Chapter 48 Ransome
RANSOME
“Your coffee, sir.”
Amara hands me my steaming cup with a seductive little smile.
She’s wearing red today. A tailored, fitted dress that cuts just above the knees.
The neckline is high and I want to rip it, giving her some cleavage.
But I also don’t want to share her. And I know what’s under that material.
The second another man catches a glimpse, I’ll have to kill him, and I just had the office repainted.
“And your schedule,” she says as I walk to my desk.
I sit down and look up at her.
Fuck me.
It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to yank her onto my desk and have my way with her. I am a man of constraint. But this woman pushes me.
“Anything else?” she asks.
“No. That will be all for now.”
“Well, if you do think of anything, you know where I live…”
Fuck.
I watch as she slinks away, closing the door behind her. Then, and only then do I let out the breath I was holding.
I set my cup down. It’s too hot for coffee.
I shove my schedule aside. I have nothing for the first hour and I need to clear my head.
Amara’s punishment for her spicy reads is still living in my mind rent-free. Not to mention the fact that she let me face-fuck her on that hideous couch last weekend. It was probably the most erotic thing I’ve ever done. Probably the most unsanitary too, sexually speaking.
I’m not going to lie. Going to those stores was a stretch for me. The places I shop don’t usually consist of pop-up vendors with folding tables. I’ve never bought anything used in my life. Hell, even the penthouse was designed to my liking.
Which is why seeing those flea market things sitting in my pristine house feels off. Itchy.
And yet, the smile those things put on her face is worth it. There’s something about knowing she is happy and satisfied. It’s like a drug. Good, bad, uncomfortable—I want more. I need more. Warning labels and side effects and all.
Suddenly, an idea pops into my head. I open my laptop and start shopping. But not for a material item. I’m slowly, begrudgingly learning that I can’t buy her affection. I can, however, give her experiences.
And the girl loves music.
After a little research and a few clicks of the mouse, I call her back into my office.
“You wanted to see me?” she asks while perched in the doorway.
Damn. Resisting the urge to rip that dress to shreds has become a full-time job today.
“Yes. Come in and close the door, please.”
Amara does what I say and walks over to my desk, then waits. Such a good girl.
“What are you doing on Saturday night?” I ask.
“I was planning on helping my siblings finish up their move into the new place. Eliza doesn’t have to work and—”
“Cancel the plan,” I tell her, and her shoulders droop.
“Do you need me to work?” she asks, her voice small.
“No.”
“Oh…”
Then I close my laptop and stand up. “We are going to a concert.”
“A concert?”
“Well, the Days of Rock Festival.”
“Days of—!” she blurts out, then simmers down. “Days of Rock.”
“Have you heard of it?”
“Of course I’ve heard of it. It’s only the biggest music festival in the state of New York. But how did you get tickets? It’s been sold out for months.”
I pick up my coffee, round the desk, and take a sip. “Because I got us the VIP ones.”
Her mouth hits the floor and I have to suppress the urge to smile. That’s not something I have an issue with most of the time, but Amara is acting like a kid on Christmas right now.
“That’s… Wow,” she breathes, but then her smile tips downward slightly.
I give it a full five seconds before adding, “Your siblings are invited.”
“What?” she nearly jumps.
“I got them tickets too.”
“But—” Her eyes are wide. “You already bought them a house.”
“And now I bought them concert tickets. Non-refundable, so I don’t want to hear another word about it. We are all go—”
My sentence cuts off when Amara leaps towards me, kissing me on the lips. It nearly knocks my coffee out of my hand. When she notices, she immediately pulls back.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get back to work,” she says, though she can’t seem to fully extinguish her smile.
After she leaves, I let my mouth tick in a smirk.
“How is this even real?” Eliza shouts over the music.
We have elevated seats off to the side of the main stage with our own private bar, food, and bathroom.
I asked Amara not to tell her siblings the concert was a gift from me. Or the house. Her siblings have no idea how much she makes, and it wasn’t hard to convince them she’d been saving up for it all along. Or at least so she told me.
I’d rather they be grateful to their sister than to me. I don’t want them to be uncomfortable around me, or feel like they owe me. And besides, Amara has been the one doing the heavy lifting all these years, cutting her own paycheck in half.
They deserve to be happy. All of them.
Amara smiles at her sister and wraps her arm around her. Bella, who is standing on the other side, is dancing and cheering for whatever band is on stage. It’s some girl singer with a raspy voice and a couple of guys with mohawks. Ska music, I think.
