Chapter 11
ELEVEN
CALEB
The restaurant I’d invited Virgil Club to is in a small pocket of territory that had been designated as “neutral” all those decades ago, when our forebears had first established the truce that has kept Calamity running. Before that truce, there had been violent gang fights nearly every month, and there’d been rumors of martial law being established in the city to stamp down all the organized crime.
Grandfather has a lot of stories from that era, although I think he was only tangentially involved. He would have been a teenager at the time.
Vortex glances at me as we wait. “I don’t know if I was the best person to come with you,” he mutters.
“Who else would I bring?” I ask. “Havoc?”
We both chuckle, because Havoc is good in a fight, but he can’t be trusted to keep his opinions to himself. Vortex knows how to be a good bodyguard and stand nearby, unobtrusive yet still threatening.
I look over the menu, trying to hide my annoyance at being made to wait. “How are things with Connie, by the way? Did she give up on the MLM?”
Vortex’s blue eyes narrow as he stares at me, and I think that if I was anyone else, I’d get a snapped-out reminder to mind my own business. But we have enough of a relationship to where I get to ask the questions he doesn’t want to answer, and he says reluctantly, “No. I told her you’d probably give her a job at the casino…” He grimaces. “But she’s determined to stick it out.”
I can afford to have one useless employee, if it’ll keep Vortex happy, but I suspect Connie would make herself so conspicuously useless that she’d be fired as soon as she joined.
Or maybe I’m being unfair to the young woman. I only know her through Vortex’s stories. For all I know, she’s perfectly capable of holding a job.
Thankfully, Virgil Club decides to finally grace us with his presence. The few times I’ve met him, he’s always done this—shown up late, made a grand entrance, made a point of showing off how important he is. He can’t handle not being the main attraction in a room.
“Thank you, darling,” Virgil says to the hostess, and she blushes and ducks her head at the simple word. I wonder how else he’d charmed her.
“Of course. Your server will be right with you,” she mumbles. She waits until Virgil is fully seated before she walks away. Virgil’s bodyguard—a large white man with a scar across his nose and cheek—goes to stand near the wall behind Virgil.
Virgil nods at me. “It’s been a while, Caleb. I hear business is booming for you.”
“And for you,” I answer in kind.
Virgil is a handsome man, but I have no doubt that he’s as controlling and domineering in the bedroom as I am. When I’d been younger—before Seven—I had considered doing a shared scene with him, but I doubt it would have gone well. He would never have deferred to me.
“You need to have your promoter send me information about your upcoming events,” I say blandly. “I’m happy to send potential party-goers your way.”
Virgil smiles. “Of course. Although I hope you aren’t going to try to fill my club with illicit consumables again. It put a strain on our relationship.”
Internally, I roll my eyes. I don’t deal with the drug trade, but I’d heard some of the others had tried to push drugs through the Club of Clubs. Grandfather had had them disposed of, even delivering one of them to Virgil for a more personal punishment, but apparently Virgil isn’t one to let bygones be bygones.
I don’t particularly blame him.
The server arrives, smiling perkily. She’s a young woman with perfectly styled make-up, and I’m certain the restaurant sent her specifically to make nice with the important businessmen. I guess somebody hasn’t been keeping up on their gossip, or they’d have sent a man for me instead.
“What can I get for you?” she asks, and I wonder if those top two buttons on her shirt were always undone or if she’d unbuttoned for our sake.
“The lobster fettuccine,” I answer curtly. “And your finest white wine for the table.”
Virgil gives a small shake of his head. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. He’s always in a bad mood. What do you recommend for today?”
She runs through the daily specials, and then tells Virgil all about the wines, too. Virgil asks questions about several of the dishes, until I know he’s just trying to annoy me.
I wait quietly, because showing emotion would mean losing this petty game.
“The way you spoke about the truffle ravioli made it sound divine. I think I’ll have that,” Virgil finally says.
I’m pretty sure the truffle ravioli was one of the first dishes she’d mentioned.
The server writes it all down, asks about salad preferences, and finally leaves.
“I thought I was charming,” I comment, shaking my head. “But you really go all out for everybody. ”
Virgil laughs. “Well, there’s no reason not to be nice to everyone. Is she any less deserving of my good will than my worthless underlings?” He glances back at his bodyguard. “No offense.”
The scarred man shrugs. “None taken, boss. Most of the guys are worthless.”
Vortex doesn’t so much as twitch, but I know he has his own thoughts about my underlings — Havoc in particular, who I know he’s still pissed off at over the whole incident that had led us here in the first place.
We make small talk while we wait for the food; I ask about his mother, he asks about my grandfather, and overall it’s a banal conversation that I’ll probably forget as soon as the lunch is over.
Only once the server has returned with our food, and we’re finally at peace in this private room of the restaurant, does Virgil ask, “How’s your uncle? I haven’t seen Earl recently.”
I snort in amusement. “No, you wouldn’t have. He’s recovering from the beating your men gave him.”
There’s a small hesitation before Virgil says, “Is he now? Interesting. I thought he was in fine health when your men dragged him out of my club, but maybe he was stupid enough to come crawling back another day.”
