11.

Chapter 11

Union

T his is ridiculous.

I have a shit ton of money. Unlimited resources. And the best hacker at my beck and call.

And yet...

I still can't seem to find where men get the fucking audacity!

"Apologize?" I gawk at Leo as he flicks his wrist, swirling hundred-dollar scotch around the crystal glass. I glance over at Zoey, who's leaning on the kitchen island, a wince across her face. "You're seriously suggesting that I apologize to Alba? Have you completely lost your mind? He should be apologizing to me !"

"You shot one of his men, Mils," Leo notes, taking a sip of Glenfiddich. "The least you can do is apologize. The man's ego is probably bruised."

"Yeah, shot not killed. " I shake my head in disbelief. "And it's not my fault that Alba has the skin of a fucking peach. I am not apologizing to him. No fucking way. "

"Just take one for the team, Mils," Leo sighs. "It's two words. I think you can manage a simple 'I'm sorry'."

"Unbelievable." I flap my arms against my hips as I blink, completely baffled. "My father, in his fifty-plus years running The Angels, has never, and I mean fucking never, uttered an apology, to anyone! And yet I need to say it? Seriously?"

"Your father also didn't shoot his goddamn business partners, Camilla!" Leo barks back, raising his voice. "I'm not the only one who thinks this is the only course of action. The Council agrees, and I'm sure your dad would agree too." He pauses, frowning. "Have you talked to him yet? Hmm?"

I glare up at Leo. "No, not yet."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Leo cocks his head, brows perked. "Scared that he'll say the exact same thing we are?"

"I am not scared of my father," I grunt, gripping the cell phone in my hand. "I've just been busy, okay?"

"Well, you're not busy now, are you?" Leo looks at his sister. "Is she busy, Zoe? Does the queen have time for a phone call?"

"Uh," Zoey's gaze darts toward me, her cheeks flushing with uncertainty. "Umm... I think Cami can make her own, uh, decisions, and umm..."

"Right." Leo rolls his eyes at Zoey before looking back at me. He smiles at me like the fucking weasel he is. "Call him, Mils. Don't be a baby."

I grit my teeth. "Why do you even care, Leo? Huh? Has your daddy's money run low and now you need this deal to go through? Hmm? Need to fund a few more exotic vacations? Hmm?"

"For the last fucking time, Mils," he states, stalking toward me. "I came back to help you , okay? Do you think I like playing messenger for The Council? No, I don't. I'm doing it because I want to see you succeed, okay? So call your fucking dad back!"

"Fine!" I yell, shoving Leo's chest. He staggers back a foot, grinning at me. "Stop fucking smiling or I'll carve it permanently on your fucking face!"

"Watch out, Gotham," Leo laughs, tossing Zoey an exaggerated side-eye, "There's a new villain in town and she's out for blood."

"Oh, fuck off wannabe Bruce Wayne!" I flip Leo the middle finger as I suck in a long breath, hoping the oxygen lowers my heart rate. I march past Leo toward the balcony, sliding open the glass doors and stepping outside. I tap my phone screen for several beats before dialing my father's number. The line rings twice. "Hi."

"Ah, she lives," my father says with a cough. "And here I was thinking that someone finished the job."

"Funny." I swallow, my hands sweating. God, he's twisted. "So...how's Bali?"

"Hot," he states, clearly not down for any small talk. "What's the plan, Camilla? I gather it must be grand seeing as it has taken you fucking ages to call me back."

"My plan?" I hum, chewing the inside of my lip. "My plan is to, uh…" Fuck. "My plan is to do nothing, Dad. That's my plan."

"To do...nothing," my father mumbles. "That...is your plan." I cringe, mentally preparing myself for his tyrannical scolding. "Are you fucking kidding me? Nothing? Camilla Marie Bianco you better fucking tell me your goddamn plan right now! This is a multi-million dollar deal, bambina! And you're gonna do nothing ?" I close my eyes as he spits off Italian profanities. "Camilla!"

"Why do we even need this contract?" I snap. "Since when are we in the arms business, anyway, huh? Zoey and I looked at the financials Moe sent over and we're projected to clear over a hundred million this year. We don't need Alba, Dad. It's a mess waiting to happen."

"If we want to maintain power, Camilla, we need to diversify! You think The Dragons aren't dipping their fucking toes into new ventures? You think they're gonna stick to slinging H forever? No, they're gonna grow, bambina, and we gotta fucking grow with them."

I lower my voice. "By gunrunning, Dad? I don't see this ending well, at all. I met Alba and his men, okay? They're obnoxious and loud and like to make big waves. You know what happens when you start making big waves? People start to notice. Look at what happened with The Dragons. They were chased back to China. I don't wanna run, Dad, you know I'm not the biggest fan of Italian food."

