Page 59 of Scandalous Kingpin

“Relax.” Jean-Baptiste grinned like I’d just uttered a joke. “We have all the time in the world.”

My fingers itched to shorten his lifespan.

Sébastien cleared his throat, ignoring his brother—still in the midst of fucking—and stepped forward, extending his hand. “Thank you for meeting us, Priest.”

We shook, and I gave him a terse nod. “I don’t discuss business in front of outsiders.”

He nodded, then turned around, but not before shooting an annoyed look at his brother.

He guided me toward a separate room, the dramatized moans and groans following our steps until the door shut behind us.

“Just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Sébastien waved a hand around the beautiful old library, the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books. “This meeting will go faster that way.”

I nodded.

We both took seats on the couch, opposite each other. Rumor had it that Sébastien was as ruthless as Jean-Baptiste was lazy and impulsive.

“The French Ripper” was what people in the Corsican mafia called him.

Just like me, he was the product of a piece-of-shit monster. The only difference: the cruelty lay at his father’s hand.

Sébastien cleared his throat, almost as if he sensed my mind was elsewhere. It was hardly the time to be caught unaware.

“I’m all ears,” I said. “Why did you drag me from my honeymoon bed for an urgent meeting, during which your brother’s busy fucking a whore.”

He cleared his throat again, rolling his shoulders and choosing not to comment. “Noted. Let’s get you back to your woman.”

I grunted, nodding. “Appreciate it.”

“The Serbian mafia approached Jean-Baptiste. They want to use him as a way to penetrate the United States market. The problem is?—”

“That Bogdan Dragovic is a fucking lunatic,” I grumbled. Everyone knew to stay away from the Serbs and Albanians. I was still on the fence about the mafia in Montenegro and Kosovo. For now, I’d been erring on the side of caution and not doing business with any of them.

Sébastien shifted in his seat, bringing up his ankle to rest on his opposite knee. “That, but even more so, he’s a wild card, and I’m certain he has ulterior motives.”

He looked grim.

“They’ve been calling him the young lion for a reason,” I pointed out. “But what does any of this have to do with me?”

“Bogdan wants Philly.” Alright, this was a problem. “And Jean-Baptiste promised he’d get him the rule of the city. If he fails, he getsourterritory in France.”

“It sounds like you’re going to lose your territory.” Because there was no way in hell I’d let anyone into Philly. “I’m not exactly known for sharing.”

Especially not with the Serbian crime family, who tended to behead their enemies if the situation even lightly called for it. They were ruthless, and Bogdan was at the helm of it all.

“I thought you might say that.” He nodded to me coolly. “As a token of goodwill, and assurance that we all remain in business, I have an offer for you.”

My brows shot up. “Okay… and what exactly is this offer?”

“Freedom to move products across our boundary lines. It’s your way into Europe.”

I tilted my head, studying him closely, but Sébastien kept his mask firmly in place. It was what made him a better criminal and businessman than his brother—and most heads of criminal organizations, come to think of it.

“I already have a way into Europe,” I deadpanned. “Through my wife’s connection to the Murphy mafia. I have my own property in Ireland.”

The latter wasn’t common knowledge since Aisling had only just gifted it to me. Of course, I wasn’t going to accept it, but Sébastien didn’t need to know that.