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Brian kicks me under the table, and I glare at him.
“I don’t mean the front business, though it’s odd you don’t just go straight if you’re making that much money clean,” he says, eating a giant meatball in one bite.
“Who says it’s clean?” But I know what he’s asking. He’s a purist snob, and in my short time as boss, it’s not the first time I’ve heard it. You look Italian, but Stryker isn’t an Italian name. Yeah, no shit. They all act like this is the first time I’ve heard about this. I’m sure they didn’t fuck around with my father over it.
“So… Stryker…” he persists.
I roll my eyes. “It’s Dutch. Some ancient relative on my dad’s side.”
I’ve considered making up a backstory for this ancestor that keeps causing me all these underworld social problems—like a viking warrior—to shut these people up about it. The only thing they respect more than names and lineage is efficient brutal violence. Apparently tales of my own efficient brutal violence aren’t spreading fast enough to impress, which makes my hand itch for my gun.
Is there a situation in which I could make a big splash right now, end this kind of nonsense forever, and not go to prison for it? I doubt it.
Sloppy, Brian mouths silently at me like he knows what I’m thinking. And he probably does because he’s probably also thinking it. But he’s got more self-discipline than me. That’s the only way he’s got the kill count he has and no record.
“So… the Italian is on your mother’s side, then?”
I roll my eyes at this continued line of questioning. “No. She was Irish.”
He looks even more aghast at this. “Well, you don’t look it,” he says as though it’s a compliment. But I would give anything to look more like my mother and less like my piece-of-shit father. I can’t stand that every day I look in the mirror, I see the face of the man responsible for her death.
“None of this is related to the fact that you’re encroaching on my territory, and I don’t fucking like it,” I say.
Giovanni notices Brian for the first time. “And who are you?”
“Brian Sloan,” he says calmly, giving him a meaningful look.
Giovanni’s eyes widen, and I am so annoyed right now. Is he motherfucking kidding me? So Brian’s name gets respect, but mine doesn’t?
“The Brian Sloan?” he asks, and I swear if this motherfucker asks for Brian’s autograph I’m killing everybody in this fucking building.
Brian shoots me a hard look because he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“The one and only,” Brian says.
“Thought you were dead. Heard about a pretty big contract… what was it? It must have been twenty years ago now. Our worlds don’t collide that often but it was big news around here.”
Brian shrugs. “Death was boring, so I came back.”
Giovanni laughs at this, and I think these two might become best friends before we get to the tiramisu.
“Listen,” Brian says, “If I were you, I’d deal with Aidan just like any other boss. I wouldn’t be disrespecting him or his territory. I wouldn’t be underestimating him. I’d just be reasonable, and fair, and keep the boundaries clean and where they are.”
There’s a twinkle in Giovanni’s eyes as he leans back in his chair, amused. “Oh, yeah? And why is that?”
Brian’s expression hardens. “Because I trained him, and he will bring a war to you that you are not prepared for if you don’t.”
Giovanni turns and he looks at me… really looks at me for maybe the first time since we sat down. And I can tell this time he doesn’t see a kid he can push around. He finally sees what he should have had the self-preservation to see the moment we initially shook hands. My killer’s eyes. And maybe he sees something that scares him even more than Brian… the realization that I could be reckless.
Nobody likes a reckless boss. Anything could happen. It might motivate him to bring a war to my door himself just to maintain stability, but for now all he has to do is honor our previously drawn map and everything stays peaceful.
Finally he nods at me. “Mr. Stryker, I apologize. We don’t want trouble, but we don’t think our business dealings are truly competing with yours… and it’s not that far into your territory…”
I just stare at him, because one thing I learned from Brian is, the less you talk, the more it unnerves people. Most people want to fill silences. Talk less and you’ll win most negotiations was one of the first things he told me when he started training me in earnest to take over my family’s business.
Giovanni, now properly motivated by the Great Brian Sloan at the table, rushes to fill the silence. “Perhaps we can move the line and I can give you 10% off the top of profits from that area.”
“Twenty,” I say, not blinking. He’s changed his tone and form of address, but he’s still just trying to placate me. He doesn’t think I know what I’m doing. He doesn’t think I can handle this. If Uncle Martin handled it, I can sure as shit handle it.