She can’t hide her self-satisfied smirk or the victorious gleam in her eyes. I glance at Kareem, who sits in the chair next to her, and he can’t even meet my gaze. Don Amato and Naoki Sato, who sit next to each other on the right side of the table, calmly stare back at me, their aloof faces revealing nothing. Malcolm and the other street bosses can’t hide their reluctance to be here. It’s in the slope of their shoulders, the slight bowing of their heads.
“Well, this is unexpected. And more than a little Machiavellian.” I gesture to Eli and Makeda, silently ordering them to wait by the door. They nod, and then I walk to the front of the room, my gaze not moving from Michelle’s, hoping she sees just how much she fucked up in my eyes. I don’t know if she’s the “family” Xavier spoke of, but she’s for damn sure my enemy now. I stop in front of her. “Move.”
That smile falters and she remains still, but when she blinks, staring up at me, and realizes I’m not joking, she scowls and peers around me. As if any of them will help her before I can snap her lying-ass neck.
“Asad, you can’t—”
“I saidmove.” I lean down until my face hovers directly above hers. “If you believe I’m about to attend this shit while you stand here and run it like you got my balls in your pocket right next to Marcus’s, you done lost your fucking mind. But I have no issue helping you find that mu’fucka.” I straighten. Smile. “Now move.”
She flinches, and her swallow is damn near audible. But she moves. And doesn’t stop until she’s perched on a chair at the other end of the table.
“Now that we’ve straightened that shit out”—I slowly lower onto the chair—“why don’t we get on with why I’m here.”
Don Amato leans forward, setting his clasped hands on the tabletop. “I’m sorry, but I was under the impression that you requested I be here. Me and Naoki both.” He looks at the head of the Yakuza seated to his left. “Isn’t that what you mentioned?”
Naoki glances from Amato to me. “That’s correct. But it sounds like you are as much in the dark as we are.” He shifts his gaze to Michelle, who, wisely, doesn’t meet his perusal.
“I won’t keep any of you long.” Michelle forces a strained smile, ignoring the two family heads’ comments. Another wise move. It’s one thing to trick me; shit, I’m her son. But to lie to the head of the Yakuza and Italian mob? This bitch is loose. “And, son, I apologize for just springing this meeting on you like this. I didn’t have a lot of time when I found out this information.”
“Is that right?” I prop my elbows on the chair’s arms and rest my chin on my templed hands. “Yet you found time to call everyone here, but someone couldn’t get to me. Makes sense.” Her lips part as if about to reply, but then pop closed. But her eyes definitely tell me to get fucked. “How about we get on with it since I have a busy schedule and I’m sure everyone else here does, too. You cool, Kareem?”
My brother nods, nerves flashing across his face before he smooths his expression out.
“Yes, Asad. Everything’s good.”
“Good, good.” I rub my hand over my beard. “Glad you got the phone call, too.”
Malcolm side eyes one of the Cross soldiers, and the latter clears his throat. I could give a gotdamn about anyone’s comfort in here.
“Kareem, can you hand your brother the laptop, please?” Michelle waves a hand, and as Kareem removes a computer fromhis briefcase, she smiles at me. And it’s sneaky, avaricious. “I was forwarded intel that I couldn’t, in good conscience, hold to myself.” She rises from her chair and pauses, loving the audience she has. “As you all know, I lost my husband recently, and I was even more devastated to learn he was murdered.”
Neither Amato nor Naoki appear taken aback by this info, their faces remaining stoic. I’m not shocked that they’re aware. Just like I have my resources, they have theirs as well. Still…
I swallow a bitter chuckle. Michelle talking about Cross business so freely in front of people who aren’t members of the organization is another strike and betrayal. One I could’ve never seen coming. I’ve never seriously considered killing my mother before, but apparently, this is a day of firsts.
Because anyone else wouldn’t even still be standing.
“My hurt was compounded when I discovered this evidence about who’s responsible for Marcus’s death. Kareem.” She addresses my brother, but she’s looking at me, and that dirty glee shines in her eyes.
Dread twists in my stomach, and acid churns there before racing toward my chest. Only strength of will keeps my arm at my side and not rubbing the burning, painful spot. I don’t need to glance down at the laptop screen Kareem turns and angles so I and everyone else in the room can watch.
It’s the video from Marcus’s building.
It’s the video of Ember.
Somehow she located it, and fucking checkmate.
I lower my gaze to the laptop, confirming my suspicion. The lobby of Marcus’s building and Ember, hooded and silent, will walk through those revolving doors in any moment.
My mind whirs as the video plays. Just from the reactions around the room—the fury darkening Malcolm’s face, the whispered “What the fuck?” from the other soldiers, the crime family heads’ reserved but gleaming stares—it’s obvious this won’t just go away. I can’t sweep this under the rug again. And this was Michelle’s plan all along.
Well fucking played.
I lean back in my chair, fisting my hands on my thighs. As if feeling their scrutiny on me from the back of the room, I look up, meeting Eli’s and Makeda’s gazes. Eli subtly shakes his head, and Makeda glares at the back of Michelle’s head as if she’s envisioning holding her gun to it and pulling the trigger.
Kareem leans forward, tapping the keyboard. Initially, no one speaks, but that doesn’t last long. Michelle flattens her hands on the table and leans forward.
“I apologize for the subterfuge, but not only am I a widow who loved her husband, I’m also a mother who’s willing to do whatever it requires to protect her son and family from being used by a conniving, murderous whore.”