Page 16 of Sunrise Malice

“I’m not sure what you want with Petrovic,” I say, trying to be very careful. “But we don’t bother each other.”

“That’s your problem.” Grandpère sneers. “You’re too tentative, boy. You’re afraid to change things. To get your hands dirty.”

“This isn’t France,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I don’t have the same power here that you enjoy back home. I have to be more careful.”

“Careful. Pathetic.” Grandpère waves a hand in the air as if warding off flies. “Petrovic has good territory. He’s got a large customer base, lots of pathetic junkies buying his shitty product. That’s a market waiting to be taken.”

“You’re not seeing this clearly.”

“On the contrary, I see it much more clearly than you. Petrovic is weak. His family is tight-knit but they haven’t been in a war in a long time. You have better soldiers, and with my help, we cancrush him in a matter of weeks. Once he’s out of the way, it’ll be easy to move in, take control of his territory, and double the size of your own in one fell swoop.”

I can’t believe what the crazy old bastard’s saying.

From an outsider’s perspective, it might make sense. Dusan’s family is very concentrated. There aren’t a whole lot of Serbians in the city, and they’re extremely wary about working with outsiders. It took a lot of effort to make Dusan agree to work with us during the first alliance, and that fell apart very quickly.

In a vacuum, I could take Dusan down. Grandpère’s right about that. I have the manpower and the resources to make it happen, mostly because I can hire muscle much faster than Dusan can train up new soldiers.

But that’s not how Chicago works. If I took down Dusan, it would mess with the balance of power. The other, smaller gangs would be pissed, and the largest mafia in the city would notice.

“What you’re saying would guarantee the Biancos would try to take us out.” I shake my head at the absurdity of the whole idea. “They’re ten times our size and even more powerful than you are back in France. If you think we can take them?—”

“The Biancos will not be a problem. You are correct that we cannot hope to defeat them in an open fight, but I will make sure the situation doesn’t escalate to that point. Before we destroy Petrovic, I will approach Don Bianco and cut a deal with him, one that I hope will be mutually beneficial.”

I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Bad enough the old man wants to start a war with Dusan—but he wants to ally himself with the Biancos too?

“Absolutely not. There is no way I will ever get involved withthem.”

“Think clearly, Julien. They are the power here. If you’re smart, you’ll be on their side.”

“Then I’m not smart. I’ve opposed the Biancos for years and nearly started a war against them. I won’t go crawling to their side like a mangy dog.”

Grandpère’s lips curl as he shakes his head. “You are letting your emotions cloud your judgment.”

“And you don’t know a thing about this city.” I shove my chair back and stand. “I will not go to war with Dusan, and I will never ally myself with the Biancos.”

“Careful, boy,” Grandpère says, his tone sharp. “Remember who runs this family.”

“And you remember who came to America with almost nothing and established this branch. Half of my men don’t even know who you are.”

Grandpère stands. Rage flashes across his face. I stand my ground, but I can see where I went too far: to him, it just sounded like I was threatening to rebel.

And maybe I was.

“I will give you a day to rethink that position,boy. I made you once, and I can unmake you just as easily.”

Grandpère leaves my office. I watch him go, struggling to get my emotions under control. I hate the old man, but I also want to earn his respect and approval. It’s the exact dynamic that forcedme to leave France to begin with, and now it’s playing out all over again across the ocean and in my own house.

I have to find a way to get rid of the old man before this situation spirals even further out of my control.

Chapter 7

Brianne

The lights are dim at Le Palais Gourmet. I hesitate out on the sidewalk, trying to catch a glimpse of Julien through the large front windows. The men and women eating look so chic and elegant, and I feel totally wrong in simple white jeans and a black top. At least I’m in dark strappy heels and the front’s low cut enough to get a few approving looks from passing men. Which isn’t what I’m here for—getting ogled by strangers doesn’t exactly feel good—but at least I know I’m on the right track with the cleavage.

I have to psych myself up before going inside. When I tell the hostess that I’m here to meet with Julien, she immediately gets all serious and ushers me toward a booth in the back, asking if I want any wine or if there’s anything she can do at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fancy restaurant employee practically fall over herself to be accommodating, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re on a date with the owner.

Or maybe it isn’t a date. It’s more like a business meeting. I have to remind myself that this is an arrangement, not a relationship, and we’re just using each other.

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