My driver was still muttering grumpily as he threw the SUV into park in the space between the bikes, obviously meant for us. “Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I snapped back. He had already slammed the door, cutting off my short response. This wasfucking ridiculous. I felt like a damsel being guarded in a tower. Frustrated, I put my elbow back on the window’s edge and propped my head in my hand, glaring out the dark glass as I watched my driver saunter over to one of the Red Riot members.
The female rider had parked on my side and was now leaning casually against it with her legs crossed at the ankles. She kept her helmet on, but had pulled off her gloves to pick at one of her black nails. Of the three bikers surrounding us, she seemed the most unbothered by the whole situation. As I watched, the other rider walked over to lean on her bike, looking a little more than just friendly as he playfully bumped her right arm with his. I assumed they were talking through Bluetooth mics in their helmets, because her shoulders started to shake as if she were laughing at something he said. Just watching them fuck around while essentially holding us hostage made me irrationally angry. I ripped my attention away. The last Riot member had taken his helmet off and had it casually pinned under his left arm, his ginger curls flattened to his scalp. The man didn’t seem overly aggressive as he chatted with the driver. He even wrinkled his freckled nose and chuckled at something the driver said, clapping him on the shoulder once.
My driver turned to crack his door open, marking the end of their conversation. “Thanks, Taylor,” he answered in response to whatever the rider had said. “Frank’s been busy; I don’t think he was intentionally ignoring your calls. But I’ll be sure he gets back to you tonight.”
Moving almost as one, the three riders mounted their bikes at the same time and revved them to life. The woman’s helmet turned to my window like she could see through the dark tint. A chill ran through me as she tilted her head up once and backed out of the parking spot before darting out of the lot. The other two followed close behind, their bikes roaring off down the street as quickly as they’d shown up.
“Fucking Riot,” the driver muttered again, throwing the gear shift into reverse. “Can’t wait for the day that bitch keels over.”
The declaration was a little confusing—who was the "bitch" he referred to?—but I didn't press the irritable driver for clarification. I spent the rest of the ride in a stifling silence, alone with the thoughts clattering around in my head.What the hell did I walk into?
Meeting Frank
Grant
It took another hour of combined highway driving and weaving through some wealthy suburbs before the driver turned off onto a winding driveway. The entire property wassurrounded by a brick wall, topped with Gothic-looking wrought iron spikes. About five yards off the main road, there was a large black gate manned by guards in a stand. As we approached, one of them stepped out to greet the driver as he was rolling his window down. They exchanged a few short sentences, then the guard nodded and leaned over to glance at me in the back seat.
“He’s getting you a security pass,” the driver explained in a terse voice. “Don’t lose it. You won’t get another one.”
“It would be pretty loose security if I were able to get a replacement.” The snide comment had him glaring at me through the rearview mirror. “Just saying,” I tacked on with a glare of my own. “Please tell me I’m not going to be spending a lot of time in your presence. I’ve had more than enough for the rest of my life.”
At that point, I knew he had direct orders not to fuck with me. His mouth opened, then shut, and his jaw clenched so tightly I wouldn’t be shocked if he had to visit the dentist for some cracked teeth. I wasn’t one to cause waves if I could help it, but this asshole wore my patience thin.
“Here you go, Jimmy.” The guard broke our little staredown as he passed my badge through the window. “Have a nice night.” He gestured to the other guard in the stand as the gate rolled slowly to the right.
Jimmy? I was being shit on by aJimmy? I was not getting paid enough for this.
The alleged “Jimmy” tossed the badge onto my lap without another word and drove through the gate, navigating us down the winding driveway. It felt like the longest five minutes of my life, stewing in the uncomfortable silence. As soon as the car pulled to a stop at the stairs leading up to the deep blue door of Frank’s post-modern monstrosity, I flipped the lock and leaped from the back seat. My impression of Frank’s tastes was already tainted by who he employed, but seeing the mishmashof architectural choices between the Gothic fencing to this McMansion pretty much solidified it for me. He was tastelessly rich.
