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“We need to make sure there are enough men,” Antoin says suddenly. He turns and jabs a finger towards two of the henchmen by the door. “You and you. Get out of here and coordinate with Donnacha.”
Alessandro raises an eyebrow. “Including my men and the Cartel, we have over a hundred men on the ground. You don’t think that’s enough for an unexpected attack?”
“And you really think two more men are gonna make a difference?” Rodrigo chimes in, a trace of amusement on his lips.
Antoin drags a challenging stare between the two of them. “It’s better not to take chances,” he says darkly.
Mondez replies, “Now, we have only one of your henchmen here, and none of us have any weapons. You know, since you agreed to Bratnov’s ridiculous demand that we all come in unarmed.”
“You can’t handle yourself, big man?” Antoin bites back.
I slam my fist on the table and growl, “Not. Now.” I snap my fingers towards Mondez. “You have the tracker monitor? I want to see it.”
He tugs a small black tablet from his pocket and switches it on. “Here—”
Suddenly, Antoin intercepts it, snatching it from Mondez’s hand and hurling the device against the wall.
“Fucking hell, Antoin,” I bark, “now isn’t the time to throw a tantrum—”
Bang. Bang. Bang.Three gunshots ring out, and when I turn back to my cousin, I’m looking down the barrel of his smoking gun.
“Get on your knees, Lorcan.”
What the fuck.
I drag my eyes across the chaos. Alessandro, Angelo, and Rodrigo are sprawled across the floor amongst the broken glass and silverware. Blood pools from their chest, soaking their white shirts.
I’m stunned. “If this is a joke, Antoin—”
“You’re the only joke around here, Lorcan.” Spit flies from his mouth, his eyes wild and dangerous.
“Antoin,” I say steadily, meeting his hard gaze. This must be what a mental break looks like. “Put the gun down and we’ll talk.”
He laughs, manic and cruel. “Nowyou want to talk? I’ve been trying to get you to talk for years. But that’s your problem, isn’t it Lorcan? You don’ttalk. Youdo.And what youdo,is whatever the fuck you want.”
My jaw ticks. “What doyouwant, Antoin?”
“I already told you. You on your knees,” he snarls back.
I growl, “The Quinn boss would never get on their knees for acousin.” I spit the last word like it’s rotting in my mouth.
With a sneer on his lips, he says, “You’re not a boss, Lorcan, no matter what your bloodline says. You’re a drunk.” He regards me up and down with disgust, “Look at you, you couldn’t even keep your hand off the bottle forone fucking day.Probably the most important day in your life.”
The hip flask weighs heavy in my pocket. “I’ll give you one chance to drop the gun, Antoin,” I growl, “or you’re going to be real fucking sorry.”
Then it hits me. We made an agreement with the Bratnovs that none of the bosses would be armed in the restaurant. Our henchmen searched them, theirs searched us. Yet here Antoin is, Glock in hand.
A thick cocktail of rage swirls around my veins, mixing with the liter of whiskey I’ve sunk today.
“You’re working with them.”
A bitter laugh. “Finally. You see what alcohol does to you, Lorc? It makes you real fucking slow.”
The sudden revelation hits me like a tornado, sending me backward. I grab onto the table for support. “No.”
“Easy there, alcoholic.”
My bark echoes off the cavernous ceilings. “You wouldn’t betray your family like that.”
