She walks in before me, my hand on her back, and assesses the women with a quick glance before going straight to Quinn’s woman. It’s like a fucking picture of perfection. She smiles and nods, and gestures towards the small private bar next to us. Nate’s woman moves in at the same time as Quinn stands and reaches his hand to me. Her eyes flash to the array of diamonds Hope’s wearing.
“Vico.” I shake his hand and nod in return, turning for Nate as he stands, too.
“You boys get through downtown traffic all right?”
“Wouldn’t know,” Quinn remarks, looking at the women. “I was too busy fucking to give a damn about traffic.” Interesting. Not surprising. His woman is cute—boring, but cute. I swing back to Nathan, waving my hand at the bar and his woman. His is more than cute. Fuckable.
“Shall we get a drink?”
They both nod and follow me over to the barkeep, their guns hidden beneath finely cut suits. Gotta give it to the pair of them; they know how to dress, but then that’s what comes of living in a mixed world of family, mayhem, and business, barely able to tell which vein you’re in. The order of murder and loyalty seems screwed like that, giving half-hearted impressions of civility amidst anarchy. Luckily,I don’t have a family to give a fuck for anymore.
I chuckle quietly as I watch them introduce themselves to Hope and signal for drinks, eyes firmly on her face. Clever. They both know how this shit plays out when I’m riled. Quinn’s seen it once before a few years ago. He never saw the reason why; she’d left before it started, but he witnessed the end result with little interest in the brutality.
“Where are you staying?” Hope enquires, her hand on Emily’s arm.
“We’re over on Fifth,” Quinn replies for her, turning his woman away from the conversation and guiding her back to a seat. Hope smiles and looks at the pair of them, her mind clearly humming around what she needs to do to get close to Quinn.
“They’re quite something,” Nate’s woman muses. My eyes drift over her as she gazes at Hope’s bracelets, fingering her own diamonds around her neck. “Where from?”
“I’ll take you tomorrow if you like. Shopping? We’ll leave these men to their commerce and enjoy some downtime.” She looks over at Emily, a saccharin sweet gaze on her face as she takes Gabby’s arm and wanders over. “Emily? What do you like to do? These business discussions can be so dull after a while.” Emily smiles, a small pull at one corner of her mouth as she reaches for the champagne Hope offers her. I snort again and take a sip from my own glass, wondering what entertainment Hope will employ to make the mundanity of the pair of them easier on herself.
It stays like that for a while, all of us talking congenially as if we’re making friends. I have no friends. Nor does Quinn. We can’t afford them. That’s the life we’re in. We do nothing but trade fucking egos with each other, attempting a loyalty we barely acknowledge as relevant unless it benefits us. Colleagues is more what we are at the moment—colleagues who might work together on a threat if he plays this right.
I nod at the maître d’, pulling her over to us, and order dinner for Hope and myself. She scurries over to the boys after that, reeling off the menu to them. Quinn does the same as me, ordering for himself and Emily, not questioning what she wants or if she’s allowed to make decisions. I play with my beads again, watching as the direct opposite happens for the other brother. It’s all her. Her decisions. Her rules. They seem in tune with each other. Balanced. Interesting dynamics to fuck about with. Hope will have fun tomorrow.
The food arrives after some time, waiters standing in a line ready to serve.
“Let’s eat,” I mutter, pointing Nathan over to the table towards Quinn. “It’s good here.” I want to watch them all for a while longer, get some information on how they interact with each other. Quinn I can deal with. I know his style, but that shit I heard about with the accountant, the way he stole millions with nothing but his brains and some balls? Intelligent manoeuvring. He could be beneficial to me, regardless of the Yakuza threat encroaching onto my turf.
“Welcome to New York,” I say, smiling and raising my glass. If a flash of hatred could be hidden well, Nathan doesn’t manage it. Quinn smiles at something as Gabby puts her hand on her man's knee to calm that scowl down. Not so fucking intelligent then. I look at him, a hard gaze trying to work him out. “Problem?”
“No. Just tired,” he replies. “You’ll have to excuse my mood.” He’s not tired. He’s anything but tired. He’s wound tight about something.
I smile and look Gabby over again, wondering if she knows what real damage feels like on that skin, but Hope’s hand on my shoulder, as she finally sits beside me, reminds me that my woman does. If this meeting doesn’t get a whole lot more interesting quickly, she’ll need more than makeup to cover the marks I'll leave.
My head turns, lips landing on her fingers. Emily sighs, which could also be beneficial to me. Perhaps it’s her I should be working over. I swing my gaze back to her slowly, waiting for whatever she needs to disclose.
“Looks good,” Quinn says, cutting across my stare to reach for the salt. Jealous fucker. I chuckle and look at my food rather than piss him off too quickly. Not that I care about any animosity he might feel, but this is business and a nice piece of tail shouldn’t get in the way of it at this point.
The normal procedure of pleasantries and unencumbered conversation takes us through most of the meal. Champagne flows easily for them, both women happy to drink freely and feeling the effects quicker than I might have thought. Hope isn’t. She’s been pacing herself correctly and following her standard response to alcohol, which involves light sipping and nothing more. No one would notice, though. I smile. She’s clever at covering herself. Being drunk means she might screw up.
And my girl never screws up.
“So, you boys got some plan in place?” I eventually ask, picking up the cognac that’s been delivered after our plates have been cleared. “You were talking about contacts in Columbia and shipping through New York to increase profits. I’m not seeing how that’s useful to me, regardless of Yakuza.” Quinn leans back in his seat, hand reaching into his pocket for those damn dice he plays with. I tip my head to Hope, flicking it towards the bar so she can get the women gone. She smiles at me and draws herself upwards, a coy snatched glance at Quinn. The clever fucker doesn’t reciprocate at all. He’s too bothered about getting on with this.
“Ladies, should we leave them to it?” she suggests beside me. Emily stands, after a nod from Quinn telling her what to do. Nate’s woman crosses both her arms and legs and picks up her drink, eyes firmly directed at me. I smile at her righteousness, wondering how quickly I could wipe that fucking haughtiness off her face. “Gabby?”
“No, thank you. I want to hear this if it’s about Yakuza,” she says. Nate grumbles and leans to her ear, whispering something. Whatever it was doesn’t go down well. Her face hardens, eyes snapping to his like all hell could break loose any minute. It’s interesting, enough to make me lean back and chuckle, gazing at their interaction. Seems like the balls are on her, not him. “But Andreas...” For once, he grabs hold of her attitude, stopping whatever was about to come out.
“Go drink at the bar,” he says quietly. “Nothing’s happening that you don’t already know.” It is. Neither of them are welcome at this table going forward. Women—other than Hope—are complications I haven’t got time for. Apart from fucking, which is something I might need to get involved with in this one.
She eventually stands and huffs at him, her eyes refusing to acknowledge my smirk as she heads over to the other two. Cute. Fiery as hell.
“You should get control of that,” I quip, sipping my drink again. “Could get you in trouble.” His eyes fire at me, but nothing comes out of his mouth. I chuckle at him and look back at Quinn, nodding for him to continue with his thoughts on our difficulty with Yakuza. He leans in, arms on the table.
“You said about trafficking issues out of here. I can pull the Columbians in again, have them route you through our channels. It’ll increase the flow, making more sense logistically.” My brows lift. Double drilling. It’ll pull the pressure off my team and ease the burden of regular delivery if done right. “Nate’s worked the numbers on your handlings. It’s doable. We’ll concede on a seventy-thirty cut, but you have to back us through the storm that’s coming.” I look at the brother, tilting my head.
“How do you know my numbers?”
