Page 48 of Marcus

“That’s what it is, then?” the man still sitting at the table asked. “You think you’re better than us?”

Marcus scoffed, turning around just enough to look at the man. “There’s no thinking in this equation. It’s a matter of facts and standing here.”

“I find that … offensive, Marcus.”

“So, be offended. That’s not my problem. As long as you and your hurt feelings stay the fuck away from the Guzzi business, then I don’t care what you feel about it.”

“Or maybe you just need a lesson in humility, hmm?”

Marcus felt the presence of his men closing in around him. After all, their boss had moved from the table, and so they had to act accordingly. Still, he stared down the man at the table, unwilling to move.

“Is that a threat?” he asked the president of the gang. “Because if we’re going to start throwing around threats, I promise mine will be something worth listening to.”

Junior smiled back, cold and tight. “Have a nice day, Marcus.”

The asshole would pay for that one.

Marcus didn’t say another word or give away a single emotion about Junior’s parting words, the meeting itself, or otherwise as he left the club. That wasn’t how a boss should behave, and every lesson he’d ever learned from watching his father while he grew up came down to moments like these. Not only when you were on display for your enemy, but to your own men, as well. It never ended well for a boss who showed weakness, even if that weakness meant something emotional like anger.

His men rushed to leave the club before him, and then gathered fast around him, making a protective wall from not only any fool with a gun who might be waiting outside, but also from the unlikely event their meeting had been recorded by police officials seeing as how the mafia was always on their radar.

Marcus still said nothing until he slipped into the passenger side of the car that quickly pulled up, his other brother who had come to this meeting, Bene, in the driver’s seat. Chris slipped into the back, the windows tinted so darkly and the exchange so fast that it would appear like Marcus might be sitting in the rear.

They took no chances.

They couldn’t being who they were.

And it never failed to amaze him how his own brothers would protect him above even their selves, but so was their life. It was who they were raised to be.

“Send him a message,” Marcus said as the car pulled away, and he allowed his first show of emotions in private with his brothers. The only men in his life, next to his two other brothers that lived in another country now, and his father, whom he trusted enough to show that weakness. “I want a fucking message sent to him. Otherwise, we’ll look weak to our men for not at least making sure they understood their disrespect. And to those Quebec fucks,” he uttered, teeth clenching like his jaw, “if we don’t answer back with something, they will still see us as a target. So, send them the fucking message they all want so badly, but then we’re done with them.”

Chris opened his mouth when he leaned between the front seats of the Mercedes SUV as though he were going to say something, but Marcus held up a hand and added, “Make sure it fucking hurts them where it will count. Cut the head off the fucking snake, for all I give a damn, but don’t forget I want them to really learn from this.”

Verbal confirmation came from his brothers.

Marcus turned to watch the buildings pass them by as they headed further east. His reflection on the glass caught the glimmering lights overhead on the street, the dark sky painted a bright black with scattered splashes from the stars.

“You’re doing fine,” Bene said beside him, “you know that, don’t you? You’re doing exactly what Dad taught you to do, Marcus.”

“Did I ask?”

“No, but—”

“Then, don’t talk.”

Chris made a grunt behind them. “They really pissed you off, yeah?”

Marcus sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah … the fucking disrespect of them, you know?”

“Yeah, man.”

“We know,” Bene echoed.

“Do, do, do, do, do, dodo! Dance!”

“How many times are you gonna sing that song, kid?”

“Fifty more times!”