Page 86 of Savage Enemy

I fought the urge to punch him in the fucking face.

I hated it when people underestimated me.

“I don’t have to conduct business in this city to understand its benefits… or its disadvantages.”

I didn’t want to openly disrespect a man who didn’t have to help me. My answers had put him in his place well enough. He knew to take me more seriously, that I wasn’t the fool his family had made me out to be when they infiltrated my home.

Marco matched my intense stare, then the corner of his mouth twisted into a sly grin. Fucker had set me up. He wanted to know how intelligent and cunning I might be.

Fair enough. I wanted to know the same about him.

Someone knocked on the door from inside the meeting room, but before Marco opened it, he hesitated.

“I hope you can make this work, Vignali. Marry my sister immediately and put an end to all this. You and I can profit a great deal from that kind of relationship.”

Then he opened the door and led me into the room.

Don Moscatelli’s bloated body filled his massive chair as he played at being a king, sitting in the center of the room as if he were taking petitions from his subjects.

Val’s twin brother stood close to Moscatelli’s chair, one step behind on the right. The psychopath eyeballed me, never moving his gaze away from me.

Marco took a seat on the velvet sofa nearby, pulled out his phone, and continued with what he’d been doing before.

Searching for more incoming bids.

“Why is the weak second son of a dead bastard here in my presence?” Moscatelli asked.

I gnashed my teeth and set my jaw. He could spew that stupid shit all he wanted. It didn’t make him more powerful.

Nor would it keep him alive.

If his heir didn’t kill him first, I planned to do it myself.

When I was a young boy, people whispered about Saul Moscatelli. They had called him “The Pianist” and trembled in fear at the sound of his name. Seeing him now, realizing how stupid he turned out to be, I couldn’t believe it.

“If you think I’m weak, your family hasn’t been paying enough attention to New York,” I said. “You should probably see to that.”

Moscatelli scoffed but didn’t say anything.

Aris spoke out while scrutinizing me with his icy blue stare. Cold, empty eyes—similar to my girl’s only in color.

“How ‘bout I rephrase the question? What’s the father of such a weak little bastard doing in myfather’s presence? You have no right to be in this city.”

I bit back a grin but just barely. Aris couldn’t get over the fact that my son got one over on him.

“Hmm. Didn’t my son punch you in the balls and put you out for a good five minutes?”

Aris’s expression darkened.

“Is that what the lying little bastard told you?”

“He didn’t mention you at all. But after you abused a woman half your size and dragged her out of my house, I did see it on the security footage. I wonder, did hurting your sister make you feel powerful again after a child took you out?”

Marco snickered but kept his mouth shut. Good. If he interjected, it might raise red flags and make Moscatelli question whether his son and I had something planned behind his back. Of course, we did.

I stepped deeper into the room, closer to the old man’s chair, a slow, casual move, my light footsteps silent on the thick carpet. As much as it killed me, I nodded once at Moscatelli to show him respect.

“I’m here, sir, because you took something that belongs to me. I understand the situation is somewhat messy because your daughter lied to us all. I don’t know why she lied, but it doesn’t matter at this point. I’d like to make an offer for her hand.”

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