A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(74)

Knock, knock.

I let him in.

He was gone once again when I woke up, but today was Saturday. I had nothing to do today.

I didn’t know how to handle a day of nothing.





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE


TRACE


This was meeting number eight.

My uncle had started falling into the same pattern. I came in. There was small talk. He inquired about my sister, then he asked how my work was going. I answered everything, waiting for the real reason he’d asked to meet me. He’d get to it, and the last few times, it’d been the same request or warning. I considered it a forewarning of sorts. His health was bad. He needed me to take over the family business.

The time remaining was dwindling. I had a couple weeks to go.

Of course this was never expressed in a way where he was asking me to do it. He was telling me he wanted me to do it. It was an old classic Uncle Stephano way of where he paved the road with his intentions first, and then when it was clear, he marched right on through.

This meeting was different.

I noticed that immediately when his men stood up straight when I exited my vehicle. Before, they lounged. They nodded. They might have given a wave; sometimes they did nothing, and that was because I didn’t care for my uncle’s men. They only knew violence and used violence to get whatever they wanted.

This time, there was fear in their eyes.

“Tristian.” Stephano’s head guy, Bobby, gave me a respectful nod, opened the door, and led the way inside. We bypassed the kitchen, where my uncle preferred to do his meetings, and he took me down to the basement, into the back television room, where Stephano was on a back couch. “Tristian is here.”

“Ah. I see.” My uncle stood up and came over.

His hands went to my arms, and he leaned in. A kiss to my left cheek. A kiss to my right, and then he gave me another clasp on both arms, a smile before he stepped back. He blinked a few times before he turned away.

“What’s going on, Uncle Stephano?”

He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “We can get to that. Sit, sit, sit. Bobby, get us some drinks. I’m feeling wine tonight. The best red we have.”

Bobby gave a nod before glancing my way, a lingering look, and then he left.

I frowned. What was going on? “I’d rather we cut to the chase here. We’ve had enough of these meetings over the last two weeks, Uncle Stephano.”

“What? Oh. Yeah. Uh.” He waved to the couch he’d just stood from. “Sit. Have a seat. Relax a little. All in due time.”

I sat, not wanting to, but I sat.

He moved to the back, where he kept a table. There was a pile of papers, and he shifted through some before his phone buzzed. “Yeah?” He grew quiet. “Yes. I do. Yes. Thank you.”

My own phone buzzed.

Ashton: At Katya. The old roommate is here, talking with Jess.

Me: Thanks for letting me know.

Ashton: Want me to pass on any messages? She’s alone.

Me: I’ll come by after this meeting.

Ashton: Want to guess why the old roommate showed up? I’m hoping they’re going to start bowling again.

Me: ?

Ashton: I like bowling. Your girl hasn’t gone for a while.

Me: You like bowling or you like who owns the bowling alley?

Ashton: Is there a difference?

Me: Where is this coming from? Have you been watching their group of friends Sunday nights?

Ashton: Maybe.

Me: Ashton.

Ashton: I checked in a couple times, just keeping abreast even though your girl wasn’t there.

Me: Did the owner recognize you?

Ashton: No.

“Here you go.” Bobby brought a wine bottle, two glasses, and a corkscrew into the room. After placing everything on the table closest to where I was sitting, he opened the bottle and began pouring. “Tristian.” He handed one to me, then filled the other.

I took it but only held it. No way was I going to drink from mine before my uncle drank from his. We were family, but we were still Mafia. Everything about this meeting was setting off my alarms.

“Thank you, Bobby.”

“You want me to . . . ?” He gestured to the door, and Uncle Stephano nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. Close it. Leave us alone. I need privacy with my nephew now.”

“Okay.” Bobby shared another look with me before he left, shutting the door behind him.

“Uncle Stephano—”

He stopped me, a hand in the air, and gestured to the door. “Make sure they’ve all gone.”

What? That was news to me. “Is there something I should be made aware of about your men?”

“What?” He continued to watch the door, listening, and once we heard a thump upstairs, he relaxed. “Ah. Good. All good.” He moved his glass toward me. “You can never be too sure. Now. How are you? Tell me, how is my favorite nephew doing? Still making all that money with your job and your businesses?”

Now we were falling back into old patterns. I relaxed, just slightly, but scooting forward, I put my wine back on the table in front of me and rested my arms on my knees. “Uncle Stephano, you know I’m doing well. Everything is well for me.”

“Yeah?” He sat down in one of the deeper chairs, facing me. “And the woman? Are you still seeing that copper? Montell.”