"Thank God your mother's not on the phone, she'd fucking die hearing you speak such blasphemy." My father sighs. "Listen to me, kid, we've been playing in the minor leagues for nearly a century, okay? Yeah, we're the best team around—great pitchers, fantastic coaches, and an all-star lineup, but at some point, we've got to move on to the majors, and that time is now."

"But this isn't the majors, Dad," I say, shaking my head. "This is a completely different sport, and I'm not sure I know how to play it."

"You're not a player, kid," my father says. "You're the fucking umpire, okay? The Di Rossis know the rules, the stats, and whose hands to shake. All you gotta do is say 'let's play ball' and watch the cash roll in."

"If it's that easy, why didn't you stick around until the end of the season, Dad?" I ask in a timid tone. "Why'd you have to retire before the bottom of the ninth?"

"Bad knee."

"Dad..."

"Because it was time, Camilla," he says. "I worked every day since I was ten, okay? I'm tired of working, kid. I just want to drink good beer, eat good food, and fuck your mother."

"Ew," I cringe. "Fucking gross, Dad. I don't need to hear that."

"Don't be a prude," he says. I internally scoff. If only he knew. "Call Alba and set a meeting with him, okay? Only him. Do whatever you need to do, Camilla, but make this happen. Understood?"

"Fine, but I'm not apologizing to him," I state. "Over my dead body."

"Of course, you're not. The Biancos don't apologize to nobody," he says, almost disgusted. "Whose fucking idea was that?"

I scoff, glowering at Leo through the balcony door. "The Council's, apparently."

"Bunch of fucking pussies," he grunts. "I'll give 'em a call later today and set 'em straight, but in the meantime, kid, go get that fucking contract. "

I bite my lip. "How?"

My father laughs. "You're Camilla fucking Bianco. Figure it out."

I close my eyes. "Seriously? Not even a tiny tip?"

"Well, last time you used sugar, right?" he muses. "Maybe it's time to use a little spice. Add some heat, if you will."

"You want me to shoot him?" I frown. "Really?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Don't shoot the bastard," he groans. "Just put some pressure on the man. He's got no allies in the States, and we've got a friend on every corner. Use that, kid. Negotiation is a part of business."

"Negotiate?" I murmur to myself. "I could do that."

"Excellent," he says. "Call me when it's done."

"Okay," I say, and he hangs up. I gather my wit before heading back inside. "Zoey, I need you to schedule a meeting with Alba for tomorrow night. Tell him to meet me at S&R. I want home-field advantage."

"What're you going to do, Mils?" Leo perks an eyebrow. "Apologize?"

"No." I hold my head up high. "He is."

Where the fuck are you?

Strobe lights dance around the club as I stare at the front door, my chest vibrating from the carnal beat of the bass drum. I inhale, the scent of sweat and sex and success expanding my lungs.

"Better late than never," I whisper to myself as the doors open and Alba's thick frame enters my kingdom. We're in my house now. And the house always wins. I nod at the nearby waitress, and she scurries off to the bar. No mistakes this time. I stand up and circle the black leather booth, smiling as Alba approaches. Alone this time. "Thanks for coming, Malik. I appreciate it."

"You should." He gives me a greedy once-over, his eyes lingering on my breasts. Drool nearly gushes from the corner of his mouth. He grins up at me. "I am not usually a forgiving man, but for you, dear Camilla, I make an exception."

"Unfortunately, I am not an apologetic woman." I gesture for him to take a seat. "I hope that's not why you're here."

"Your assistant said you wanted to talk." Malik sits down, rotating his body toward me, the purple lights like stripes across his face. "I thought perhaps you felt bad about your recklessness the other night."

"On the contrary." I expel a sensuous chuckle as I flip my hair to one side. "It's your recklessness that needs to be addressed, not mine." A voluptuous server with star pasties on her nipples circles the table and sets down two drinks. I give her a wink. "Thanks, Bunny." I glance over at Alba. He licks his lips as Bunny walks away. "Like what you see?"

"That ass was made to be fucked," Malik grunts, adjusting his pants as he looks at me. "Smart woman, you are, bringing me to a place where my dick does the talking." He clicks his tongue. "I should've known better."

"Let's be real, I could've brought you to a McDonald's and your dick would still be doing the talking." I take a sip of vodka. "There's a muzzle for that, you know."

His eyes widen. "Are you here to castrate me, Miss Bianco?"

I give him a light shrug. "Depends."

A frown mars his brows. "On what?"

"On whether your dick knows what's good for it or not." I motion around the club. "There are twelve armed men scattered around these two floors. That's twenty-four guns." I point to the front door. "If you step outside, there are five more men. Ten more guns." I harden my features as I meet his startled expression. Good. "Every three blocks, regardless of direction—east, south, north, west, you'll be met with more men. More men and more guns." I pause, taking another sip. "Now the thing with these men—" I chuckle, "—unlike yours , is that they don't act unless ordered. Unlike your men, mine don't... improvise ." I tilt my head. "Are you following?"

