9. Sergio
CHAPTER 9
SERGIO
I ’d hoped a good night’s sleep would rid me of the demon otherwise known as Jaelyn Torres.
And it might’ve worked if I hadn’t woken up twice to whack it to her in those X-rated porno fantasies fucking with my head. After the last time, I ran straight into the bathroom and dunked myself under an ice-cold stream of water in the shower, the only thing that could give me some peace from the erotic curse she’d put on my body.
It worked for a little while, until my body temperature skyrocketed yet again at breakfast.
“Are you sweating?” Bruno asks as I walk up to our regular table in the coffee shop. He stuffs a forkful of pancakes into his mouth as I slide into a chair next to him.
“I just came from the gym,” I lie.
“You didn’t shower?”
I shrug. “You the hygiene police or something?”
He smirks. “I don’t give a shit what you smell like, Serge. I ain’t fucking you. Just don’t sweat in my espresso, yeah?”
I let out a sigh and dab my napkin against my forehead. I’m damn close to overheating here. This is ridiculous! How in the hell?
“Did you see Enrico this morning?” he asks me.
“Yeah, but he was sleeping. I didn’t want to wake him. The Doc came by to check on him and is hanging around until I get back.” I avert my eyes, knowing exactly what question he’s going to ask next.
“Where are you going?”
It’s the only one I don’t want to answer.
It’s also the one I don’t want him to guess the answer to.
“I have a meeting.”
“With?” He lifts an eyebrow at me.
“With a guy about a place.” I take a large gulp of coffee and swallow hard, the searing liquid scorching a path down my throat where it sloshes around in my empty stomach.
“Oh, is that supposed to be a riddle or something?” Bruno snickers, shaking his head. “Or code for you’re gonna get laid?”
He had to say it, didn’t he?
I clutch the tablecloth in my hand, my heart hammering in my chest. “This isn’t about sex,” I hiss, almost like I’m trying to convince myself that it isn’t. I hope Bruno believes me more than I believe myself.
Bruno’s eyebrows fly upward. “Sore subject? You going through a dry spell now?”
He has no idea.
“Look, sometimes I like to take meetings to find out if there are opportunities for us. I don’t need to hand over my calendar so you can see where I am at any given hour of the day!”
“Jesus, cuz,” Bruno says, holding up his hands. “I just wondered if you were gonna take the shit show from last night to the table like you guys agreed last night.”
My lips stretch into a tight line. “You mean like Matteo and Heaven agreed.”
“Sergio, don’t tell me you’re gonna try to handle this by yourself,” he says, the warning evident in his tone. “The families will be pissed and you’ll end up getting yourself killed. And we still won’t get those nightclubs!”
I force out a chuckle. “You really think I’m gonna deal with Torres on my own? Nah, I’m letting the families handle this one. They’ll figure out a way to make him pay, and then I’ll be happy as a pig in shit to deliver the punishment.”
Bruno just stares as me as he stuffs scrambled eggs into his mouth. “You sound pretty convincing. You think everyone else will buy that line of bullshit?”
My eyes narrow. “That’s how it will be handled. How Torres will be handled. He tried to kill us, Bruno, and he will be handled.” A tight smile lifts my lips. “In the exact way that the families decide. As of right now, I’m stepping out of this Torres sinkhole.” I shove the chair away from the table as I stand up. “And I’m going to my meeting so that I can figure out another way for us to take over nightlife in this goddamn city since nobody has come up with any other brilliant ideas.”
“Hey, Serge,” Bruno says, putting down his fork. “Look, I get that you want a win here, but maybe stop going around on your own to put deals together? I mean, it didn’t exactly work out for you last night. Definitely didn’t work out for Enrico.” He sighs. “I know you feel like you have a lot to prove, but?—"
“Don’t tell me what I feel,” I say, my voice choked. “I’ve done plenty for our family. I jumped in when Matteo needed me in Manhattan months ago. I fucking went with Heaven to take out that drug lord and break up their sex trafficking ring while Matteo was lying in a hospital bed after getting shot! But because Matteo is next in line to Papa, he gets to make the decisions and the plans on our behalf. Fuck that! I’ve done plenty to prove myself and I’m done. I’m ready to write my own goddamn rules! I don’t need Matteo dictating shit to me, telling me how to do my job. I’ve done just fine for myself and for our family!”
“Easy,” he says, looking around. “You’re getting a little crazy about this. You guys will go to the meeting and figure out a new plan. This isn’t about Matteo or about you fucking up.” He smirks. “I mean, this time it’s not about you fucking up.”
I roll my eyes.
“Torres is clearly a wild card, and nobody expected things to go down the way they did. This isn’t on you?—”
“The hell it’s not.”
I twist around to see Matteo’s lips curl into a sneer. He steps toward me, dressed from head to toe in black. Suit, shirt, shoes. But no tie.
Never a tie.
I guess he doesn’t need anything else choking him on a daily basis.
