7. Lucian
7
LUCIAN
L eaning back in my plush leather swivel chair, I lace my fingers in front of my lips as I stare out the wall of windows that runs the length of my expansive fiftieth-floor office. Try as I might to focus, Tatiana is the only thing on my mind, her full curves and enticing movements. The woman oozes sensuality without even trying—and her sharp wit and even sharper tongue have me aching with need even though I’ve spent the majority of the past twelve hours inside of her.
My cock throbs just thinking about it. I’ve never wanted someone like I want Tatiana. And now that I’ve had a taste of her, that intense sense of craving has only gotten stronger.
“With your negotiations concerning the Sokolov Bratva settled, we’ll need a new direction to expand,” Aldo says delicately, shifting in his chair as he brings me back to the topic of our meeting.
I sigh heavily, turning my gaze on the lanky older consigliere. His graying temples and the round wire-rimmed glasses that perch on his nose give away his age, though his brown eyes are sharp and watchful. I know what he’s saying without saying it—allowing Tatiana to maintain control of her men and territory has weakened our position if we were hoping to expand, which I am. Our alliance is shaky at best. It’s going to take time to build the cooperation that I would have had if I had simply commandeered her men and forced the Bratva into line.
But I’ve pushed Tatiana far enough, I think. If her territory were all I cared about, it wouldn’t matter if I had a frigid wife who couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me. Plenty of mafia marriages have that exact dynamic and still manage to produce heirs. But I’m far too intrigued by my new wife, far more interested in her mind—and her body—than I am about claiming some throne in Manhattan. And since it would seem I’ve already put myself firmly on her list of enemies, I doubt invading her territory would do much to help this alliance.
“She’ll come around,” I state, waving off Aldo’s concern.
“And in the meantime? Did you intend to cut back on supply or allow the current increased risks of getting caught?” The question has a dry edge to it, but Aldo keeps a rigid grip on his tone to ensure it remains respectful.
“I’ll figure something out.” I know I’m pushing my luck, distributing closer to home because my new business with the Miami cartel means I have an overabundance of product. I can only hide so much of the influx, and a larger territory would allow for significantly more outlets. Not to mention, access to Manhattan would grant a direct line to the interstate highways. But I don’t need it—for now. Besides, with the Bratva so heavily invested in Manhattan, it would be a temporary fix. I just need to consider my other options. “We have the transport to ship abroad. Maybe we need to consider expanding outside of the city in a different direction.”
Aldo gives a slow nod of acknowledgment, his expression pensive.
A soft rap on the office door calls both our eyes in that direction.
“Yes?” I ask.
The door eases open to reveal Luca—one of my guards. “Sorry, boss. Saturo Takumi is asking to speak with you.”
The head of the yakuza? He has never done business with me, though our domains lie on either side of the East River, which technically makes us neighbors. I’m aware of his rocky history with the Sokolov Bratva and that his men are deadly kudo fighters who don’t need guns or knives to deliver a message. But I have no clue why he would want to speak with me. Frowning, I reach for the office phone, but Luca clears his throat.
“Uh, he’s here, boss. In the reception area.”
My guard looks about as puzzled as I feel. Saturo rarely ventures outside his Bronx territory, so his presence is even more unexpected than the fact that he would want to talk to me.
Glancing at Aldo, I tilt my chin. “Give us the room.” Then I turn my eyes back to Luca. “Did he say what this is about?”
Luca shakes his head.
“Let him in.”
The men shuffle, Aldo slipping out the door before Luca closes it behind him, and I comb my hair back from my face with my fingers as I think about why the yakuza leader could possibly be here, at my office in the real estate investment firm I use as a front for my real source of income.
In the few moments of silence, I contemplate what might be behind this visit. Considering I just married Tatiana, the new head of Saturo Takumi’s rival family, maybe he’s here to see where we stand—or offer me congratulations on crushing her father’s reign.
The door swings open, Luca escorting Saturo and two of his men into the room with my second guard, Tullio, following them silently inside. My guards take up position at the door, ready to engage if necessary but remaining a respectful, unobtrusive presence until they’re needed.
Turning my attention to my unexpected guest, I study Saturo curiously as he approaches. He’s slight, with just a hint of gray in his hair to remind me that he’s a few years older than me. Dressed in a turtleneck sweater and a tweed blazer, he looks more like a professor than the head of an organized crime family, but his dark eyes study me with an open cunning that would fit a man in our position.
“Lucian Agosti, it’s a pleasure to finally speak with you face-to-face.” His voice is calm, collected, and capable of putting me at ease as he reaches across the desk to offer me his hand.
Rising, I debate the meaning behind his gesture, but I shake it anyway, confident that rejecting it would be a stronger statement than anything—and I have nothing against Saturo personally. Only curiosity for why, after all these years, he’s chosen to seek me out now.
“This is a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” I ask.
“I hear congratulations are in order. You managed to tie the knot with the Sokolov heir—and not long after she came into her full inheritance, eh?” His clean-shaven cheeks lift in an angular smile as he settles into the chair Aldo vacated minutes before, and without an invitation.
His two men stand behind him, silently watching me, their hands casually resting in their front pockets. The pose could almost look relaxed if their shoulders weren’t so tense, like they expect a fight to break out at any moment.
I bristle instinctually at the implication—that I married Tatiana for her inheritance. And though it would have been nice, that’s not the reason behind my choice at all. I brush the thought aside, staying focused on the reason for this meeting. “I hope you didn’t come all this way just to offer your congratulations,” I state, reclaiming my chair as well.
Saturo chuckles, his hand reaching up to massage his jaw. “Of course not, but I thought a few pleasantries might be in order before simply…diving in.”
“To the reason you’re here, in my office? Please, skip the small talk. I’m curious what could possibly compel you to visit me now, after we’ve been neighbors for all these years and never sat down like this before.”
Saturo’s eyebrows lift, amusement flickering across his features. “I have a business proposition for you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I heard you’re in need of moving some…recently acquired merchandise, and I have an interested party looking to buy in bulk.” Saturo’s eyes glint knowingly as mine narrow.
“And where did you hear that?”
“Does it matter? If it’s true, I have an opportunity that could prove very lucrative for both of us.” The oyabun leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table to give me an intense look. “I’m hoping that you and I might find an understanding since our goals seem to align. I spent many years trying to work with Boris Sokolov, but the man was impossible to reason with—a conclusion I can only assume you came to since you’re the one who finally took him out.”
And possibly shot myself in the foot in the process, though I can hardly blame Saturo for calling Boris impossible to reason with. The man made unnecessary enemies wherever he went because his younger daughter, Natasha, could simply clean up his messes when the day was done. With him gone, I imagine all our lives have become easier when it comes to business.
“You say you have a buyer—and I have the merchandise. So, what does that mean you expect out of the deal?”
“Thirty percent of the profits, as a finder’s fee. And I’ll set up the meeting to ensure discrete and smooth delivery.”
“Five percent.”
“Twenty-five.”
“Ten. Final offer.”
Silence fills the room as Saturo Takumi’s eyes narrow, his head tilting. “Ten,” he finally agrees.
“How can I trust that this buyer of yours is legitimate?” I ask.
His smile curves coyly across his face. “Don’t worry. You’ll know as soon as you see them.”