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“I’ll have Rand draft the paperwork immediately.” I lean forward to toss the remains of my cigarette in Stefano’s drink, catching the glare he shoots back. “Provide an account number to wire funds to. Your shipment will be at port as early as tomorrow morning.”

“And what about our suppliers?”

Rubbing my hand across my jaw, I breathe in the heady scent of Isa still clinging to my fingers. “I’ll provide the name of a smaller operation. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“You honor this … and we’ll once again be in good standing.” Vincent’s eye squints as he takes another drag of his cigarette and points his finger at me. “A man’s word is gold.”

“And I’m a man of my word. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have boats to shop for.” I push up from my seat, and Stefano leans forward.

“One more thing. We haven’t heard from Franco in a few weeks. As I understand, he was in contact with you just before he went missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Lips tight, I lower myself back into my seat and set my hands on the table. “As a matter of fact, I would. It so happens, I killed him.”

The slow descent of Stefano’s brows must mirror the slow realization that my reputation is everything they say with an extra helping of bat-shit.

“’The fuck? Are you fucking nuts? Tell me you’re fucking playing right now, because no way a man comes into another man’s territory, sits down at his table, and confesses to killing his family. You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

“I’m probably a little unstable. But that’s not really my excuse. The truth is, it was bound to happen eventually. And might I add, Franco threatened me on your behalf. I’m certain I’m not the first.”

As Stefano lurches forward, Vincent sets his hand on his son’s arm to settle him. “What did you do?”

“Cut his tongue out first.”

“I oughta have my men gun you down where you sit, you crazy piece of shit.”

Wouldn’t surprise me if Stefano opened his mouth to expel a cloud of dust, as much as he’s grinding his teeth.

“I suppose you’ll have to ask yourself, was Franco worth almost seven-million dollars alive?”

Stefano slams his mouth shut, rolling his head against his shoulders in a piss poor attempt to calm his anger.

“You’re right. He was bound to get himself in trouble. If not you, then someone else.” Vincent takes another drag of his cigarette and blows it off to the side. “Little prick had a mouth the size of Massachusetts.”

Stefano snaps his gaze toward Vincent. “Pop. He was family.”

Vincent waves his hand in dismissal. “My brother’s son. Half Irish.”

As I said, so much for family. I could’ve probably offered half the amount, and they’d have come up with a reason Franco wasn’t worth the retaliation.

“All I gotta say is, if that shipment ain’t at port tomorrow morning, all hell is gonna break loose.” Stefano has a funny way of going about negotiations, reminds me of a pitbull with a set of false teeth. If it wasn’t for his father’s leash, he’d have been put down already.

Hell isn’t going to break loose. Not when I’m already running the ship and the crew.

I push up from the table again and step aside to let Rand out. I’m sure the guy is about one breath away from a stroke, after this meeting. “I said I was crazy. I didn’t say I was stupid. We have a deal, gentlemen?” Stretching my hand toward him, I wait for Stefano to shake it. It’s Vincent who shakes my hand first, and Stefano reluctantly follows suit.

“Honesty is a rare, if not foolish, quality in a man, Lucian,” Vincent says.

“Isn’t that the fucking truth.”

* * *

“Master Blackthorne, I don’t know if you’re a genius, or if you’ve absolutely lost your mind.” Rand sits beside me, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve never felt the urge to throw up in a meeting in my whole life, until today.”

I snort a laugh, but as I stare out the window, my thoughts aren’t dwelling on the Scarpinatos. They’re wrapped around a nineteen-year-old, whose toned thighs have somehow squeezed every other thought out of my mind.

“I don’t even think your father, as bold as he could be, had the gumption to confess to killing a Scarpinato. He wouldn’t even think of it.”

My father allowed himself to amass what I call enemy debt. Too many favors that amount to too many potential enemies. “He was never much of a risk-taker.”