Chapter 8
Soren
Every single fucking time I seem to find Carmine, he’s getting himself into some kind of trouble. I keep telling myself that I don’t need to watch him every second of every day. After all, I have a life of my own. Don’t I?
Uncle says my job is to keep an eye on the Dresvanni business plans and talk to the Carvels about getting in with them to double-cross Carmine. Yet, all I’ve been doing is trailing the damn guy and saving his life.
I still have yet to talk to the Carvels. Carmine thinks I’m going to talk to them to try and gauge if they’re a danger, and Eivor expects me to make sure they are.
I find myself caught between a rock and a hard place, and not the fat cock kind.
All I can do is remind myself that this is the long game. Build my family up, take what should be ours, and make my own name outside of Eivor’s. He won’t be around forever. One day, I’ll be the one in charge. It’s what happens right here and now that defines what type of leader I’ll be.
I have to stay loyal to my family, even if they are a pain in my ass.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Rosalie asks me as she walks beside me. Her heels click with each step she takes, and she has to walk faster to keep up with my longer stride.
“You’re the one who said you wanted to be more of a part of this, Sis,” I remind her.
I look over at her just as she rolls her eyes.
Those shiny bright eyes, the same warm hazel as our father and long hair the same sandy blonde locks as our mother.
She looks like a perfect replica of the both of them.
“Alright, but if I break a nail, you’re paying for me to get them redone,” she tells me.
I snort. “Some fucking pansy ass shit from a woman who said she wanted to get some action in this,” I comment.
We’re walking down an alleyway toward a double door with a large guard dressed in a black suit and sunglasses at night.
Several other people walk ahead of us. The scent of alcohol rolls off of them.
It makes me think of Carmine. He’s inside here somewhere, and I’m hoping for the life of me that it’s watching on the sidelines.
“I just got them done,” she explains. “For my birthday. At least give me a couple days with them.”
“Are you the same woman who choked the life out of her ex-boyfriend who ended up being a spy and tried to kill you?” I ask her. “I don’t think that girl was thinkin’ about her nails.”
“Don’t start with me, asshole,” she sneers. “I can kill a man and still want pretty nails.”
I put a hand up. “Alright, I can’t judge. I just got this new jacket and I don’t wanna get it ripped up tonight.” I fix the collar of my new leather jacket. It needs broken in, but not that broken in.
She chuckles as we get to the door.
“Code?” the guard asks the people in front of us.
One of them laughs and nudges the others. “Poppy fields,” they whisper behind their hand, but it’s louder than they intended. Exactly what I was hoping for.
They’re let inside, then the guard stops us.
“Code?” he asks, looking at us from behind his sunglasses.
“Poppy Fields,” I tell him, in an appropriate hushed whisper. One that says, I actually care about the secrecy of this place. I hand him a wad of cash as well.
“This way, man,” he says with a more pleasant tone and waves us through one side of the double door.
Rosalie wiggles her wingers at him playfully. “See you later,” she teases.
“I hope.” He smiles.
I roll my eyes now once we’re inside the main hallway.
“That was lucky,” Rosalie commented.
“Why do you think I asked you to hang back to wait for them to go ahead of us?” I ask her with a chuckle.
She adjusts her purse on her shoulder. “Sure, sure. What I don’t understand is why we even need to count on some nobodies to tell us the passcode for the club anyway.”
I motion my sister to walk alongside me toward the stairs leading down to the left as I reply, “The club is unaffiliated, so none of us have control over it, but the owner of the club… Well, Uncle Eivor pissed him off a couple months ago, so we haven’t been able to get the code like we normally could. ”
“It must’ve been something good then,” she tells me.
I shake my head. “It’ s always over some petty bullshit with these older guys.” I shove a hand in my pocket. “But we’re in, that’s all that matters.”
As we descend down the stairs, they get more and more narrow; I have to walk in front of Rosalie before we can continue.
When I open the door, there’s another guard standing there watching us, eyeing us from head to toe. To make sure we aren’t there to cause trouble.
“We’re here to keep an eye on Carmine, right? To see if he’s up to any business?” Rose asks.
I look around the second hallway, where it stops at one corner with no other doors but one on the right-hand side. As we pass the door, it’ s closed but says boss on it.
“Right,” I say simply. “You’re here to talk to people. Butter them up, see if you can get any inside information on the Carvels.”
“I thought talking to them was your job. You haven’t yet?” She looks at me with narrowed eyes.
