Page 17 of Primal
“Are you in Heathens Hollow or Seattle?”
“Seattle working on the?—”
“Good. Come to Mastro’s by noon,” he orders. “Don’t be late.”
The command is simple yet fills me with dread. A last-minute demand like this means something is wrong.
I check the time on my watch. I have forty-five minutes to get to downtown Seattle, so I’ll be cutting it close with afternoon traffic. I unbuckle my hard hat and pass it to Jasper, ordering him to grab the car and get going ASAP. Getting an earful from my father is not how I want to start this week.
Mastro’s is completely empty.The steakhouse doesn’t open for lunch, but money talks, and my father has plenty of it. An attractive waitress who offers me a flirtatious smile as I pass by leads me upstairs. My father sits at his usual table by the window overlooking the classic brick buildings that make up thecharming neighborhood. When he’s here for dinner, he reserves the other ten seats to have a little privacy during a good meal. A lunch booking is for private Frost business.
Today’s business is none other than Hector Godwin.
I try to keep my shock from appearing on my face. I can’t remember the last time the two of them met. There hasn’t been any reason. We stick to our territory; the Godwins stick to theirs. That was how it was supposed to be until the heir of the Godwins became nothing more than dust in the wind.
“Braken, there you are.” My father gestures to the open seat next to him.
I don’t see any signs of distress or annoyance on his face, but he’s always been hard to read. Especially during negotiations, which I have a funny feeling is happening now.
But what’s that have to do with me?
Before I can slip into my chair, Hector stands and offers his hand. “Braken.”
“Hector,” I answer politely and shake it. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Trust me when I say I felt the same until last week.” Hector’s smile is shrewd as he gestures to the empty chair. “Sit.”
I sit next to my father, and a waiter is immediately next to me with a bottle of Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon Special Selection. There is no menu, wine list, or pricing. All my father does is hand over his black card, and everything’s taken care of.
Which means business can proceed.
“I want to thank you for coming to Mason’s funeral.” Hector sets down his wine glass and swirls it a few times. “Especially under the circumstances.”
Hector’s dark brown eyes flick between the two of us. He’s reading all he can in the way we move, speak, and act. Waiting for us to crack. Maybe hoping for us to slip up. Unfortunately forhim, that won’t happen because we’re as clueless and pissed off as he is.
“The circumstances?” My father’s lips quirk down into his typical pondering frown.
Hector leans back in his chair and gestures toward us with both hands. “The way I see it, there are two reasons you showed up. Either you’re with us in standing against whoever ordered the hit, or you’re against us and were there to gloat. Seeing as how my boy died on your soil…”
He clicks his tongue. The answer is obvious anyway. He doesn’t trust that we didn’t have a hand in Mason’s death. The waiter brings out the appetizers of sautéed shrimp and a dozen half-shell oysters, but none of us makes a move to grab any. Tensions are so tight that one sudden movement will snap the wire and send it all tumbling down. Even the smallest misunderstanding can start an all-out war. All over some fucking over-priced oysters.
“If it was us, you would have known by now,” my father offers. “We’re too busy with our own shit to start some with your family.”
Hector reaches out to pick up his steak knife, turning the blade back and forth a few times. “Forgive me if I say I can’t trust it. There was no secret you didn’t care for Mason and the way he did business in this city. The murder happened in your territory, after all, so you either prove your loyalty, or we’re going to have a problem.”
My father mutters an Italian curse word under his breath. That’s the first sign his anger is spiking. The second is a pink tint to his neck, which springs up just above the collar of his black shirt. If he opens his mouth now, whatever peace we had over the past decade will be as cooked as the uneaten shrimp.
I speak for the first time since the conversation began. “Father, if I may.”
Silvano looks at me and gives me a terse nod.
“We want to find the culprit as much as you do,” I offer Hector with an easygoing smile. “We don’t take too kindly to people who use Frost property to do their business. If the stadium gets labeled as a bad neighborhood, then that doesn’t help us, now does it?”
“What’s your offer?” Hector challenges, still holding onto the knife.
“We’ll look into the murder ourselves, find the culprit, and dispose of them.”
“The police are already looking into it.”