Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Basili
The restaurant is exactly the kind of place Delan Tao would choose: expensive, exclusive, and on neutral ground.
Which is exactly how I prefer it. Midtown is busy this time of year, busier than usual with the holidays approaching, and most of the tables in the restaurant are full as we walk through it, following the Matre d’ to a secluded corner against the far wall.
“Mr. Cierro, thank you for agreeing to this meeting.” Delan Tao stands and extends his hand across the table, his smile perfectly practiced and cold as ice.
I shake his hand with a smile just as cold. “Mr. Tao.”
He’s exactly what I expected: mid-fifties, impeccably dressed from head to toe in a tailored suit, his hair graying, his eyes calculating. The Dragon’s head of the Triad carries himself with the confidence of a man who has built an empire on blood.
Exactly like me, which is exactly why I don’t trust him.
“Please, sit. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering wine already.” He gestures to the chair across from him.
I sit, accepting the glass of wine the server pours — the one I won’t end up touching. Never accept an open bottle from an enemy; it’s a top ten rule. I glance at the ensemble gathered behind him, taking account of each man.
I’d left Omero and Raffaello at the mansion to watch over Chloe and Emmanuel and brought three other men with me to this meeting. Tao, on the other hand, is flanked by five men, all leaning against the wall behind him, making every attempt to look casual, and one woman, sitting beside him.
She’s beautiful in a classical way— delicate features, porcelain skin, dark hair pulled back into an elegant knot with a jeweled hairpin, and wearing a traditional qipao in deep blue silk. Her resemblance to Delan is evident in the dark tone of her eyes and the wide shape of her cheekbones.
She must be the eldest daughter, Shufen.
“I appreciate your willingness to meet and discuss this arrangement in further detail,” Delan continues, drawing my attention back to him. “I know tensions between our families have been… strained in the past.”
Strained. That’s one way to think of it I suppose. It’s been nothing short of an unofficial war for the last six years: trade route disputes, constant vying for territory, and the occasional misunderstanding that would lead to a death or two.
“Business is business.” I keep my tone neutral while signaling the waiter to bring a fresh glass of water. “If there’s a mutually beneficial arrangement to be made between the two of us, I’m willing to consider it. What’s good for my business is good for me.”
“Good.” He leans forward slightly, his beady eyes pinned on me. “Then let me be frank. The Russians are becoming an increasing issue for both of us.”
That gets my attention, but I keep the peak of interest contained. “Go on.”
“They’ve been pushing further and further into the territories along our mutual borders, creeping in like some sort of noxious apparition.
The damage they’ve done to our trade lines is tangible.
From the intelligence reports, I’ve come to believe that it’s a coordinated move against both our factions.
One intended to create a war between us so that they can grab territory while we’re at each other’s throats. A prelude to something far bigger.”
“I don’t suppose you would care to share this intelligence?”
“Let’s just say I have eyes in all the right places.” He smiles thinly. “They took your son, Mr. Cierro. That was a message. A demonstration. Why wait and risk seeing what comes next?”
My jaw clenches. “And how exactly do you know about that incident?”
“Like I said, I have eyes everywhere.” He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “And they approached me with a proposition around that time.”
That puts my hackles up. “Whatever that proposition was, I assume you refused, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting across the table from me.”
Delan smiles with a nod like I’ve satisfied a curiosity of some sort. “That is correct, but I didn’t outwardly refuse you, see. I played the long game. I told them I would think about it. Which allowed me the time to have this conversation with you instead. The enemy of my enemy, as they say.”
Smart. Calculated. Exactly what I would have done in his position. Perhaps the man is smarter than I’ve been giving him credit for.
“And your solution to all these issues is a formal alliance?”
“One through marriage.” He glances at the girl beside him and then back at me. “One not easily broken or ignored. Consider it a shield of sorts for both of us. It would signal to one and all that a move against one faction is a move against both.”
He picks up his wine glass and takes a sip, watching me over the brim. The idea has merit, I can’t argue that.
“As a devout Catholic, marriage is not something I take lightly.” I fold my hands on the table in front of me and lean back as I say it.
“Precisely.” He sets the glass down once more, spinning it idly between his fingers.