“Don’t touch my bags,” was my parting remark before slamming the door shut, halting any comment Jimmy was ready to fire back. Was it immature? Perhaps. Was it satisfying to watch him glare at me while the door shut? Absolutely.
I took the stairs two at a time—who in the hell needed eight steps just to get to the front door?—and reached to press the camera doorbell. The faster I got this farce of a meeting over with, the sooner I could go to wherever Andrea had secured for me to stay for an undetermined amount of time. Fortunately, the butler Frank had on staff was quick to open the door and usher me in.
“Good evening, Mr. Black,” said the older man as he guided me into the foyer. “We hope you had a pleasant trip. Please set your phone on the side table before we move further into Mr. DeNiro’s home. He finds it disrespectful for visitors to be on their phones while meeting with him.”
Oh, hell no. “With all due respect, Mr….” I trailed off, prompting the butler for his name.
“Just Gerald, sir.”
“Gerald,” I continued. “I will not be bending over backward for Frank. I’m here on loan from Andrea, and if he has an issue with me keeping my phone in caseourboss calls, he can take it up with him.”
Gerald nodded, one sharp bob of his head. “I will relay your message to Mr. DeNiro. Please wait here.” He turned and disappeared through an open archway leading into what looked like a formal sitting room, and beyond it was a half-wall that served as a bar connected to the kitchen. The home was decorated with dark browns and blacks, accompanied by studded leather furniture wherever it would fit. The interiordesign screamed, ‘Look at my very masculine decor, I’m definitely not trying to overcompensate for my low self-esteem.’
The butler, Gerald, walked back through another door leading from the sitting room, waiting until he was almost within arm’s length to speak again. Maybe raising his voice in the house was deemed uncivil. “Right this way, Mr. Black. Mr. DeNiro will meet with you in his study.”
I noticed he hadn’t mentioned my phone. Maybe Frank wasn’t a total idiot after all. “Thank you.”
We followed the U-shaped floor plan around the main hall and past a curving staircase leading up to a second floor, and made our way through the sitting room. It wasn’t a surprise that the study was just as darkly decorated as the rest of the home, with two leather couches set facing each other in the middle of the room and a massive mahogany desk at the other end. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves towered at least eight feet up, holding hundreds of books, most of them bearing black or brown spines with gold-foiled letters. From how well they fit in with the rest of the home I’d seen, I doubted Frank even read the books. They were just sitting on the shelves for aesthetics.
Frank, by comparison, was very diminutive to the massive shelves and clunky furniture. He looked like a little boy sitting in his dad’s chair, his balding head barely reaching the top of his plush leather back. From the deep wrinkles and utter lack of coloring in his hair, I’d put Frank in his late sixties, if not older. The resemblance to his picture on the DeNiro Technologies website was night and day, likely taken when he bought out the company. He had less than zero experience in the tech industry himself. Frank’s resume was a wake of corporations acquired through brutal mergers he managed with Andrea as a silent co-owner, so it was easier to funnel profits to Lupi Selvaggi. I’m sure the only reason he hadn’t been offed yet was due to hissuccess. With how closely the Red Riot was watching him now, his usefulness may be coming to a swift end. I didn’t know the precise details, but I was determined to find out what the fuck I walked into by coming to Vegas.
Frank’s beady eyes watched as I strolled across the study, hands in my pockets as I glanced around in faux interest. Even the artwork along the walls was pretentious portraits of famous Italian military heroes decorated with several gleaming medals on their formal uniforms. “Grant,” he said by way of greeting. “Glad you could finally make it over.”
His tone was meant to ruffle me. The little smirk twisting his thin lips was too devious to be anything close to friendly. “I had a little run-in with the Riot. They pulled us over.” Just to piss him off, I stood in front of his desk and ignored the chairs facing it. “They seem to be expecting a call from you sooner rather than later.”
“Don’t worry about them,” the man had the audacity toroll his eyes,like we were dealing with annoying solicitors and not a fucking bloodthirsty shifter mob. If this visit didn’t end with my hands wrapped around this asshole’s throat, I was going to be wildly disappointed. Even though I typically left the violence to Andrea’s goons. “I have more important things I’d like you to focus on while you’re here.”
