VINCENZO
My stomach is beginning to wage war with me, and I regret not bringing anything to soothe it as we descend to the lobby. I don’t want to leave Ms. Lee alone— well, alone plus 13 bodyguards… but it's essential to protect her in this risky position I’m in.
I will admit, the last thing I thought I’d be doing when I woke up this morning was chasing after Tyrone to another country and begging for his forgiveness. Shame wouldn’t come upon my family by pleading for an alliance, so begging is not the tactic I plan to utilize.
The way I’d pitch it is simple–it benefits him to loosen up trade and bring peace to our little problem. Our dealing with them sends a message to those willing to oppose our peace order– brutal control is a necessary evil, as Papa would say.
Regardless, Tyrone would be foolish to make an enemy of us. More specifically, me. It’s all just moves and counter moves, but I’m willing to let him burn to teach him a lesson if that’s what it takes. No one makes me grovel, and I won’t start now.
“This is it, boss,” Lee calls from the front of the car, and I hear the click of his barrel rotating into place. I pull mine under my shirt and tuck it into my beltline as I step down out of the car and onto the cement.
“It stinks.” I stiffen my nose.
“It’s a fish scaling bay, Sir.” Lee points to the bloodied metal stations lining the rocky hillside. We’re going to a warehouse to meet Tyrone. It was his request, and I can’t deny him the right to schedule a meeting I should have already planned for.
Fuck, does that make me look weak? This whole situation is a nightmare. I can’t believe Antonio fucked me over for a party. We maintain a steady pace, looking around the side of the building. 10 guards surround me on all sides, and 5 more await in a second car off the main road. I guess I don’t need the .22 in my pants, but at this point, I have nothing to lose.
Lee knocks on the rippling metal door, and a short man with bleached hair swings it open for us. “Nah.” He stops Lee with an M&P 12 as if it were a barricade. Lee cocks his gun in response– a purely physical warning. Not really a man of many words.
“Just him.” He points the gun at me like it’s not a powerful weapon that could blow my head off my shoulders when used short-range, maybe even long.
“Surely, I’m allowed to bring one of my boys? Not quite fair to let Tyrone have all the fun.” I stare down the barrel of his gun, then back to his shifting, beady eyes.
“Let em’ in, Fox.” Tyrone’s voice is soaked with irritation, and I raise a taunting eyebrow at him. He relents and opens the door wider. My entire security waits at the entrance as Lee and I venture to the light in the center of the warehouse. Skylights stream through bluish rays over a group of men smoking in a circle, playing poker at a round metal table.
“Pause,” Tyrone instructs them from the side of his cigar-stuffed mouth. He stands, his silk button-up, all the way undone, and he’s walking over to me with arms wide open for a hug. Lee stands firm, not allowing him to get too close.
“You think I’m gonna hurt him?” Tyrone’s welcoming energy sours when Lee doesn’t respond. I cross in front of him, hoping to soothe his fickle fuse and reciprocate his hug.
“Hey. Let’s chat.” I slap him on the back, and he does the same.
“Alright.” He tilts his chin and takes a long drag, blowing it out in rings before motioning, “Follow me.”
We walk along the edge of the inside until we reach a set of stairs leading to a long hallway with one hanging led-light bulb. I lean against the wall, and Lee stands a few feet away from us as we pass the cigar back and forth.
“So, I apologize.” I began, handing him back his cigar. He furrows his brows as if he were confused, so I continue.
“I should have sent someone more responsible to be my messenger. The kid missed out on telling me you wanted to chat right away.” He nodded slowly, taking another puff.
“Look, I just thought about it for more than a minute and realized it might not be in my best interest. If 6TT and Sigue-Sigue want to fight it out, why not let ’em?” He shook his head at his own question.
“Well, because they’ll create chaos that we worked hard to maintain. I can’t have the cops sniffing their noses in our business. You don’t set up a parley, and that’s just what will happen. You lose too, and I won’t be around to watch.”
“You sayin’ you don’t got our backs?”
“I’m saying, I’ll do what I have to do. Same as you're doing now. But it isn’t necessary. Set up a parley, and I can promise you enmity.”
“Arcadia will survive without your help, or mine, for that matter.”
“Tyrone. What makes you think they’ll stop at Arcadia? It’s already affecting us— their petty fights. Just deal with it and help us. I can promise you it will be worth it.”
He narrows his charcoal eyes in thought. I can tell he’s really considering it. But I’m not dull. I know the games these guys play, and I’m not leaving until I’m promised a contract that we’ll at least attempt to end it.
I know how to play these games better than anyone, and I’m confident I’m about to check the kind. It’s not exactly rocket science. Brains backed by money and power— it’s the holy trinity of my business. He knows my family has all three and the most pull out of any gang in the world. His consideration turns to a smile, and he finally nods.
“I can respect you goin’ out of your way like this. We’ll draft the agreement documents, have them signed, and send them over to you by tonight. I’ll set up the parley. I can’t promise they’ll work it out, but I can promise I’ll try to sway it.” I hold out my hand for him to shake, and he does. In one firm clasp, we agree to the best deal I’ve made in this business so far.
“You won’t regret this,” I affirm him as he walks us to the exit.