Then motions to the woman beside him. “I have a daughter, the perfect age for such an arrangement. Shufen is twenty-three, never married, never sullied. She is obviously educated and well-trained in the expectations of our world. It would be an excellent match.”
Shufen bows her head, eyes downcast in a show of demure respect. Her movement is practiced and graceful. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Cierro. My father has spoken highly of you.”
When she finally looks up, her eyes are the first thing I notice. They seem familiar, and I can’t quite place why. She sits with perfect posture, shoulders back but not rigid, hands folded in her lap. Every inch the perfect daughter.
I have to admit, she’s everything a wife in our world should be. Polite. Submissive. Beautiful. Educated. The kind that would run a household efficiently, host parties flawlessly, and raise well-rounded children.
Everything I’ve come to realize I no longer want.
There’s no spark there. No interest. No flare of pride or argument. Simply acceptance and unwavering obedience. The complete opposite of my Chloe.
My Chloe? When did she become my Chloe?
“Shufen has been preparing for an arrangement of this kind her entire life,” Delan says with evident pride. “She understands the expectations. The duties. She would be an asset to your family, and a good mother for your son, as well as any other children you may decide to have.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by the way he speaks of his own daughter, but it grinds my nerves. To Delan, this young woman is nothing more than an asset to be used in a transaction. Just another piece on the chessboard.
“I’m sure she would,” I say diplomatically, even though everything in me rejects this idea. “This would —”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I move to silence it, ignoring the caller, momentarily distracted. This meeting is too important, the alliance too necessary.
“As I was saying —” I start. The phone buzzes again. This time, I pull it out of my pocket to silence it, but when I look at the caller ID, it’s Omero calling. He knows better to interrupt unless it’s an emergency.
My blood runs cold.
“Excuse me, Mr. Tao.” I stand, already moving away from the table. “I have to take this.”
“Of course,” Delan says, but I can hear the tone of disapproval in his voice.
I move to the small alcove on the opposite side of the restaurant, a spot intended for the waitstaff to hover and watch their tables.
“This better be important.”
“Boss, I’m sorry.” Omero’s voice is tight, controlled, but unnerved all at once. “It’s Chloe. She’s hurt.”
Suddenly, the world is tilting on its axis all around me. “What do you mean, hurt? What happened?”
“She snuck off the property with Emmanuel to take him to the park across the street. They were alone and were attacked by some punk kid pickpockets. She fought back, so Emmanuel could run home to get someone. But by the time we got there, one of them had stabbed her with a knife. Docs here now —”
“How bad?” I’m already moving, signaling to my men loitering beside the Tao table to follow me. Then I’m shoving through the restaurant doors and heading for the cars.
“Bad enough. She passed out from the blood loss. We got her inside and field patched before Doc got here, but —”
“I’m on my way. Don’t let anyone near her except the Doc. You hear me? No one.”
“You got it, boss.”
I hang up, climbing into the back of the awaiting car, signaling the driver to head back to the mansion. I don’t look back; I don’t say goodbye to Delan or his perfect daughter. I don’t offer explanations or apologies.
An insult that I will surely have to make up for later, but right now, Chloe needs me, and nothing is going to stop me from getting to her.
Anxiously, I call Raffaello. He doesn’t answer, which only increases my restlessness. He’s either dealing with the muggers or avoiding me because he knows I’m going to rip him apart for letting this happen.
He was supposed to be protecting her. That was the whole point of having a bodyguard. Of the restrictions I’d placed on her.
And somehow, she had slipped past him with my son and nearly gotten herself killed.
The thought of her bleeding, hurt, and afraid makes me want to put my fist through the window.
The drive home takes forty-five minutes, but it feels like hours. Each minute is utter agony as I sit helplessly in the backseat, yelling inefficiently at the traffic to move out of our path.
We pull through the gates at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for the sharp curves of the driveway.
It would have terrified anyone who didn’t know just how well my driver can handle a car.
As soon as we reach the plateau near the front door, I’m out and running, taking the steps three at a time.
Maria meets me in the foyer, her face pale. Taking my jacket, she points up the stairs. “Thank God, you're back. She’s upstairs in her room. The doctor just finished —”