Malik swallows. "Sayid is a fool. He will be dealt with."

I blink. "Who?"

"The man who you..." he trails off, chugging his whiskey.

"Oh, the man I disciplined on your behalf? Of course." The troll has a name. "You see, Malik, after that unfortunate incident, I was ready to cut ties with you and your organization, but just like you, I, too, can be forgiving at times."

Malik's silent for a moment, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "It is not my choice," he mumbles, unable to look at me. " I cannot?—"

"Speak up," I demand. "Can't hear you."

"It is not my choice alone," he says again, louder this time. He swallows hard. "We are a democracy, and my men... They do not want to shake hands with a woman. They do not want to shake hands with you ."

I scoff. "You're the boss, Mailk. Make them."

"I am only the face, dear Camilla," he says lowly. "It does not work like that."

"Make it work," I whisper, placing my hand over his. It's trembling. What a bitch. He looks up at me, and I add, "Or I will activate all my soldiers, and you won't have a face left to show."

"They think you are volatile," he mutters, licking his lips. "Perhaps if..."

"If what?" I ask in a threatening coo, stroking the back of his hand. "If what, Malik?"

"I believe my men would be more inclined to shake your hand..." He glances down. "If there were a ring on it. A symbol of stability."

I scoff. "I'm not going to marry you, Malik. One pussy's enough for me."

He frowns. "Not me...but someone."

"No," I seethe. "Try again."

"If not marriage," he muses, nodding slowly. "Then perhaps another type of union." He pauses, gears whirling. "Oh, this could work. It could...huh."

I blink. "What?"

He smirks. "I hear there are a bunch of great Italian Chinese fusion restaurants in New York City."

"Wha—" I snort, throwing my head back and laughing. "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then you're a fucking idiot." I catch my breath, wiping the corner of my eyes. "You want us to partner with The Dragons?"

"Those are the only options I believe would give you what you want." Malik shrugs. "You can kill me, Camilla, but it would not change their minds. As I said, I am only the face."

Suddenly, it's not funny anymore.

"Neither of those options are viable." I yank my hand off his. "Find another way."

"I have given you two options," he says, downing his drink. "It is time for you to find a way." He stands up, gaze darting to the private rooms. "I will be in New York for a few more weeks. Call me when you've made a decision." He peers down at me. "I'd like Bunny for two hours."

My jaw locks. "I'll send her right in."

"Perfect," he growls, strutting away.

I sit at the table, staring off into the distance, my hand clenching around the empty glass. A union. He needs a union. Fucking bastard. Fucking hell. What the fuck do I do? I squeeze the glass tighter and tighter and tighter until I hear a crack. Shit. I glance down, slowly relaxing my grip, the glass still intact. My entire body buzzes as I stand up and stagger to my office, my breathing ragged. Calm down. I need to calm down. Oh my God. I reach for the bottle of vodka on my cabinet, stopping myself before I grab it.

Are you going to break more mirrors? A voice says.

His voice.

Fuck .

Instead of the bottle, I reach for my cell phone.

Camilla

911. Call me.

The phone rings instantly.

"Hello? Camilla? Are you alright?" Hayden asks, out of breath. "What's wrong?"

"I need a drink. Meet me at Tap Lounge in fifteen minutes. It's an emergency."

"No."

"No?"

"The need for an overpriced cocktail does not constitute an emergency," he says. "Plus, I'm busy right now."

"Busy? Your patient is about to lose her shit in a club full of patrons, and you're busy?"

He sighs. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you over drinks! Just get there."

"I'm not finished with my workout."

I cringe. "Ew. You're at the gym? It's midnight."

"Believe it or not," he says, breathing heavily. "Clubs aren't the only establishments open twenty-four seven."

"Well, finish early!"

"Or—" he pauses, "—you can come here."

"To the fucking gym?"

"Yes," he says. "Cardio is scientifically proven to reduce stress. You sound awfully stressed to me, Camilla."

I laugh. "I don't run."

"Don't or can't?" he taunts. "Ah, I forgot...smoker's lungs."

I grit my teeth. "Oh, I can run!"

"Prove it then. I'll text you the address." He pauses. "Oh, and dress appropriately, meaning no heels."

"Oh, I'll dress appropriately, Doctor ."

"See you soon, Miss Bianco," Hayden coos.

I hang up and call Zoey.

"Zoey, I need you to send Bunny into room two," I say, a sour taste on my tongue. "Oh, and I need my sluttiest sports bra and shorts."

"Sports bra? Why?"

"Just do it!"

Holy fuck, I am stressed.