30. Paul
30
Paul
F or the first time in all his life, Paul arrived at a meeting early . After driving around the parking lot of the closed restaurant, he chose a spot and continued to scan, looking for any signs of ambush. His family and the Colombians weren’t at war—that he knew of. Actually, considering Eddie’s work with them, they were on pretty decent terms with Sebastián, but that meant nothing. Things could change at the drop of a hat. Everything was up in the air considering the events that occurred over the last few days.
Money ruled their world. A man’s alliances were sold to the highest bidder. Niall Doherty, the leader of the Irish Mafia, had deep pockets. Considering Paul had recently pissed him off, and he’d placed a bounty on Paul’s head, yeah, Sebastián may rethink his allegiances. All he could hope for was that Eddie was an excellent partner in their dealings, and it was far more lucrative for him to keep the status quo than to collect from the Irish. To Paul’s knowledge, his brother had always been good to Sebastián.
Time would tell.
When the gunmetal-gray Audi S8 pulled up beside him, the muscles in his jaw relaxed. Tension still crawled through his body, but he did his best to keep a stern expression and appear calm. He needed his wits about him if he was going to survive this meeting.
Fear was a cancer no syndicate needed. It would take an organization down faster than the speed of sound. Most of the corruption, backstabbing, and problems within a crew came down to fear. He wouldn’t do that to his family—they’d worked too hard to get where they were.
Exiting the car, Paul buttoned the jacket of his navy Tom Ford suit and once again surveyed the area. Aside from a smattering of empty cars, everything seemed quiet. Nothing seemed overtly—or covertly—threatening. Normally, he was aware of his surroundings, as his line of work demanded it, but today he was extra vigilant. He truly wished to avoid getting shot today. Bullets aimed at him had been a far too common occurrence lately.
The rear passenger door of Eddie’s sedan opened, and Joseph Ricci, Paul’s father and the head of their syndicate, exited. His pale, almost gray, blue eyes narrowed as he, too, did a sweep of the parking lot while buttoning the jacket of his black bespoke suit. Eddie got out next and rounded the car. Everyone had arrived.
As Paul approached his father, he extended his hand. As they shook, he leaned in and clapped his dad on the back as they hugged. Joseph returned the gesture.
“Let’s make this quick. The longer it lasts, the worse it will be,” he murmured.
Eddie and Paul shook hands before Eddie gestured to the restaurant. “Let’s get some lunch.”
The establishment didn’t open for another few hours, but Sebastián often held his meetings at this location. Honestly, Paul preferred this to some vacant warehouse. Sure, they were on the Colombian’s home turf, but it also meant Sebastián trusted Paul’s family not to cause too much of a ruckus, because this was one of his legitimate businesses. If there was one thing anyone in the criminal underground hated, it was drawing heat to their proper companies where they laundered money.
Blowing out a breath of slight relief, Paul followed his brother and father toward the door. This was good for him. Sebastián wasn’t looking to fight. He wanted to have a genuine conversation. He just might make it out of here alive.
It was a small eatery with a large bar in the rear, before the kitchen. Several tables filled the area that were perfectly set for the dinner rush. A few workers bustled around, prepping for the day’s customers. Not one of them looked up as the three men entered.
They weren’t open, which meant the current staff knew well that they neither saw nor heard anything that happened. Well-trained workers. Paul had to nod his approval of Sebastián’s crew.
“Gentlemen,” Sebastián, a lean man with slicked-back black hair and brown eyes, greeted them in a thick accent and wearing a bright smile. “Come to the back room. Lunch is served.”
He waved them along as he shifted his attention to the meeting space. Once inside, Sebastián turned to them.
“Please, sit, grab a plate. Eat,” Sebastián instructed, like a delightful host at a family dinner party. “There’s more than enough for everyone. Would you like some drinks? I can have Felipe get you something.”
All three of the Ricci men shook their heads and waved a hand, declining the offer.
“Suit yourselves,” Sebastián said as he shrugged and took his place at the table.
It was a small room in the restaurant’s rear, with French doors blocking them from the main dining space. Paul imagined it was where people held private parties. The only bad thing about it was there was one way in and one way out, and Sebastián had positioned himself to face the exit. Which meant the Riccis would have their backs to the door.
The worst possible position to be in.
