Page 70 of Devil's Azalea

“When?” I repeat impatiently.

“Tonight.” Jason sighs. “He wants me to come to Long Island as a ‘gesture of goodwill’. Promises to host me in one of his best restaurants. That can’t be good, right? What if it’s a trap?”

“Sergey isn’t smart enough to think that far ahead. He’s arrogant enough to believe his reputation will keep people in line. If he wants you to meet him on his turf, then he’s making a power play. Trying to remind you who’s got the bigger dick. What did you tell him?”

“I said I’ll check my schedule and get back to him. I wasn’t sure what you’d want me to do. That’s why I’m here.”

“Good. You made the right decision. When you get back home, you’re going to call him back and say no.”

“Are you crazy?” Jason gapes at me.

“You’ll tell him your schedule doesn’t permit you tonight,” I continue, ignoring his outburst. “You can, however, make it tomorrow night. But you want a neutral spot—Long Island is obviously his powerhouse, and you’re not comfortable with that.” I lean forward. “You’ll suggest meeting at Westhampton Island instead.” An island so small it’s relatively free from crime and the clutches of the Cosa Nostra, Bratva, and other outfits. It’s the only neutral ground in New York. The perfect chessboard for my next move.

Jason considers my words for a moment. “And if he says no?”

“Remind him that he’s asking you to betray me. The least he can do is agree to meet on neutral ground—unless he was planning a trap for you on his turf. And to show good faith, let him pick the restaurant. As long as it’s in Southampton.” That should tie his hands nicely.

“That’s… actually really fucking smart.”

I give him a flat look.Or you’re actually really fucking stupid. I don’t say it out loud, but he must catch the direction my thought is going because he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, then gets up.

“Sounds like a solid plan. How do I let you know I’m leaving the house?” he asks.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll know.” I have my men watching him. They’ll report to me when he leaves.

I open my desk drawer, take out a pen, and hand it to him. Recognition flashes in his gaze, and he eyes it warily.

“Tap the side of the ball point here to start recording,” I explain, then take out a pair of glasses with an audio transmitter embedded inside. I examine them for a moment before handing them over as well. “Put these on before you leave your house. They’ll let me listen in on your conversation with Sergey in real time.”

“He’s going to have his men pat me down for bugs, Rafael. Isn’t this risky?” Jason reluctantly accepts the glasses, inspecting them critically.

“It’s just a pen and your eyeglasses. Nothing suspicious about that. I doubt Sergey or his men will give them a second thought.”

He swallows and pockets the items.

“Once you know which restaurant Sergey picks, send one of your guards to the coffee shop at the corner near your house and have him ask for Tim. Tell Tim the restaurant name, and I’ll know where you’re meeting.”

I’ll know and plan ahead.

Jason nods, and I lean back in my seat, waving him off. The councilor leaves the same way he came in—quietly.

“Welcome to Maison Lumière, sir. Do you have a reservation?” The host greets us with a warm smile as Enzo and I walk into the beachfront restaurant.

Enzo steps forward. “Yes. Under River Dale.”

The host’s demeanor instantly shifts, his spine straightening like someone stuck a rod up his ass. “Oh, yes, of course. Follow me, sir.”

As arranged—after we made our generous ‘donation’ to the restaurant and secured our reservation last night—the host leads us through the back halls meant only for staff. I didn’t want to walk through the main restaurant and risk being seen by either Jason or Sergey before I want them to see me.

I’m an hour early, but still. I’m nothing if not meticulous.

He leads us to the second floor—the VIP section, which has a similar design to my club’s private lounge. The dining area is medium-sized, built to host at least a dozen guests, with a massive window overlooking the entire ground floor. I notice the obvious handle immediately.Amateurs.I would have made the window mechanism discreet.

Just like I suspected, Sergey reserved the entire restaurant for his meeting with Jason. But thanks to my large ‘donation’, they made an exception and pointed me to this private lounge.

“The glass can be turned opaque, if you like,” the host explains, moving to a button beside the window. “That means you can see everything downstairs, but no one can see in.” He demonstrates, and the view darkens slightly as a shade covers the glass.

“That’s fine. Leave it like that,” I tell him, and he nods in response.