Page 33 of Savage Roses

“Well? Do we have a deal?”

“I have worked exclusively for Mr. Mancino and Mr. Kozlov for twenty years,” he says.

“Armen,” I say as if I’m scolding him. Even pierce him with a look of warning that would intimidate most people. “Do we have a deal?”

He swallows, fuckinggulps. “Yes, sure. Okay. We have a deal. This should take all of the winter. It should be complete by spring.”

“Excellent. Let’s go survey the site. Ready?”

Fabio and Omar flank us the moment we exit my office. Armen pauses as if second-guessing his decision, but it’s too late—we carry him like a current in the ocean takes you farther and farther out from shore.

He’s escorted away, shoulder to shoulder with my men. I lead, making fake conversation about the weather and his architect business and other dumb shit that serves as a half-assed distraction.

And they say I’m not a people person!

It might be with asshole intentions deep down, but I can fake it when I want to. I grin at Armen, my shades on my face as we step into the autumn sunshine to examine the future construction site.

“This is where you’ll be expanding my baby, Armen. Don’t let me down.”

He glances around at the other shop buildings and finds nothing except a dry cleaners and an old shoe repair shop. “But… the others?”

“They’ll be bought out. Knocked down. Let’s talk about the club wall you’ll be tearing down here.”

I lead Armen toward the backside of the club. Though there’s a chance he might not follow, I’m certain he will. I’m proven right in the coming seconds. I don’t even have to turn around to know I am; the pad of his footsteps trail several feet behind me. Fabio and Omar’s come up last.

Over the next few minutes, we discuss more details about the project. I’m obnoxious with it. All on purpose. I fire off questions that throw Armen for a loop and make him stumble on his words. Many of my design ideas are architecturally impossible. When he tells me this, I laugh and tell him he needs to figure out a way to make it happen.

I’m stalling. Biding my time. If I’ve timed things correctly, and everything goes according to plan, shit will hit the fan in a few minutes.

Word must’ve gotten around by now.

Either I’ve played a good hand or I’ve misjudged Lucius, which could turn out to be a crucial mistake.

“Let’s check out what the last company got started on,” I suggest.

We slap on hardhats as we enter the construction site that sits on the corner of Eighth and Frazier. Abandoned machinery and slabs of concrete litter the area that will be expanded into a brand-new section of the club.

The plan is to have rooms that’ll have different themes and music playing. It’ll attract more club goers and allow for more underground operations behind the scenes.

Which equals more cash flowing in.

Armen’s distracted by the construction site. He’s making note of the equipment already available and the layout.

I check the time. Where the fuck is he? Have I really calculated this wrong?

Fabio’s staring when I look up. He’s thinking the same thing I am, questioning if we’re on the wrong track after all. I clued him in more than I usually do after my brief encounter at the docks with his mother—he’d told me Florina had confided in her as a longtime friend and asked for her help in hopes she could conceal her identity.

Minutes pass with Armen thinking he’s on a real site survey. He pulls out his phone, snaps photos, asks questions, flashes me reassuring smiles, and promises his company will do my vision justice.

While it’s reassuring, I’m distracted. My fake, charming I-actually-like-people act has evaporated. I’m about a minute away from calling off this charade.

Then an unmarked black car rounds the street corner. My gaze zeros in on the license plate and the grin I’ve been faking automatically returns to my face.

I know you better than you know me, and you don’t even realize it, Pop.

The car pulls up with the doors on both sides flying open and my father’s men filing out. They approach us in a fast stride, their faces arranged in tough guy mean mugs meant to intimidate.

Leading the charge is Lucius's most trusted confidant, his righthand and underboss, Ray De Trolio. Ray’s unibrow forms a thick, hairy V at the center of his face, accompanying the angry curl of his lip.