Stuff like this isn’t usually my thing, though my family does like going. All the bands I like stopped touring years ago. Music died with them, in my opinion. But considering Mav and Baron are usually at this show, it’s smart for me to be too. Not to mention, Nik used to love it.
While I watch Amara dance and sing with her sisters, my mind wanders back a little. Nik loved music. Crazy music. It kind of made sense with his live-fast personality. It was hard not to think of him when I had that beer with Gianni. The music. The cars. It’s all so eerily Nik.
Suddenly, I stop and look around. Gianni is nowhere in sight.
I step forward and put my hand on Amara who is still shimmying to the music.
“Have you seen your brother?” I ask.
She looks around. The drink in her hand is almost empty and her eyes are nice and warm. “I haven’t. Bathroom, maybe? Or trying to get a drink with a fake ID. I swear, that kid—”
“I’ll find him,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I walk towards the back of the VIP stage. Mav and Baron are there at the bar, having a beer. They nod at me as I approach.
“Have either of you seen Gianni?”
Baron shakes his head, shoving up from his stool. He knows me well enough to know that I expect help from them.
“Last I saw he was headed to the parking lot,” Mav says.
“The parking lot?” I ask, and then it hits me.
The cars.
“Fuck.” I pick up the pace.
Sure enough, at the back of the lot is a row of street race cars. Guys do it at every festival. Every show. Every opportunity to pop their hoods and measure their dicks.
Sure enough, Gianni is standing next to a blue Lambo. Him and the snaky owner, some kid with slicked hair and white high top shoes, are talking and laughing.
“Bingo,” Mav says as we make our way over.
Then I see him.
Gianni shifts his weight to the side. Standing behind him is Tristan.
I don’t fucking think so.
“Here we go,” Baron says.
“I was hoping the night would be fun,” Mav grins.
But I am not amused. Tristan is the last person I want around Gianni.
“Hey, speak of the devil.” Gianni calls over to me. I can tell by the slur in his voice he’s been drinking.
“We were just talking about you,” Tristan says.
I ignore him for the time being and zero in on Gianni.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” I snap.
“Yo, I thought you were cool.”
“And I thought you were smart.”
Low whistles and chuckles come from all around.
“The kid is just looking for a little fun,” Tristan says.
I slice a glare over to him. “I suggest you stay out of this.”
“Listen—” Gianni starts in.
He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because I grab him.
“No, you listen. You are here for the concert. Now get back over there and watch the show with your sisters before I take your ass home.”
Gianni shoves me off. He stares at me for half a second—a move that’s either very brave or very stupid depending on what he’ll choose to do next.
Then he tucks his tail and stalks off.
Then I turn to Tristan, who is chuckling.
“When did you become a boring old man?”
“I don’t ever want to see you near him again, understood?”
Tristan is grinning, but there is something else behind his eyes. He stands up, peeling himself from the car he was leaning against.
“That kid is smart.” He starts pacing in front of me.
“Not smart enough to stay out of trouble.”
Mav and Baron are standing behind me, like a triangle of defense.
“I think you’re being a bit critical.” Tristan’s slimy tone makes my skin crawl. “I think the kid’s got potential. Don’t you?”
“He’s not Bratva and he’s not going to be.”
“Maybe not on your side of the street.”
My fist crashes hard into his grin.
Tristan hits the pavement.
He bounces back fast, taking a swing and missing. I’m ready to go for round two when Yury and Daniil appear from behind a car. There’s also shouting in the distance as security rushes towards us.
But I don’t give a fuck who gets involved. I’m seeing red.
I aim to level him, but before I can swing, Baron and Mav both grab me.
“Get the fuck off,” I bark out, but they don’t listen. I’m being dragged away from the scene, back into the tailgate concert crowd.
“It’s not worth it,” Baron says.
“Killing him will be worth it.”
“Maybe someday,” Mav says. “But not today. Not like this. He deserves to have his teeth removed one by one. Not the favor of having them knocked out all at the same time.”
“So let me at him!”
But they keep dragging me.
Once we are far enough away from the scene that I can’t just rush back, Mav and Baron let go.
“We have to keep him away from Gianni,” I tell them.
“And we will,” Baron insists. “But like with everything else, we have to be smart.”
“We will take him down. And when we do, it’ll be for more than just fucking with your girlfriend’s kid brother,” Maverick says. “Tristan isn’t just pissed about Jenica. He sees you rising up in the Bratva. And if I had to guess, he’s rallying for war.”
It’s not that I don’t know this. Tristan has been looking for ways to take me out for years. Me and Nik. Jenica is just a pawn in the game. But Tristan isn’t playing by the rules. And he’s not going to stop until he’s on top.
Which is why I have to end him.