“I can make him leave,” Alessio replies.
Carmine huffs. “Let him in. If I don’t hear him out, I’ll never stop hearing about it.” He takes a step back to let me in.
I step into the library; the large room occupied primarily by ceiling-to-floor bookcases that are filled to the brim with literature old and new. Only one wall has windows, the back wall. Tall square windows with heavy blue curtains that drape down and against the leather cushions of the window seats beneath them.
One of those window seats has a bottle of what appears to be scotch on it, and a book placed down open against its pages.
“I’ll have four guards posted outside the door. Do you want one inside?” Alessio asks.
Carmine shakes his head. “No. I can handle myself….Go.” His final word is spat out at his brother in annoyance.
Both doors close behind me and I look to Carmine in the low lighting that hangs above our heads.
“Bit dark in here, is there a dimmer switch or something?” I ask him, not breaking his eye contact.
“Just fucking get to it.” He walks over to the window seat and picks up his bottle. I expect him to offer me some, but instead he opens the bottle and takes a swig.
I roll my eyes and step closer. “Fine, fine, forgive a guy for wanting a little foreplay,” I motion with my hands to the sides.
Carmine stares at me as he swallows. He’s still shirtless, and I can see the exhaustion and strain in the muscles all along his lean body.
“You need our help,” I say point blank. “You need more guys on your side, we got guys to give.”
I stay standing as he sits. I watch his tongue dart across his lips.
“Oh really? Ha… I should’ve known you’d be here trying to take advantage of this shit,” he tells me. His eyes are so dark with anger and pain that my own chest squeezes. I look back at him, stone faced, my smile gone, and my eyes betraying nothing going on in my head. Not like his.
“Your Don was killed last night, not mine. Wouldn’t have happened if you had enough protection. If you had the right guys for the job.” I step closer. Not interested in messing around with him.
Carmine takes another drink. “You think your guys are right for the job?” he asks. “That they could’ve stopped it? I think you Fiorelli’s had something to do with it. How do I know that you’re not here to finish the job? Finish off the top Dresvanni’s.” He stands and waves the bottle around, his voice louder.
The gravel in his voice makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Get it the fuck together, Carmine,” I growl back at him. I step closer and yank the bottle from his hand. I’m taller, broader, and in his drunken state, stronger than him. “If I was here to kill you, you’d already be dead, you fucking idiot.”
“You shut your fucking mouth; you’re in my house. You listen to me, you answer my questions,” he squares up to me, breath smelling so strongly of booze but something else too, musky and masculine.
“Nah, you listen to me,” I shove him with my free hand. He stumbles back a step and his back thuds against the wall nextto the window seats. “You might not wanna admit it, but you need our help. You need our protection. You don’t have enough competent guards after half of them were killed during the firefight in Rome last Spring. The new ones can barely wipe their own ass, much less protect you, or any of your brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, their children from getting caught in whatever fight someone has started with you.”
Carmine stares at me, and his jaw shifts and tightens. It’s silent for a long moment.
“What’s in it for you?” he asks. “I know you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart. As a Christmas gift.”
I finally smirk, a faint and crooked smirk. “Access to your club.”
He scoffs. “Of course. Your uncle won’t agree to give us access to your domain but he wants to prance around in ours. Let me guess, he wants to sell there?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Our protection, your club, some merchandise and money passes hands now and then. Seems like a fair trade to me.”
“How do I know this isn’t all a trap?” Carmine asks me as he pushes off the wall and steps closer.
I eye him from head to toe, and step even closer. “You don’t.” I push the glass bottle against his bare chest, and my fingers brush his skin. It’s hot against the tips of my fingers. Still cold from outside.
Carmine’s breath mingles with mine, and I feel myself grow harder. I brush it off. Some stupid physical reaction, doesn’t matter.
“Can you really risk not making the deal?” I ask him in return. I stare into his eyes, chin tilted down to keep our gazes locked.
Carmine takes the bottle from me, and grabs me by the front of my shirt with his other hand. “Have your men here by sunrise,no weapons. We’ll arm them. If any of them have a gun, knife, pick, or so much as a fucking nail file, I’ll shoot their fucking heads off.” He lets me go.