Joseph sat down first. Eddie followed, but Paul remained standing. At meetings such as this, he was more the muscle than the negotiator, so he truly didn’t need a seat at the table. He was here to monitor things.
The table had several plates of food. There were fried plantains, empanadas, rice, and several tamales. It smelled heavenly. He’d actually eaten here before, and the food never disappointed, but not today. They had business to discuss.
“So,” Sebastián began as he took an empty plate from the stack. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“I take it you’re aware Snoopy no longer leads the bikers,” Joseph said.
Paul watched intently as Sebastián busied himself picking the perfect empanada, but the hint of a smile and glint in his eye was all he needed to confirm the Colombian was well informed of the goings-on with the bikers.
“Sí.” He nodded. “Very unfortunate, but I have hope for this Diesel.”
Paul cocked his head to the side. Interesting choice of words. Besides, wasn’t it Diesel who started this mess between them to begin with? He’d shot up the Colombians’ brothel posing as a strip club. Sebastián seemed far too content with the change in command among the bikers. Something didn’t smell right.
“Then you also know we were there?” Joseph asked.
Sebastián nodded. “Sí.” He lifted his dark gaze to Paul’s father. “But you were not harmed?”
“We made it out fine,” Eddie said.
The Colombian’s smile broadened. “Then we have no issues.” He took a bite of his food.
“It’s quite convenient that you were having troubles with Snoopy and now he’s gone.”
Sebastián nodded. “Unfortunately, as you know, sometimes it is the cost of doing business.” He lifted a glass and took a sip. “But you did not come here to discuss my dealings with the bikers. Let us cut to the chase. We are all busy, no?”
“Who put the bounty on Harper’s head?” Paul blurted.
His father stiffened. Eddie glared at him for a moment. They wanted to be more subtle about it. Paul didn’t do subtle.
Sebastián chuckled. “A friend.”
“I want a name,” Paul demanded.
The Colombian arched a brow. He sat back and glanced between the three of them. “It is a terrible thing to want .”
“I don’t intend to sully our relationship,” Joseph said as he leaned over the table and plucked a plantain from the plate. “But Ms. Myers has found herself under our protection, and I do have a meeting scheduled with Dario later this evening, where I plan to pay the bounty and end the permissions.”
Sebastián’s expression went blank. No one did any business in Oklahoma without Dario’s blessing. It was why Sebastián went to the families with this in the first place. If Dario revoked his approval, no one could go after Harper unless they wanted a war with Dario. No one won a war against him. He had the backing of the old country, plus an army from his network of syndicates.
Joseph sat back and crunched on the twice-fried plantain.
“Why not just pay the bounty on your son’s head?” Sebastián gestured to Paul. “Is he not more valuable to you than some lawyer from North Carolina who is not family ?”
“Paul can handle himself just fine. Ms. Myers is an old friend,” Joseph said.
Sebastián’s jaw shifted as he seemed to consider what was just said. He tapped his fingers softly on the table. Paul could almost see the wheels turning as he thought about what Joseph had presented. Things were about to get messy for the Colombian, and he needed an out.
“Say I give you this name,” he began as he met Joseph’s eyes. “What is in it for me?”
“A marker,” Paul interjected.
Now Joseph turned, and if looks could kill, Paul would be in a pool of his own blood. Offering a marker, a no-questions-asked favor, for something as little as a name was ridiculous. There was no dollar amount that could equal a marker. It was the most valuable thing anyone in a syndicate could offer—and never should be put on the table so flippantly. Paul was well aware, but he wanted to end this stupid game. Each minute that passed while they chatted with this guy was another minute someone hunted Harper. It was more danger for her. Paul couldn’t have that.
Lifting his brows and laughing softly, Sebastián sat back in his chair again. “Is this a serious offer?” His question was meant for the head of their syndicate, the Dixie Mafia.
Eddie shook his head ever so subtly at Paul. It was too much, but Eddie didn’t understand. This was Harper. Paul would walk through fire, take a thousand bullets, lay his life on the line for her a million times. What was a marker when he’d give so much more?
Pursing his lips, Joseph inhaled audibly before turning back to the Colombian. “It is. Paul will grant you one favor with my blessing.”
Grinning, Sebastián interlaced his fingers over his stomach. “Diesel.”