This room will do fine, standing in for something warmer, something more mine. I have a penchant for dim lighting, rich Jarrah or Marri woods, and deep crimson hues that remind meof the old country. For now, this makeshift space, which used to be our second dining room, will suffice.
Martin leans forwards, pressing his bulk into the polished table, leaving a steaming blotch on the reflective surface. His biker-cut strains under bloat and booze. Fucking bikers… I hide my sneer of derision behind a mask of smooth apathy, fixing my neutral expression. They may be gangsters, yes, but not of the smart variety. Not educated. They are the rats of the underbelly of the District, feeding on scraps, feeding on the bodies when they must.
But rats serve a purpose.
He begins, "Butcher.” He clears his throat. “I want your son Luca to marry my daughter when they come of age."
Ifeelmy father’s scoff.
Staring at Martin, I drag my thumb along the rim of my whiskey glass. The ice cubes clink together. The taste of Sicilian smoke rolls around the back of my throat. "That’s very amusing.” I deadpan.
Martin narrows his eyes.
I know this man. Well, enough to know he is the real deal. He mighttryto kill me, but I can’t bring myself to care. My past Don, Jimmy, had many seething Sicilian words for the fucker, but he presented as the polite Made Man—I will too.
"Alright, Ash then,” Martin counters.
My sons’ names in his mouth cause my Butcher head to throb, to burn with agitation, but I use my cigar. Sucking the smoke in, violently drawing the ember higher, my sharp gaze carving his filthy face like a fucking pumpkin.
I release a hollow chuckle around my cigar. "You're a funny man."
"No, Butcher! I mean it." His jaw hardens, and a vein jumps at his temple.
My deep chuckle dies. "No, you don't."
"I do, fuck ya!” He thumps the table, rattling my whiskey glass, and I sigh, staring at him as the mild inconvenience he is. I don’t lie. I don’t sugarcoat.
I tilt back in my chair, letting my smooth gaze unravel him. "You're not stupid, Martin. Only a fool would think your daughter is some prize for Luca. He and his brother are going to rule theCosa Nostra, se? What does your girl put on the table for me?"
"An alliance," he spits out, but the words land like what they are—polished shits.
I smile easily and extinguish my cigar in the tray, waving the smoke away with my hand. “Excuse my rudeness,” I say. “Cigars are my vice.” Then I relax backwards into my chair and realign him with my half-hooded stare. "An arranged marriage to Luca or Ash would be my greatest alliance, one of unprecedented benefit. Marrying intomyfamily? A woman inmyhouse, alongsidemywife? Giving me Butcher grandchildren?" Each word is a slow-moving snake, then I lash out, "You're not worthy of such an alliance."
His face burns, and his chair screeches against the floor as he stands. "Fuck you."
I wave my hand. "Sit down. I have a better plan.”
He spits out a curse and veers towards his new Sergeant at Arms, a younger man with an eyebrow scar. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. FuckingItalians.”
“Come now,” I soothe. “Hear my idea. I thought it was quite nice of me to invite you to my home. Show my genuine intentions, in daylight, not in a backstreet, warehouse or compound. In my very home. That is respect,se?”
He drops back into his chair, jaw moving like he’s grinding gravel between his teeth. “Fine. What you got?”
I nod towards John. "This is what I will offer,” I say. John was once a low-level gangster himself, now looks like agentleman in their presence. He lays a map of Indonesia out on the boardroom table and punches his finger into a spot right below the second mountain range. “Thank you, my boy, “ I say to him. Then I look at Martin. “On top of keeping your drugs running through my hotel and allowing you to launder a portion, I will offer you something long-standing. A long-term alliance,se? I just acquired a massive parcel of land in Indonesia from thePreman.This land is thick with cannabis, worth millions of dollars. With room for millions more—it’s a work in progress. I’m not out there in the dirt. Neither is my Family. That's you. You manage it, handle it, ship it, whatever needs doing. I’ll be your silent, wealthy and patient partner. A permanent union.Se? All operations within the District will be unified undermyadministration. ”
Martin studies the map, calculating. His Sergeant whispers something in his ear, then another man leans into the other.
Something hungry wakes up behind Martin’s eyes as they speak to him.
"I agree,” Martin finally says to me, nodding.
Excellent.
I rise to my full height, smoothing my tie and buttoning my suit jacket. "I will leave you with my father and John to sort the details." My polite smile is purely business, nothing else.
My father takes my seat.
“You’re not even going to talk me through this yourself?” Martin snarls. “You slimy, arrogant bastard. You think you’re too good for me?”
