Page 47 of Marcus

A boss that sat in his seat during chaos was doomed to have that same chaos follow him throughout his reign. Or, that’s what he’d always been told.

Marcus worried it was the truth.

“Listen, Guzzi—”

“This disrespect again,” Marcus murmured from his position across the table from the biker gang’s president. “I expected it from your vice president the last time I had the unfortunate displeasure of discussing these problems with him, but I assure you I won’t sit here and let you do the same shit, Junior. You don’t demand things from me—you discuss them respectfully, or I will see myself out with the rest of my men. Is that clear?”

“Just who do you think you—”

Marcus turned his head to the side, catching his brother’s gaze as he smiled tightly at Chris. “Who asked for this meeting?”

“The Riders,” his brother replied easily.

“Yes, they did.”

Chris nodded, but otherwise, said nothing more from his position against the far wall. One of six men Marcus brought along to attend this meeting with the gang to handle the little problem of them burning a fucking warehouse. Thing was, Chris, like the rest of the Guzzi men in attendance here, didn’t need to be told how to act. He just fucking knew.

Marcus went as far as having this meeting in a place the bikers chose, although his men arrived first to the rundown strip club, did a walk-through, and checked for any possible issues that might have been planted by the assholes from Quebec.

Like a trap.

There were none.

So, what did these assholes really want from him?

“I’ve made myself perfectly clear,” Marcus said, turning his attention back to the man sitting at the table with him. “We’re not doing business with your people or organization. That’s not how the Guzzis work, and we’re not going to change our practices simply because you demand it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, continuing on with, “It doesn’t matter where our farm is located, or what business we’re doing with the farm, you’re not owed anything because of territory. And if you want to really get into those semantics, it will take all of a week for the Guzzis to take over what remains of your very small territory, anyway. Would you like to continue this discussion as we are, or take the way out I’ve given you? At least that way, you go back to doing your business, and we leave you alone. Otherwise … it won’t end the same, I assure you.”

“You talk about respect, Guzzi, but you forget that’s a two-way street in this life. You expect respect, but you’re not willing to give it back. See, I know how fuckers like you work. You … Italians. If someone were to go onto your territory and make themselves a nice little spot to work, you’d be the first asshole in line to make them pay what was due to you. Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

No.

He wasn’t.

That changed nothing.

“Do you know when people like me are willing to sit down and allow people like you a say about business or money?” Marcus asked.

“No, but I’m sure you plan to tell me.”

“Well, oui, otherwise, how will you learn your place?”

“My pla—”

“Yes, your place. Because you see, the Guzzis didn’t just become who we are overnight. We didn’t turn around and suddenly be this massive organization with a reach that crosses not only this country, but other countries as well. And you think, with your thirty club members, your little dealings in pills, and whatever else you make your paltry money in that somehow allows you a seat at our table. And you could not be more wrong. You are not nearly big enough to cause me real concern, and so I won’t allow you to think you do, either. That’s not how this works between us.”

Like his vice president, this man kept his head shaved which only made his double chin and large size all the more apparent. He hadn’t bothered to throw anything on except for a pair of jeans, combat boots he laced haphazardly, and the leather vest with his obvious patches sewn on with more care than he even took to manage his overgrowing beard.

Oh, they wanted a name in the criminal world, to be sure.

Marcus would not be giving them one, however.

“You burned our warehouse,” Marcus continued, not even bothering to allow the man the chance to speak. “And this is the last warning you are going to get from me—we don’t intend, today or tomorrow or ever, to do business with you or your people. There is nothing you could do that will allow you a seat at my table. Every step you make after this one, however, will put another nail in your coffin. Do what you will with that, Junior. We’re done here. Consider yourself lucky I even allowed you this second meeting, and the only reason I did that was so that boss to boss, we could have a conversation. But now it’s finished.”

And he was over it.

Marcus stood from the table, not the least bit interested in the strippers working the poles or the scantily clad women walking around the club to serve the patrons. He came here for business, and his pleasure wouldn’t be found in a place like this. Turning away from the table, he hoped everything would be crystal clear between the Guzzis and the Quebec chapter of the Riders, but he couldn’t be sure.