Page 5 of Money Reigns

War

By the time I park in the garage of Beaumont Enterprises, I’m late. I take the elevator up to the seventeenth floor,my old floor,before WesTech needed the space. Now, it’s my brother Wesley’s domain, and where we have our meeting.

As soon as the doors slide open, the relentless hum of work hits me. Everywhere I look, people are in motion, deep in conversation, hunched over intricate schematics that might as well be written in another language. This isn’t my world. My world is real estate, cutthroat negotiations, and making adversaries tremble with a single glance.

Inside the glass-walled conference room, my brothers are already at the table. Wesley is glued to his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. Wilder, slouched in his seat, looks up when I enter and smirks.

“War,” Wesley greets without looking up.

“Late again,” Wilder mutters, shaking his head.

I slide into my chair, stretching out my legs. “Busy morning.”

They share a knowing glance before Wesley launches into a rundown of the latest venture they want to pull me into.

My brothers and I run different businesses, but together, we monopolize more than most. I dominate real estate. Wesley owns the tech industry with WesTech. Wilder controls theentertainment world with his production company, mostly based in California, but for now, we have him here in the city.

Wesley dives into the details of some new system he’s developing, but my attention drifts. It’s not that I don’t support them, I do. But their worlds aren’t mine. Programming bugs and casting calls are pointless to me. Just like real estate law and city zoning mean nothing to them.

“War?”

Wilder’s voice cuts through my drifting thoughts. His brow arches high, expectant. Beside me, Wesley pauses mid-sentence, waiting. I let a beat pass before answering. Long enough to make them think I was considering, not zoning out.

“That’s compelling,” I reply smoothly, giving nothing away. “Run that by me again.”

Wilder rolls his eyes but repeats himself, detailing some issue he’s having with a studio space he’s looking to buy in Los Angeles. This time, I listen. I offer insights from my experience, suggest alternative solutions.

The doors burst open.

No fucking way.

In walks Santo Amato.

Italian, mafia ties, and a royal pain in my ass; a smug grin plastered on his face.

Of course, he thinks he can waltz in here like he owns the place, two goons at his side.

The temperature in the room shifts the second he steps through, as if his very presence could freeze the air. My hands curl into fists under the table, but I force myself to keep my face neutral. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.

“What the hell are you doing here, Amato?” I spit out, my voice sharper than I intended.

He smiles. That lazy, taunting smirk that’s gotten under my skin since the day I met this asshole and his brother. “Is thatany way to greet an old friend?” he asks, his tone dripping with condescension.

He’s a prick in a three piece suit whose wasted potential is the product of years of criminal activity. My eyes never leaving his as I address him, knowing that even glancing away is a sign of weakness to a man like him

“You’re far from a friend,” I snap, leaning back in my chair, making it clear I’m not intimidated. “What do you want?”

“I want a building,” he says casually, “and I hear you’re not willing to budge.”

Typical. His words are calm, but his eyes are focused, predatory. He wants me to cave, but that’s not happening. Wesley types away on his computer and confirms what we all already know—Santo’s after the Parker building.

“You want the Parker building on the east side. Smack dab in the middle of Korsakov’s territory,” Wesley says.

Maksim Korsakov, head of the Russian mob, the way these sons of a bitches have been trying to weasel, bribe and threaten their way into my businesses pisses me off.

“Gold star for you,” Santo replies, as if he’s already won. His voice is smooth,too smooth.

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “No, I’m not giving it up, especially since we all heard about your little alliance with Korsakov. I’m not giving him a damn thing.”