The closer we get to the end of the hallway, the louder the sound of cheering and grunting becomes. Loud rock music blares over the muffled smacks of punches and cheers of the audience. The crowd that so eagerly waited for bloodshed.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I don’t look at her again until we enter the arena together.
A massive underground room, four solid walls of concrete, dirty and bloodstained.
The lack of soundproofing makes the four dozen voices a drone that bounces and echoes off them from all corners.
The grungy music that blares from the crispy speakers doesn’t quite drown out the sound that came from the middle of the room.
Arguing.
From behind the chain link fences that were built up from ceiling to floor in a five-foot-by-five-foot circle in the center of the room, was the angry booming of the owner’s voice. The boss.
“Go mingle,” I urge Rosalie. She nods and then puts on her best, most flirtatious smile. It makes me uncomfortable, so I look away before she does. I watch her leave my side out of the corner of my eye, and then look straight forward at the arena circle.
I see him there.
Carmine.
He’s standing inside of the chain room where blood is spilled and death rains down so heavy each night that it’s a surprise to absolutely no one. In fact, Carmine Dresvanni is standing right next to a drain on the floor where the red-tinged water goes when they rinse the arena out.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss under my breath.
I make my way through the crowd, ignoring the cursing of drunken and arrogant assholes as I push past them to get to the one who’s putting himself in danger.
As always.
I grab a hold of the chain link wall when I get to the front.
“Carmine!” I shout over the noise. I don’t care who hears me.
He doesn’t look in my direction, but I watch his body tense at the sound of my voice. I glare at him.
“I know you can hear me!” I growl. “Get your ass outta there!”
“Hey, shut up! We wanna watch him fight!” a guy to the left of me complains.
I look over at him so quickly the back of my neck cracks. “Maybe I wanna watch you fight. Huh, did you think about that? Want your scrawny ass in there?” I threaten him.
He looks at me wide eyed and shakes his head. He’s a skinny guy, all bones no muscle, and doesn’t look like he’s part of any domain but his own stupidity.
“Good, back off,” I sneer.
I bring my attention back to the ring, where Carmine is arguing with the boss.
“Dresvanni! For fucks sake!” I rattle the chains, and several others do it too beside me in excitement.
Finally, I’ve had enough of it. I stomp around until I can find the entrance to the arena that’s blocked by two large guards. I’m bigger and taller than them.
“Let me get my friend outta there,” I demand.
“He walked in on his own free will,” one of them insists. “You gotta problem, you take it to the boss.”
I huff and slam my fist against the chain links. “Lemme take it to him then.” I move past them. They grab me by the arm, but a voice calls over the crowd, loud and clear.
“Let him in, boys!”
I yank myself from their loosening grip and make a beeline toward Carmine who is looking in my direction finally.
“I don’t need h-his help,” Carmine is insisting when I get over there.
“Clearly,” the owner, Tiger, says.
I grab Carmine by his upper arm. “He’s not fighting anyone tonight.”
“He walked in here willing and ready,” Tiger says, “but I don’t want him.” He waves a hand. “I’ve been trying to get him the fuck outta here for ten minutes. He’s holding up the main event.”
I can’t help but let out a laugh as Carmine growls in frustration.
“I told you; I can do it. Let me fight. Let me kick someone’s ass.” Carmine’s hands tighten into even whiter fists.
“I don’t care if you can or not,” Tiger says with a sigh.
I shake my head. “I’m happy to haul his ass out, but I’m curious, why not?” I raise a brow.
Carmine huffs and takes a step back. “This is bullshit!” He slams his fists against the chain, and the crowd laughs and cheers, with only a few boos throughout.
“Let him fight!” someone calls out.
“Ah damn, not this,” Tiger hisses. “He’s shitfaced, dealing with his daddy’s death, and I don’t need a Dresvanni’s blood on my hands.
No fucking way. I got some big boys lined up tonight for a lotta money.
Half the crowd’s bets are making me more than enough to open up another ring on the other side of of town. ”
His voice is loud enough for me to hear, but I doubt the crowd hears anything but muffled masculine tones. Tiger’s voice is deep and laced with a Grecian accent.
“Got it. I’ll get him out,” I promise.
Carmine is practically kicking up a dust storm a few feet away. He comes barreling back at me and grabs me by the front of my shirt. I can smell the alcohol practically leaking from his pores.
“Just let me do this,” he begs me. “I need it.”