The young idiot opens his mouth again, but Carmine raises a hand, silencing him with a single movement.
“Your father,” Carmine says slowly, “had certain… arrangements with us. Dealings that remained unfinished when he passed.”
Passed.
“I'm aware.” I pull my phone from my pocket and set it on the table between us. The screen lights up with a flood of notifications. Comments, shares, reactions. “The question is, are you aware of how things work now?”
Carmine's jaw tightens. He knows. They all fucking know.
La Maison du Mal doesn't just control territory or smuggling routes. We control information. The narrative. With one post, one carefully crafted video, I could turn the entire city against the Outfit. Make them pariahs. Untouchable in the worst way.
“We had an agreement with Alderic,” Carmine continues, but there's a new hesitation in his voice. “Product routes through the ports. Protection in exchange for—”
“Those agreements died with him.” I tap my phone screen, pulling up my Instagram. “But I'm willing to renegotiate. On my terms.”
The young guy shifts in his seat, his anger radiating off him like heat from asphalt.
“You think you're untouchable because of your followers?” He spits the last word like it's poison. “This is the real world, pretty boy. Not your fucking screen.”
Now I look at him. Really look at him. I let him see exactly what I am.
“The real world runs on perception,” I say, with enough patience to make him think I’m bored. “And I control perception. A video of your boss leaks. A story about your operations goes viral. By morning, the FBI will be knocking on your door, not because they give a shit, but because millions of people are screaming for them to give a shit.” I tilt my head. “Wanna know why they’re screaming?”
His mouth drops open a little.
I glare at him. “Because I made them scream.”
Silence.
I lean in further. “Why do you think La Maison du Mal is so untouchable?” I raise my brows, pretending I think he has the brains to answer.
The other suit at Carmine's side shuffles, his unease crawling through the low bass of whatever song is playing.
My mouth curls. “Because while you lot were measuring each other's cocks for generations, we hid in the fog, building aliases that would last wars. We didn't just think about money, fucking drugs, or any of the other trades we ran. We thought of the bigger picture.”
The kid's face falls.
“You know who I am?” I ask, more because I’m enjoying this too much.
He snarls, leaning back in his chair. He's got balls, I'll give him that. It's a prerequisite for the job.
My smirk deepens. “So you know just howdeceptiveI can be.”
Carmine studies me for a long moment. Then he laughs, cutting it short. “You really are Alderic's son.”
My jaw clenches.
“Nah.” I stand, pocketing my phone. “I'm better. For one…” My gaze drifts over each of their faces. Four of them. Enough to take me, especially in their own club.
My eyes settle back on Carmine. “I don't fucking deal with The Cove.”
Their faces pale.
Carmine shoots up from his chair, enough to have his boys flinch in fear.
“Watch your mouth, son. I don't fuck with…”
I raise a hand, shaking my head and cutting him off. “Never said you did. I'm just telling you I'mnotlike him. From now on, shit is about to change.”