Next to me, Vortex shifts — subtly, but enough to where I notice his reaction.
The way they’d told it, Virgil’s men had handed out a beating to Earl, but now I wonder what was left out of their story. I’ll have to question them later.
“He is stupid enough for that,” I say to Virgil. I take a bite of the exquisite lobster dish. “Let’s stop beating around the bush. You want something.”
I hate that I’m once again left to negotiate without holding all the cards.
Virgil finishes one of the ravioli before he responds. “Three million dollars would be nice. That’s how much Earl owes us.” He pokes at his plate. “But if that’s too rich for you, I wonder if you’d hand over that new pet of yours.”
My heart freezes.
“My cat?” I answer, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “If you want a black cat, there are plenty in the shelter. Or if you need one with pedigree, I can help you find a good cat breeder.”
Virgil laughs and shakes his head. “No, I’m more of a dog person.” His expression goes predatory. “There are a lot of people who want that pretty little pet you’re keeping. If you don’t intend to make use of those connections…”
Vortex has gone rigid at my side, and he leans in like he’s about to say something. I shoot him a warning look. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes are blazing, and I can see the tic in his jaw as he struggles to remain quiet.
“I’m afraid none of my pets are currently for sale,” I answer flatly. “Although I wonder how much those connections are worth, if you’re willing to let a three million dollar debt slide.”
Virgil shrugs. “I have money, Caleb. Connections are harder to come by, especially these kinds. I’d gladly lose three million if it means getting to know that sort of exclusive clientele.”
“You’re selling yourself short.” I suddenly don’t have an appetite anymore. “Half of that exclusive clientele has probably already been at your club, or their children have.”
It’s probably true, too. The rich men and women who make up the Lockwoods’ clientele are the same ones whose children take weekend trips to party in Calamity City. I’ve seen more than my fair share of spoiled brats come through my casino, and I don’t even have the club to draw them in.
“But there’s always the other half,” Virgil answers. He sighs and takes a long sip of his drink. “If you don’t want to negotiate, I’ll have to take it out of your uncle’s hide.”
“You said you wanted a favor, not a person,” I counter. My hands clench around the knife. “You’ll forgive me if I find the idea unpalatable.”
“I thought you white men loved trading in flesh,” Virgil says mildly. “It’s in your blood, isn’t it?”
I let out a dark chuckle. “I must have missed that gene, then.” I meet his gaze. “You can’t have him. Nobody can. And the entire Spade family is standing behind me on this.”
For some reason, that makes Virgil start laughing. When I don’t react, his laughter slows, and he gives me a surprised expression. “Are you serious? You’re actually… This is more than just ownership, isn’t it. You’ve got feelings for the boy!”
I grit my teeth. “My answer stands. I’ll do many things, but he’s mine.”
Virgil shakes his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of coming between a man and his…” He tilts his head. “What do you call him? Your lover? Your partner ?”
“I call him mine ,” I say flatly, then push away from the table. “If you have a real offer, call me again. But I’m done here.”
“Sure,” Virgil answers. “But be careful, Caleb. Those are some powerful people you’re pissing off.” He takes another sip of his wine.
I roll my eyes and walk out of the private room, Vortex on my heels. He keeps his mouth shut until after I’ve paid and we’re out on the streets once more.
“What the fuck was that, Caleb?” Vortex hisses at me, his voice only barely controlled. “I thought your grandpa had everyone backing off.”
“He does,” I snap back. “But clearly, the Lockwoods are approaching this from all avenues. I wouldn’t be surprised if they reached out to the Hearts and the Diamantes too.”
“Seven doesn’t even know anything,” Vortex replies tersely. “Why the fuck are they so determined to get him back? He’s not worth a three million dollar debt being forgiven to them.”
But he’s worth that much to us.
“We might need to get Seven to talk to us.” I make a frustrated noise, because I can already imagine exactly how that will go .
Another thought occurs to me, and I cast a suspicious look at Vortex.
“By the way. How did Earl get beaten up? If it wasn’t the Clubs who did it?”
Vortex shrugs. “Who knows? Earl said it was the Clubs. I guess we have to take his word for it.”
I have my doubts, but in the end, I don’t really care. Earl has gotten me into enough trouble, and if he’s suffering, that’s fine by me.
“We might need to step up security,” I say as we walk to the car. “Havoc said Seven got spooked the other night. There might have been somebody watching them.”
“Fuck,” Vortex mutters. “He’s going to hate being watched twenty-four/seven, but if they’re sniffing around the other families like this…”
I think about how Seven’s been lately—working with the event management, coming out of his shell, finally doing something other than gambling—and I don’t want to destroy all of that. I don’t want him to withdraw into the frightened kitten he’d been when I’d first met him.
“Maybe we can do discreet security,” I suggest. “Have the guards keep a closer watch on him, or we get a tracker into his clothes?—”
“Or we put a GPS tracker inside him,” Vortex suggests.
“He’d hate that,” I say grimly. “But yes, we might need to.”
“We could make it so that we’d know instantly if he got anywhere near one of the exits.” He grimaces and shakes his head. “I don’t like it, and he won’t like it, but I’d rather him hate us than be taken.”
Again.
If Seven hates us for this, so be it.