Page 13 of Brightness

“Now.”

Pres groans as he shifts Eva from his lap and onto the seat next to him. “Sorry, chiquita, duty calls.”

Eva pecks him on the cheek, and he stands, then walks with me to the Chapel. As we head inside, he grunts out his discontent. “This better be good, VP.”

“It’s been hours, for fuck’s sake. Surely something’s come up from yesterday?”

Nycto groans, flopping onto his seat, and I can tell by the lines on his face he’s not happy. “Seriously? That’s what you called me in here for? Fuck! If I knew something, don’t you think I would have already talked to you?”

Letting out a frustrated groan, I run my fingers through my hair when Nycto’s cell begins to buzz. I turn to face him as he glances at the number on the screen, then swipes the call. “Yeah?” Nycto grunts down the line. “Didn’t quite catch that… who the fuck did you say you are?” Frown lines etch deep into Nycto’s forehead as he listens intently to whoever’s on the other end.

His expression has me rolling my shoulders, a new tension forming at the base of my neck.

Nycto sits straighter in his chair, listening to every word with steely focus. “Ah-huh. And why would the head of the DeLucas, the biggest Mafia family in Miami, be wanting to meet with me?”

My head jerks back in confusion. The club has known about the DeLucas for years, but with them being almost four hours away from us, we’ve never crossed into their territory, and they’ve never ventured into ours. We have nothing to do with each other, so hearing that the head of the DeLucas—Antonio, more commonly known as Titanium Tony because of the number of times he’s been shot and lived to tell the tale—wants a meeting with Nycto is something for us to be wary of.

Nycto continues his conversation as I make my way over and take a seat.

“I hear what you’re saying, Tony, but I need a reason to allow you to come down here. It’s not every day a Mafia kingpin calls asking to drop by my clubhouse to fucking talk. Is this some kind of business transaction?”

Not being able to hear what’s being said, my leg bounces as I wait for the next piece of the puzzle.

“All right, Tony, I’ll allow it… this time. But don’t bring a whole brigade. I’m allowing you and a couple of your capos. You want a meeting, we’ll have one, but this is to be nothing other than mutual talk. You got me?”

I scrunch my brows in confusion. I don’t understand why a man like Titanium Tony would need to discuss anything with us.

“Yeah, right. See you in a few.” Nycto ends the call, then slides the cell across the table like it’s covered in acid and he’s been burned. He lets out an unsatisfied grunt as he turns to me.

I raise my brow, waiting for him to speak, but he says nothing. “Well?” I urge.

Nycto runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a huff. “I couldn’t get a read on it. Tony’s coming here, now, to have a chat. They’re already in our territory. Wouldn’t tell me what about. Said he wouldn’t discuss it over the phone in case people were listening. Have to admit, it’s piqued my interest.”

“You believe it’s a good idea to let the DeLucas on our home turf?” I ask, with more than a little concern.

Nycto shrugs. “At least here we have the home advantage. I don’t know what Titanium Tony wants, but I am interested in finding out.”

***

There are many stories of Titanium Tony, the most notorious Mafia don in Florida. He’s sneaky, cunning, and a big believer in famiglia. You come after anyone in his house, your body is never found. Fuck knows how they handle disposal, but it’s no concern of the club’s because we’ve never crossed paths. Basically, we stay out of his way, and he stays the fuck out of ours. We’re far enough away for our territories not to be an issue, so for him to make a special trip down here to see us, it must be for a good reason.

He needs something.

Or one of us has done something.

There’s always a reason for another crime syndicate to cross our path, and I’m anxious to hear Tony’s.

Atomic signals that the convoy’s approaching, so we head outside to the gate as a club, united. We can’t be sure how many men Tony’s bringing with him, but we need to show him we’re not sending out any sort of welcoming committee.

We’re being cautious, as we should.

While West pulls open the gates, we stand in a long line with Nycto and me in the center, arms folded across our chests in a show of impatience. Our other brothers are fanned out at our sides in a formation that barricades the entry to the clubhouse.

Four black Audis pull up, and their doors open in perfect synchronicity, so much so I have to hold back my laughter. How many times have they practiced that shit?

In the lead car, the driver steps out, along with the front passenger, both wearing perfectly tailored suits. Their five-o’clock-shadowed chins are well manicured, and they appear more like Italian princes than Mafia as they arrogantly shift to the rear of the car.

They stand to attention while Tony steps out. He’s exactly how I would imagine what the ladies call a “silver fox.” His hair is dark gray, with a few strands of silver running through it, matching his neatly trimmed graying beard. There’s an edge about him as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his impeccably tailored black pants. His crisp white shirt is so fresh, I’m sure it’s as new as his ridiculously shiny shoes, which reflect his face.

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