Page 5 of Brazen King

My foster brother is a man of action—and very few words.

Still, I’m aware of the fact that he believes I take unnecessary personal risks, considering I’m the head of the Irish Kings.

“Not a chan?—”

Before he can finish his sentence, I use the barrel of my gun to sucker punch his throat. The guy stumbles back, releasing a choking sound as he grips his neck, and my men are on his partner in a flash, restraining him.

A moment later, Lance swings the doors wide, allowing me to walk in.

“Boris, Lucian, sorry I’m late,” I quip, taking my double-door entrance like it was meant for me.

The well-lit room looks more like a lounge than an office, with plush white couches surrounding a coffee table to one side and a top-of-the-line pool table behind it. Eloquent lighting hangs from the ceiling over it, creating a chic modern vibe.

But the two heads of the mafia families don’t bother taking advantage of the comfortable arrangement.

They sit at the glass-top table nearer the door, the high-back wooden chairs making their apparent meeting seem more formal.

Two guards stand protectively behind Boris, their eyes intent on the men across the table.

A single man stands guard behind the younger Italian don.

And somehow, he manages to look no less lethal. Even if he’s slighter and outnumbered.

Lucian stops short midsentence at my blatant interruption, his eyes snapping to my face, but he keeps a calm posture. Boris, on the other hand, bristles immediately, his cheeks flushing over his full red beard as his lips press into a thin line.

“This is a private meeting,” he growls, hands fisting on the table as he throws daggers with his gaze.

“Of course,” I appease him without giving an inch. “I only think it’s fair if you hear out both proposals if we’re talking about partnerships. Don’t you?” I pull out a chair, unbuttoning my suit jacket as I settle into the one next to Don Lucian, and the guard to his right stiffens, reaching for his side.

Lance does the same, both men silently squaring off as they size each other up.

Lucian raises a hand to signal his guard to stand down, and I quirk an eyebrow at the suave Italian don.

He’s right around my age, creeping closer to forty maybe, but his perfectly styled, close-cropped black hair isn’t yet marred by a single gray. And his fine Roman features give him a kind of timeless face—one I imagine the ladies will only come to appreciate more with age.

“Who said we’re discussing a partnership?” Boris demands, his gray eyes flashing.

“Come on, Boris. Don’t play coy. I’m not an idiot.” Scraping my chair back across the floor until it releases a horrible squeal, I reposition to prop my feet up on the table. “And we both knowI would make a better business partner than the Camorra. I’m better established. I have more resources. More ports of entry. Not to mention, I’m up for negotiating how exactly toseal the dealon this alliance.”

“Yes, you made your offer abundantly clear at my charity event,” Boris snarls.

“I think I’ve also proven what a pain in the arse I can be if you keep ignoring me,” I state, lacing my fingers behind my head so I can recline nonchalantly.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Lucian’s expression—a combination of amusement and irritation.

I don’t mind if he catches a glimpse of how I operate. And it’s better that he get it in his head now that I’m the one who will take over the Sokolov territory when the time comes.

In the meantime, I wouldn’t say no to forming a collaborative reign with Old Man Sokolov.

After all, I can respect the empire Boris has built.

I would hate to have to take it down to rubble.

Or bring his beautiful daughters to ruin.

But thepakhanis a stubborn mule, who’s been unwilling to hear any form of negotiation or deal. So, for the past few weeks since his charity ball, my syndicate’s enacted a string of petty violence against his clan to capture his attention.

It quickly escalated on both sides, and now tensions are at an all-time high. Just like I intended.

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