Folonari might think I can protect his sister, but he doesn't know that she'll need protection from me the most.
“No.”
His face morphs into an unpleasant pout. He looks so stupid. “Not even for your?—”
“No, Romiro. Anything else?”
He taps his finger on his chin, as if contemplating what to say next.
“Nah.” His hand rests on the doorknob, and just before he slips out of my office, he turns to face me. “You know, everyone says I’m the most beautiful man they’ve ever seen. Stay ugly, motherfucker.”
I sit there for a couple of seconds wondering how the fuck I’m related to that conceited asshole. The clock behind me ticks away as the seconds eat away at the minutes.
Fifteen minutes pass before the sound of my assistant’s voice crackles through the intercom. “Mr. Esposito, everyone is in the meeting room, and Mr. Vasilios has arrived.”
Pushing back my office chair, I grab the folder that will secure today’s deal.
My steps are measured, slow, steady, and sure. One thing that I’ve learned is that no one respects your time other than yourself. And there’s no one worth rushing for, no matter who it is. The elevator doors slide open to the fifteenth floor, where the meeting is taking place.
If—when—I secure this deal with the Russians, no one will stand in my way of crushing the Mancini brothers. Those fuckershave been breathing down my neck since I secured that Castillo off the edge of Naples.
I can hear the idle talk from down the hall, the grating voice of Vasilios as he talk to Emilia, one of my executives. There’s a flirty undertone to what he saying, but she’s answering him with a dry tone.
Emilia has a no-fucks-given attitude about her. I’ve known her since business school, and she’s always been like that, which is why I went after her when I formed this company until she accepted the position. I only want sharks, not dogs.
A hush falls over the meeting room as everyone stands when I step over the threshold. I don’t wait for anyone to say anything, stepping inside and pulling out my chair.
“Let the meeting start,” I say, sliding my reading glasses on.
Nestor leans over—his blue eyes so light, they look almost transparent—and rests his elbows on the table. “What? Don’t I get a hello, Nico?”
“No time for pleasantries,Nestor. What’s your offer for the shipment we’ve put forward?”
He shrugs off his suit jacket, his tattoos peeking through the white dress shirt he has on. “Forty million dollars.”
This is going to be a long meeting, I can already tell. The fucker is only here to piss me off.
My phone pings with a reminder.I don’t need to look to know what it is.
Fifteen years. She’s been gone for fifteen years.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. The words on the paper in front of me blur and I slip off my glasses, rubbing my forefinger and thumb over my eyes.
I twist my wrist, checking the time. 2:55 a.m.
Work never ends, not for a man who is building an empire, a legacy, and certainly not for a man like me. I have a couple of text messages—two from my brother, three from that asshole Nestor, asking if I want to go for some drinks while he’s in New York. And the last one makes me pause.
Emiliano Folonari
We need to speak.
It’s about our agreement.
Come to Vault 61 tomorrow afternoon.
I don’t take orders from the Folonaris; my brother does. But I’m going, because whatever agreement we came to last time was not the one I had come for.
There’s not long left until sunrise. Instead of heading back to my apartment, I open the private room within my office. Racks line the walls, filled with dress shirts, pants, and other clean clothes. Yanking my tie off and unbuttoning my shirt, I drop them into the chute that will take them to housekeeping. I slide my zipper down and let my pants and underwear follow the shirt and tie.
