Page 37 of Business Temptations

“Is there any way to hear the conversation?” Matteo asked.

“Absolutely,” Levi assured him, twisting one of the knobs, revealing the usual sounds of a casino, “but you need to go downstairs and start playing poker or billiards. If you go into the billiards room, make sure that you’re in your father’s line of sight.”

Matteo stood up, eager for this to be over. “Right,” he replied with a chuckle.

Levi looked up at him. “Sorry. You already know this.”

Matteo smacked Levi’s shoulder in a typical American fashion. “I’ve known you long enough to understand that you are incredibly thorough, my friend.”

The two looked at each other, understanding and powerful friendship shimmering in that look. Then Matteo turned and left the room. It was show time, he thought as he descended the stairs.

Ricardo watched as his son sat down at a different table, not even acknowledging his sire. The insult was infuriating! He’d have to discipline his son somehow. But the ways he’d used when the boy was a child, locking him in his room without food, whipping him, or, even better, public humiliation, weren’t realistic options now. Ricardo knew he would need Antonio’s intelligence when he adjusted their business interests. The boy might try to think independently, but Ricardo knew that he could reign in his son’s loyalty. He just hadn’t thought about doing it in a while.

Now was the time, he decided. He’d punish his son in the most public way possible, then take control of the business once again. Antonio could run the businesses as a vice president, but with very tight controls.

“So, Your Highness,” Ricardo began, tossing out the two of diamonds and tapping the green, felt table for another card, “have you had a chance to consider my offer?”

The two oil and gas executives had already perked up, eager to impress the royalty sitting at the table. Ricardo made a mental note to submit his name for membership to this club. He’d never heard of TBC before, but apparently, it was a worthy operation. Here he was, sitting next to royalty. As he should be, Ricardo thought with satisfaction. As a Marquess, he was a Spanish aristocrat with a title going back centuries.

He was basically royalty, he figured. So, he and Sheik bin Aristi were equals.

Okay, perhaps not equals, but close enough. Closer than anyone else at this table.

The stupid Americans had disdained aristocratic titles when they’d formed their country. Such a pity, he thought and tossed in a poker chip. He wasn’t exactly sure how much money was in the pot for this hand, but he didn’t care. He’d lost two hands and won one. He figured he was relatively even. Besides, if he could get Sheik bin Aristi on board with his plan, and if he could bring the executives on board as well, he’d be rolling in money! And money meant power. That was what made life worth living; power and control. He loved control! He delighted in having his villagers bow to his commands and his son cowering.

Although, Antonio hadn’t cowered in several years now, he suddenly realized. He’d have to fix that. Antonio was his son, Ricardo thought. If he threatened to take away control of the business, Antonio would be in a panic, desperate for his hefty salary and the control that came with running the family businesses.

Yes, it was definitely time to rein in his son and punish the boy’s disrespect.

“Are you in, Ricardo?” Clark prompted.

Ricardo glanced down at the pot. He’d been pondering his next move and had lost track of the game. The large mound of poker chips was a bit daunting, but looking down at his hand, he saw two kings. Kings always won, he thought and tossed more chips onto the pile. He was a king and this hand would be his. The amount in that pot might even pay for the new roof that the castle needed.

“Call,” Zahir said, laying out his cards.

Ricardo looked at the hand and silently groaned. Three twos? How the hell had the man gotten a winning hand?

Clark and Bernie chuckled, throwing their own cards onto the table with a shake of their heads. “Good job!” they replied, leaning back in their chairs. One of them signaled the waitress.

Ricardo ignored the waitress. She was pretty enough, but he preferred establishments that dressed their women in more appealing outfits. The black pants, white shirt, and maroon vest didn’t show enough skin. He’d have to discuss the wait staff’s work attire after he became a member.

“Good job!” he said to the other man, swallowing his fury at losing.

Sheik bin Aristi collected the chips and started stacking them.

This was his moment, Ricardo decided. “Let’s get back to my offer, shall we? With the oil reserves in your country, owning the formula we discussed would greatly increase your profits, don’t you think? You could control the supply, even get rid of the formula, if that would help.”

Sheik bin Aristi didn’t even pause as he continued to stack his chips. “I’m wary of where you got this formula. And will it even work? Is it the actual formula? Many companies have multiple, hidden formulas to counter theft.”

Ricardo chuckled. “Never fear, the formula is real.”

“What’s this formula?” Clark asked.

Ricardo’s sense of power increased exponentially. “I obtained the formula that Larmpo Industries has built their entire corporation around.”

Clark and Bernie both looked cautiously around the large room, assessing the proximity of possible eavesdroppers. Thankfully, they saw Matteo was in the billiards room, a safe distance away. Both men leaned in, nearly salivating at the thought of getting their hands on the precious formula that had driven down their company profits. “How the hell did you get your hands on that formula?” Bernie hissed.

Clark was just as interested. “We’ve been trying to negotiate with Larmpo for years. We’ve offered them a king’s ransom to stop producing that additive!”

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