Page 23 of Prince of Malice

“Come on,” I whisper. “Just relax.”

I do my best to take on a solid deep breath, barely letting it out of my lungs.

Slowly, I raise my head up and turn over my shoulder to check the coast is clear behind me. Nothing appears to be there, but suddenly, headlights flare on, blinding me from what’s just pulled into the alleyway.

I scan my surroundings, now that I can see better, thanks to my pursuer’s high beams. No matter where I look, there’s no other way out. No fence or wall I can climb. Not a single door or window on the tall buildings on either side of me.

I’m trapped in here. There’s no other way out than past that car.

Slowly, I reach for the handle of the car door, gently pushing it open. Creeping my leg out, I step my foot onto the ground beside me and stand up from the car.

Squinting my eyes, I am unable to make out anything behind the thick veil of light until the driver shuts them off. Their own door swings open, and a shadowed figure steps from the vehicle.

8

LUCA

Looking down at my watch, I check the time again. He should be here any minute now, but for now, I have to wait.

Sitting alone in one of the restaurant’s booths tucked all the way in the back corner of the entire establishment, I mentally prepare myself for the meeting ahead. I pull the sleeves of my shirt out from the recesses of my jacket, fixing up my hair so that it sits neatly upon my head and finally practicing my stern face for when they arrive.

Not only do I sit alone at my table, but the entire place seems to be vacant apart from a single barman and what I think arecooks and waiters hiding in the kitchen. Something doesn’t feel right, but it’s far too late to back out now.

The door to the restaurant swings open, and I lean my head out of the booth and make eye contact with the person walking in. He’s fairly tall, possibly around five foot eleven, with an average build and a clean haircut of black hair.

It’s strange. Neither this man nor his description seems to match anyone in the Greco family or anyone they associate with.

Still, by his direct line toward me in the back booth I was directed to sit in, this is definitely who I’m here to see.

“Sorry, I’m late. I was only just called in,” the man says.

“What do you mean just called in?” I ask him, becoming more uneasy. Why would they get someone to meet me so last minute if they wanted me here?

“The man you were supposed to meet with became unavailable at the last minute. Not that it matters; I am more than able to fill in for him,” he responds in an unnervingly neutral tone.

“Can I at least get your name?”

“That would be unnecessary,” he shuts me down. “This should be the last time we need to meet. After this, you’ll be negotiating with who the boss really wants. We have no need for formalities here.”

“I prefer to know who I’m dealing with,” I urge him. “It’s difficult to trust someone you don’t know.”

“Well then,” he says as he turns back toward the door. “I suppose we’re done here.”

I scoff. “Fine. No names.”

Satisfied, the man smiles, returns to the booth, and sits down across the table from me.

He’s already playing me. I need to focus here.

“Shall we begin?” the stranger asks.

“By all means. Tell me what you need to say.” I clasp my hands in front of me, placing them on the table.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware”—the man speaks slowly, perfecting every syllable of every word as if he’s rehearsed it a thousand times—“the Grecos have grown quite a hold on Montcove in recent months.”

“Of course. You have your hands in a fewpockets. But I don’t quite see why that would matter to us.”

“A fair point to make.” He chuckles, breaking his cold façade. “With how things have been going for us, it seems only inevitable that we will end up clashing against the Valentis.”

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