“Don’t sugarcoat this for him, Bruno,” Matteo says, still staring me down. “Shit went sideways last night because you couldn’t handle Torres. You think you have what it takes to sit at the negotiation table, but clearly you don’t. Anyone who knows anything about business, about people, could have gotten him to agree to our terms.” He stands toe to toe with me. We’re both about the same height but he’s darker — everything from his skin to his demeanor. More menacing all around when he’s talking business. He barely smiles. Never laughs.
Yep, Matteo can be a real dickwad.
“You talk a big game about getting an earned seat at the table,” I hiss. “But what the hell did you ever do to get yours? Be born first?”
Matteo lifts an eyebrow at me. “Careful, brother,” he growls. “I have no problem making a recommendation to have you shipped the fuck out of here if you don’t watch your ass. See, that’s the difference between us. I deliver on what I promise.” He leans toward me, his eyes turbulent and volatile.
That’s the only sign of what’s going on behind his chaotic gaze.
If you don’t know him, you’d never see it, or him, coming.
And when the devil comes knocking, you’re already too late to escape.
But I’ve been dealing with this my whole life.
Buttons?
There are plenty to push.
This one is the hottest, though.
Insinuating that he got his role because of birth order instead of skill always gets his dick in a twist.
It’s not entirely true, but it pisses him off regardless.
I hold up my hands with a nasty smirk on my face. “Sorry, I know how sensitive you are about… role play .”
His nostrils flare, and if we were behind closed doors right now, he’d take a swing. Or three.
Of course, he’d land on his face because I’d use my ninja-slaying powers to slice through his cocky ass attitude.
Courtesy of me being a trained assassin.
“Don’t test me, Sergio. Papa brought me out here to close the deals you can’t. And now we need to fix things with Torres,” Matteo says in a tight voice.
Adrenaline floods my veins when Matteo speaks his name.
Tiny mewls amplifying in my mind send a jolt to my groin.
No, no, no!
Christ, not again. Not now!
“There is no fixing anything,” I say in a choked voice. “He put a hit on us after we left his place. There was no conversation, no discussion, no invitation to negotiate. There was only a power play. His. On us . There is no fucking way we have another conversation with that tool.”
“Who says anything about you having the conversation?” Matteo asks, tapping a finger against his stubbled chin.
“What, you think you’re gonna just walk in there and try to?—?”
“There is no try. Only do.” Matteo’s lips curl into a sneer. “Something you obviously couldn’t handle.”
“Fuck off, Yoda,” I snip. “The guy wanted to stake his claim last night. To show us he’s not gonna bend over for any amount of money. What the hell do you think another meeting will accomplish?”
“Everyone can be bought,” Matteo says. “Everyone wants something. You just have to figure out their price. That’s how you really negotiate. I guess they didn’t teach you that in Sniper School.”
“The way to get to him is to push him out, to show him that we can outmuscle him! We need to beat him at his own game, to smother him with our resources!”
“See, that’s why you’re never going to be taken seriously by the families, Sergio. You have all of these plans, but you can’t seem to make them a reality. You’re a dreamer, but the reality never seems to follow. You’ve got plans, but where’s the fucking money, bro? Where’s the opportunity? Can you do anything beyond maiming? Or will that be your only claim to fame?” He shakes his head. “This is exactly why Papa sent me out here. At the end of the day, he knows who can get the job done.”
I stick my fist in my mouth to keep from pounding Matteo’s smug face. His words thunder between my ears. He’s right. I always have a plan, I’m always full of ideas. But the one big chance I have to put it into action almost gets me killed. The Torres deal was my idea, my future! And Matteo is right, I fucking shat the bed. I walked out of there without finding out what he really needs.
What he really wants.
I don’t deserve a seat at that table if I can’t secure my own deal.
I don’t deserve a seat if I can’t prove that I’m a fucking power player, too!
Thump, thump, thump!
My throat tightens, my pulse hammering with increasing force.
Matteo thinks he can do it by talking, by charming the guy, by manipulating him into believing that we can run his clubs better than he can.
He’s got a proven track record, I’ll give him that.
And really, I don’t know why I keep resisting. Let him go in there and attempt to make a deal. Let him get his ass shot up like Swiss cheese!
But I don’t want his seat by default.
I wanna earn mine.
Torres doesn’t need to have his dick stroked.
He needs to feel real fear.
He needs to feel, period.
“Enrico is lying in a bed right now because of that guy. You fight fire with fire, Matteo. Not with fucking cannoli cream and espresso!”
Matteo rolls his eyes. “If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead right now. He’s just playing a game. It’s our move. And you’re gonna tag me in.” He glares at me, his eyes narrowed. “And just so you’re clear, it’s a rhetorical statement. You don’t have a choice.”
A hammering in my chest reverberates between my ears, but yeah, I heard him loud and clear.
And he’s right.
I don’t have a choice at all.