Page 8 of From Rome, With Hate

I shift my attention, pinning my stare to his as we approach a red light. “I’m already heading toward that possibility right now, aren’t I?”

What light was in Marcus’s gray eyes completely diminishes. He knows I’m not joking.

“This deal is too important for me to focus on some Capuleti-Montgomery rivalry. Or her.”

I need to focus on the task at hand and make it to my club on the other side of Manhattan before my time runs out. I need to be there, or else this deal falls through, and while I won’t findmyself staring down the barrel of Kingsten Capuleti’s gun, it will be someone else’s.

“You’re sure this will end it once and for all?” he asks, worried.

Being the only child of Dominico Montgomery means Marcus was the closest thing I had to a brother growing up. He knows more about me than anyone else and is the only other person on this earth who knows my deepest, darkest secrets. As the years have passed, with the need for my protection, he’s transitioned easily into filling the role of my personal bodyguard. I know if it came down to it, he’d take a bullet for me.

“Rhys promised me it would end after today.” I ignore the sickness growing in my stomach. “I have no reason to believe he’d back out on his word. The guy may be involved in all sorts of crazy shit, but he never breaks a promise.”

“Good,” Marcus says, pulling into the parking garage underneath Club Verona.

I grind my teeth, taking two seconds to get my shit together. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Once we’ve parked, we walk into my club without speaking. Security and the bouncers I’ve hired to work the club flank me at every entry point, following as I make my way to the private VIP suite I reserve whenever Rhys O’Connell, leader of the Irish mafia, requests it to make deals with his clients.

But all that ends after tonight with this one final deal.

The club is packed, as usual. Although I own hundreds of clubs and hotels around the city, Club Verona continues to be one of my most popular, bringing in the most revenue and attracting all types of visitors from across the world. Decorated in rich maroon leather furniture, gold leaf painted walls, and fitted throughout with crystal chandeliers is what makes Club Verona my swankiest club. Thumping music vibrates across thefloor as Marcus and I pass the main dance floor and head up the staircase toward the secluded VIP section.

“Mr. Montgomery.” My security guard working the club acknowledges me as he reaches out and parts the curtain.

I give him a nod in response. Marcus follows as I enter the VIP lounge. A large, glossy, oval table sits in the middle of the room, separating two long, leather sofas.

“Right on time,” Tobias, Rhys’s right-hand man, announces from his position in the center of one of the sofas, his thick Irish accent commanding the room. Standing in the darkened corner is Tobias’s security guard. Tobias looks over his shoulder, wagging a finger toward the entrance of the room. “Leave us.”

His security guard nods once, his expression unwavering as he disappears behind the curtain to stand post outside the room.

“I told Rhys I wouldn’t be late,” I say, dragging my gaze back to Tobias as I move past the backside of the opposite sofa from him and head straight for the mini bar set against the far wall. “I meant it.”

A cigar is pinched between two of his fingers, and there’s a glass of whiskey set on the table in front of him. Beside it sits a large, metal briefcase.

Like me, Tobias is covered in tattoos, but instead of a snake slinking around his wrist and up the length of his arm, he has a shamrock with two daggers on the back of his hand. A sign of the Irish mafia. I’ve considered getting my snake tattoo removed for years now but have yet to pull the trigger.

Tobias chuckles under his breath. “Do you always keep your word, Mr. Montgomery?”

I pause, wishing his client would just show the fuck up already. Making small talk with Tobias is the last thing I want to be doing. To hold in my frustration, I busy myself by pouring a glass of whiskey.

“When it comes to matters that, well… matter,” I confess, knowing Tobias can sniff out a lie from a mile away. I’ve watched him drive the tip of his knife beneath men’s nails for lying about the most inconsequential shit before. One time he removed a man’s fingernails one by one just for telling him he was from South Boston when he was actually from North Boston.

Details matter to Tobias.

He laughs, lazily lifting his cigar to his mouth. Ash drops into his lap as he wags it in my direction. “I didn’t like you at first, Montgomery, considering who your father is, but Rhys ensured me you were solid. I should have known better than to question him.”

I stare at him for a beat as my lip curls. I drown out the bitterness on my tongue at the thought of my father with a large swig of whiskey. “I’m nothing like him and I never will be.”

“Oh, I know.” Tobias takes a long drag of his cigar, puffing a few times before blowing the smoke out. “It’s the only reason Rhys O’Connell would ever make an agreement with the fucking Italians. When they’re willing to go against their own. You’ve proven that.”

Tobias grins, revealing his perfectly straight, white teeth.

Sickness fills my gut, and I finish off my whiskey with one large gulp before pouring myself a refill. Marcus eyes me wearily from his post beside me but doesn’t let Tobias know.

I don’t like talking about my family or my past, and there’s nothing I want more than to let go of the past. The only way to move on is to get through this shit with Rhys and Tobias.

“No Rhys tonight?” I ask Tobias. “It’s a big occasion, this being the last time he gets to use this room and all.”