Chapter 32
A Table meeting is neither a good nor bad sign—it’s simply a measure of time.
Da used to say these meetings were integral to keeping the ever-fragile peace between the five most powerful crime families in the UK and Europe.
That, without these meetings, tensions would have room to fester and boil over.
Personally, having all that ego shoved into one room seems like the perfect way to tempt fate.
One wrong move—hell, one wrong look —and an all-out war could start.
It’s never used to discuss the regular shit either.
Extortion, drug deals, illegal weapons—those kinds of discussions are our common ground in the same way our disgust for dealing in the skin trade is.
It’s as natural to us as dealing in the stock trade is to investors, or drafting up a contract is to a lawyer.
So, no, none of that is grounds to call a Table meeting.
Considering every man in this room has his own mile long list of crimes he’s wanted for, with at least two different agencies actively hunting him down, wasting time is the last thing we can afford to do.
What is also a given is the fact that none of us will ever see the inside of a jail cell—we’ll never pay for our sins.
Call it corrupt. Hell, I’ll be the first to hold up my hands and concede that fact.
That’s the perk of having the connections and wealth the crime world provides.
As the heir of the Four Points, this status quo has suited me quite nicely.
Why the hell wouldn’t it? Never having to worry about the consequences of my actions was something I took for granted.
Then, Helen entered my orbit, only to be ripped from it just as swiftly.
And so now, as I sit here surrounded by the leaders of the Italians, Russians, Chinese, and Scots, all I can think about is how different things would have turned out if not for this shitshow.
If it weren’t for this never-ending war I was born into, would she still be mine?
Would we have stood a chance if the odds weren’t stacked against us from the start?
A man could go insane pondering all the what ifs.
The rapid sound of gunfire, followed by exclamations, draws me back to the here and now.
And here and now, Angus has officially lost the plot.
The whole damn point of these meetings is we’re all disarmed to stop shit exploding.
Yet there he is, pointing his gun at Salvatore as he rants and raves.
Ivanov clutches his shoulder, the once-white shirt stained red, while Jianyu Li has ducked under the table. Fucking coward.
“What do you want to do, boss?” Seamus mutters under his breath from behind me.
Sharing a look with him, I jerk my chin at the door.
Our best bet is to get out of here while Angus is caught up in his issue with Salvatore.
If we can just make it to the other side of the double doors, we’ll be able to reclaim our weapons and even the playing field.
Silently, I slide my chair back and make to move, only to freeze when movement to the right catches my eye.
Slipping in a side door, crouched low to the floor with determination lining his features, is Angus’ son, Logan.
Last I heard, he was practically an outcast, all but disowned.
It’s clear there’s no love lost on his side either as he rugby tackles his father to the floor and swiftly disarms him before using his forearm to apply pressure to his windpipe.
“Sorry to interrupt. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get rid of the trash and leave you to your meeting.” With a tip of his chin, Logan disappears as quickly as he appeared, dragging his father’s body along with him.
“What the fuck?” Salvatore mutters, breaking the stunned silence. You can say that shit again .
“He’s gone too far this time,” I spit out. I always knew he was an unhinged bastard, but opening fire at a Table meeting is too damn far. He may as well spit on everything we stand for. Shared looks of anger and muttered curses float around the room before Jianyu Li chimes in.
“He needs to be stopped,” he mutters, dusting off his suit with narrowed eyes.
“Agreed. Next time, why don’t you step up and help instead of hiding like a coward?” I demand, ignoring Seamus’ warnings as I advance on him. Jun Weng, Li’s second, quickly steps in front of Jianyu, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest in an effort to look bigger than he is.
Quirking an eyebrow, I drawl, “You do know relying on Weng to fight your battles does little to disprove my point, right?”
“I’d like to point out that I was the one shot, and you don’t see me taking part in this pissing contest,” Maxim mutters as his second makes a tourniquet on his arm to stop the blood flow. He knocks back his drink with a wince before turning his icy glare on us.
“Dry your eyes. I get worse injuries just working in our clubs half the time,” Seamus adds with a roll of his eyes.
“Gentlemen. How about we bench this childish behaviour and focus on the issue at hand?” Salvatore drones as he dusts off his suit before taking a seat again. Raising an eyebrow in challenge, he waits for us all to grudgingly take our seats again.
“What do you propose? We have a heart to heart about his evil ways?” I snort. Maxim does an awful job at covering his laugh with a cough to my left, drawing a glare from Salvatore before he continues.
“What I propose is that we handle this little problem before it spirals any further.” At his calm words, the room freezes.
I glance at Maxim first, his heavy brows a dark slash across his forehead.
Given he hasn’t outright scoffed at Salvatore’s suggestion, I’d say he’s leaning towards being on board.
Fucker never could control his bloodlust; he’s worse than a drunk trying to control their bladder. Li, on the other hand…
“I don’t have time for this shit. You three might have time to burn, but I do not. I’ve a cocaine empire to run.” He sneers, making to get up, only to be stopped by Salvatore’s next words.
“And I’ve a heroin empire and numerous vineyards to take care of, yet I still have time to get rid of a threat. It’s called delegating, or is the Triad so weak, you can’t do that?”
“Come on, Li. Face it. Your precious cocaine isn’t what it used to be, and everyone knows your heroin and wine are the best in the business, Salvatore, but let’s be real for a second.
They’re out of most people’s price ranges, and don’t get me started on how niche the weapons trade is.
Angus might be a bastard, but his party drugs rake in more than our endeavours have in years.
Now, if we took him out…” I drawl, leaning back in my chair and flicking my eyes over each man in turn.
I watch as my words land, seeds taking root.
“I’m in. When do we do this? I can set one of my snipers on his tail.” Trust Maxim, a Bravata Pakhan to his core, to be the first to sign up for bloodshed.
Sighing, I shake my head before continuing. “It’s not that simple. We need to go about this the right way, unless you want his men gunning for us. We also need to get to the bottom of what shit he’s involved in before it blows up in our faces.”
“So, we take it slow. We investigate, keep our ears to the ground, keep each other updated on anything we find and revisit this next quarter, yes?” Salvatore’s suggestion is met with some grumbles, but at the end of the day, it’s the best plan we have.
With a dip of my chin, I raise my glass in silent agreement.
“Let the games begin,” Jianyu declares gleefully before tipping back his drink, nodding at Jun, and leaving.
Angus’ takedown is long overdue.
Let the games begin, indeed.