“When you say threaten?”
“I mean, physically,” he smiles. “And with one person in particular, very fucking painfully.”
“I’m in,” I say. “But, first…pizza.”
***
Turns out, being the Don’s muscle?
Kinda fun.
There’s something satisfying about standing two steps behind a man who runs half the Eastern seaboard and knowing if anyone twitches wrong, you’re the one who gets to break them.
“I don’t know how you’re still walking after the amount of street pizza you inhaled,” Maverick says as we move down the corridor toward the library. “I had your leftovers wrapped and stored in the freezer.”
“Appreciate it,” I reply, rubbing my stomach. “I’m taking it home. The girls, Eli, the kids…none of them have had real New York pizza. That cardboard stuff we’ve got back west doesn’t count.”
“You are aware,” Maverick says dryly, “that I have chefs who trained in Naples back home. They can make you anything you wish.”
“Yeah,” I shrug. “Still not the same.”
He shakes his head, amused.
“Our guest has arrived, Don,” Stefano says as he steps from the shadows near the archway.
Maverick doesn’t break stride.
“Thank you, Stefano,” he replies. “Once he’s inside the library, have two guards stationed outside the doors. If he slips past us, I don’t want him making a run for the front entrance.”
A faint smirk touches his mouth.
“Not that he would get far,” he adds. “But I would rather he not damage anything expensive.”
“It’ll be done,” Stefano says with a nod. “I’ll monitor from the security room.”
He disappears down the hall, and the door to the library closes behind us.
“I’m giving the order for the men to go ahead and capture Martello,” Spike says quietly. “You want him brought here?”
“Yes,” Maverick replies. “We’ll question him and Clinton together.”
“Gentlemen,” Clinton announces brightly, stepping through the doors like he’s hosting a dinner party. “Have I got a surprise for you. I just need access to your WiFi so I can screen share my phone to your television.”
A guard steps forward immediately, taking Clinton’s phone. He checks it and hands it back once it’s connected.
Clinton rubs his hands together.
“The show is about to start,” he says, clapping once. “Thought a gift would be a nice way to kick off our new partnership.”
“This is a business arrangement,” Maverick corrects smoothly. “Not a partnership.”
Clinton shrugs. “Same difference.”
The massive screen at the front of the room flickers as it attempts to connect.
“Tell me again,” Maverick says evenly, eyes never leaving Clinton, “why this demonstration could not be held in person.”
“Too far away,” Clinton says casually. “And it’s a surprise.”
