Page 225 of Bitter Poetry
Dante leaves. I’m more confused than ever about him, us, and the wider us that includes Christian.
We need to talk. Historically, we haven’t done a lot of that.
I’m also not sure I’m ready to talk. But it needs to happen soon.
CHAPTER 67
DANTE
Leon, Mateo, Christian, and I are at Peppermint Moon, sprawled out around the lounge area of Leon’s office. Grigory Koslov has arrived at the club and is on his way up.
“So, do I get a nice office?” Christian asks.
“What do you want an office for?” Leon says, raising a brow. “You pitching for a desk job? No longer aspire for the enforcer life?”
“So you’re offering me the enforcer job, then?” Christian asks. “What are the work hours and pay like?”
Mateo snorts a laugh.
“What?” Christian demands, although he’s grinning. “Gotta check the salary package before I decide. New dons can be unpredictable.”
“I’m not the don,” Leon says, frowning.
I give him a look. “We’ve officially split from the family and struck out on our own, so you kind of are.”
“Fuck,” Leon mutters. “This is very surreal.”
“You’re going to need a head of security.” Mateo grins.
“And a consigliere,” I add.
“And an enforcer, even though no one will tell me the salary package… never too soon to start thinking about retirement planning.”
“You have a generous trust fund,” Leon points out. “Assuming you live long enough for it to pay out, I don’t think you need to worry about funding your retirement. All this aside, the world is not ready for you to be unleashed unsupervised.”
“The fuck?!” Christian mutters
A knock sounds on the door.
It opens, and our soldiers escort Grigor and his men into the room.
I have to concede that the Pakhan is a man who knows how to negotiate. Not only did he want Ettore, without the fallout of taking him, but he’d been watching us and wanted in on other aspects of our business. Rather than pushing his advantage, he cut a deal that, while favorable for him, also benefited us—a deal with longevity—creating the beginnings of an alliance.
He came out on top in our first exchange. And who could blame him for that?
We’d have done no less were the tables turned.
“Grigor.” Leon goes over to shake his hand first, a marked difference to our first meeting where I thought he would strangle the fucker. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Grigor says. He nods to me, before his eyes sweep over Christian. “Ah, the younger Barone man. Looking much better than when we last met.”
“Is he dead yet?” Leon asks. We have yet to sit down and even offer the pretense of courtesy.
“He is not.” A smile ghosts Grigor’s lips. “I have a feeling this is your segue into renegotiating our deal.” His smile drops. “It won’t work.”
“We have someone you will want,” I say.
The Pakhan narrows his eyes on me. “I very much doubt it.”
