The other man is older, at least in his fifties by my guess, with thinning black hair and a crisp, trim beard. He dyed everything, including his eyebrows, giving him a cartoonish look. Round, wire-rimmed glasses complete his ensemble, and even if I didn’t recognize Harrison on sight, I’d know this man is his expert.
Sure enough, when I gesture to Aron to lay out the product, the older man pulls a loupe out of his pocket and polishes the lens.
Aron sets the black velvet bag on a table, laying a square piece of the same fabric down before carefully pouring thediamonds onto the square. Every facet glistens in the club’s lights, and I catch Harrison’s eyes widening at the sight.
What a fool. He should have more professionalism. Showing his eagerness is the same as showing weakness.
Everyone knows you never show weakness in a negotiation with the Syndicate.
“Your man has three minutes to inspect the product. Then I expect a reasonable opening bid.”
“Bid?” Harrison scoffs and looks around. “I don’t see any other buyers here to bid against me. You’ll be lucky to get whatever I offer you.”
Aron glances at me under his lashes, but I shake my head. I don’t need him yet.
Rather than sic Aron on Harrison, I point at a camera mounted in the corner behind me. “You think I’m dumb enough to conduct business under club surveillance? That’s our equipment. Not only do we have your face recorded here, but we’ve got the other buyers watching your every move. This is more than a buy; it’s an audition … and you’re the star, Mr. Walker.”
Harrison scowls, and his manicured hands clench into fists as his sides. It would be more intimidating if he had some calluses or scars, some sign of ever having been in a real fight. As it is, the pretty boy looks more like a spoiled brat than the gangster he’s trying to portray.
Unlike his boss, the man in glasses bides his time. He waits patiently for permission to view the merchandise. Whoever this man is that Harrison brought, he’s a professional.
“Five minutes. Clock starts now.”
The older man nods and starts to work. I keep an eye on Harrison, calculating his every move. I know Aron’s watching the jeweler for me, so I don’t have to worry about him palming any of the merchandise while he works. Unlike Harrison, Aron’searned every scar on that godlike body of his, and his reputation precedes him. The jeweler seems smart enough to know who the biggest threat in this room is.
Less than two minutes later, the jeweler puts his loupe back in his pocket and nods to Harrison.
“Excellent quality.”
That’s all he says, but it’s really all he needs to say. Now the ball is in Harrison’s court.
“Great. Thanks, Virgil. You can go.”
I raise a brow. He’s giving orders? This is my house, so to speak. My turf. My rules. Not that I care if Virgil stays, but it’s the principle of it.
Like I guessed, Virgil is smart. He looks to me for confirmation before scurrying out.
That leaves Sal, Aron, Harrison, and me. Our guest is still outnumbered, and if Sal did his job right, unarmed.
As the door shuts behind Virgil, I hear a distinctiveclick.
Sal didn’t do his job right.
Everything happens in a flash, almost too fast to register. Aron darts in front of me as Harrison raises his gun. Sal draws his own weapon from his holster. The muzzle flash on Harrison’s gun flares as thepopof the shot goes off. Sal’s silencer muffles his ownpopas Harrison’s brains get splattered on the wall. Aron grunts and falls back into me.
Damnit! “Aron! Where’d he hit you?”
“S-shoulder. Not bad.”
I glare at Sal. “Call cleanup. I’m getting Aron to our docs.”
I shouldn’t trust Sal with millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds after he just blew things, but Aron’s safety comes first in my opinion. Dad will take care of Sal; I’m not needed here anymore.
Making a mental note to send my condolences to Sal’s family, I help Aron out of the VIP room and down the back stairsto our car. My driver snuffs his cigarette and jumps behind the wheel when he sees us coming. Gino knows better than to keep me waiting when Aron’s been hit.
As our SUV speeds towards the Syndicate doctors’ apartment building, I hold pressure on Aron’s shoulder. His breathing seems fine, but I don’t like his color. He’s supposed to be dark and tan, not pasty white.
“Hang in there, Aron. They’ll get you fixed right up.”
