Page 19 of Stricken

"I'm sure you were," I reply, allowing a hint of a smile to touch my lips. "I have a proposition that I believe will benefit us all."

Vartan's eyes narrow. "Is that so? And what makes you think we're interested in your propositions, boy?"

The 'boy' stings, but I don't let it show. Instead, I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees. "Because, Vartan, I'm offering you something that could change the game for both our families."

The dim light casts shadows across Vartan's weathered face, deepening the lines of suspicion carved there. I can almost taste the tension in the air, thick as the cigar smoke curling lazily from an ashtray nearby.

"How come Tony doesn't want to send one of his sons and instead sends a youngster?"

"Let me reassure you my age doesn't matter."

Vartan lets out a frustrated chuckle.

"Go on," Arman urges, his voice smoother than Vartan's, but no less guarded.

I take a breath, aware of Costa's silent support. Should things go wrong, he will be there, ready to take on Vartan's guys hiding in the corners of the room. "We've recently secured a new connection in Brazil," I begin. "High-quality product. I'm prepared to offer you a stake in the operation."

Vartan scoffs, but I catch a flicker of interest in Arman's eyes. Good. David's son might be easier to sway than David's right-hand man.

"And why would do you think we would want to get involved?" Vartan growls. "We have our own businesses to attend to."

I lean back. "Because the potential profits make your current ventures look like pocket change. And because, gentlemen, in this world, it's adapt or die."

The words are suspended in the air, heavy with indication. I watch Vartan's jaw clench, knowing I've struck a nerve. The old guard versus the new.

"You speak boldly for someone so young," Vartan muses, obvious irritation coloring his tone.

I shrug, the silk of my shirt whispering with the movement. "Like I said age is just a number. Results are what matter."

Vartan's scowl deepens, if that's even possible. "And what results can you guarantee, boy?"

"We both know in our line of work there are no guarantees. But I can offer you a chance to be part of something bigger, something that will bring real money."

As I speak, my mind drifts briefly to Vlad again. I wonder what he'd make of this tableau, of me playing the role I was born for but never wanted. The thought is like ashes in my mouth, bitter and choking.

But I push it aside. There's no room for sentiment here, not when the stakes are this high.

I lean back, crossing one leg over the other, the picture of nonchalance despite the tension in my gut. "Signori, I understand your frustration. Roberto's actions were... regrettable, to say the least."

Vartan's eyes narrow again. "Regrettable? That little shit took our money and pissed it away. His casino pipe dreams are just that. Dreams. My question to you, boy, is when do we get our investment back?"

I hold up a placating hand. "I assure you, the Morelli family takes its debts seriously. However, the sum Roberto borrowed is... substantial. We can't simply produce it overnight. That is why I am offering a stake in the Brazilian deal."

"Why should we trust you'll make good on his promises?" Vartan asks.

A fair question. I consider my words carefully, acutely aware of old men's dogs waiting to spring into action.

"Because, unlike my cousin, I understand the value of partnerships," I finally say. "And my proposition is mutually beneficial."

Vartan scoffs. "We've heard that before."

I don't voice my suspicion that Roberto may have promised them more than just repayment–perhaps a share in his elusive casino. Instead, I press on.

"The Morelli offers an opportunity that could dwarf your current... inconvenience with Roberto. It won't be immediate cash, but the potential returns could make Roberto's debt look like pocket change."

Arman's eyebrows raise slightly. Good. I've piqued his interest.

"Go on," he says, dismissing Vartan's disapproving glare.

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