his mouth.
“Careful, gobshite,” Tobias warns lowly, blowing out a large, gray stream of smoke. “My friend here owns this club and practically every club worth a damn in the city. You should be thanking him really for giving you permission to step foot in this place.” He holds his arm out, gesturing toward me.
I swallow thickly, hating the way the word friend falls easily from his mouth. I don’t consider myself a friend to any of these men. Or Rhys O’Connell. They’re simply a means to an end. A path to a life I’ve tried to leave for far too long.