Thirty

Malice

Later the next night...

"Benson Graves called for a meeting at the Gentleman's Club. Going to need you with me later tonight," Montana stated from behind his office desk.

"He say what it was he had on the Golden Skulls?"

"No."

I nodded. "That bitch still with him?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"I want that cunt in my mailroom."

"She's all yours, right after she spills her guts."

"What about Benson?"

Montana smirked. "That fucker is mine. I've got plans for his ass."

"What's going on with the ghost files?"

"Who the fuck knows? Every time the intern thinks he's got a handle on it, he finds something new. Mercy had to give the intern oxygen last night. Kid is over worked. Gonna bring it to the board at the next meeting. Kid can't do his day job and take care of the never-ending shit going on here."

"Thinking about cutting him some slack?"

Montana nodded.

"Got my vote."

"How is your mother?"

"Good. She wanted me to thank you for the apartment at Davenport Tower."

"It was the least I could do. How is Arianwen and her getting along?"

"Okay, I guess. Amelia went with Arianwen to buy a dress for dinner tonight at Sin's. Arianwen didn't know what to buy and honestly, I don't think Amelia does either. Both women haven't had the best life."

"I'm sure Sinclair doesn't give a shit. Which reminds me, has he told you what he's really doing in the city, yet?"

I groaned. "Fuck no. Asshole won't say shit until he's damn good and ready."

"But I don't understand why I have to be here?" Arianwen groaned when I pulled up to the sprawling mansion. No matter what I said, she refused to understand the words coming out of my mouth. "He's your friend, not mine."

"He requested the both of us," I said, cutting the engine.

I didn't want to be here anymore than she did, but I knew if I didn't show, Sin could make my life a living hell.

"It's just dinner. That's all."

"Then why can't we eat at a restaurant? You know, like with witnesses."

Facing her, I asked, "Does Sin scare you?"

"No. Not really. But I'm wearing a fucking dress, Malice. I hate dresses."

"And I'm in a fucking suit and tie," I growled as the front door opened and there he was, standing firm as he looked directly at us.

Pompous bastard.

Who the hell did he think he was?

The King of fucking England.

"He looks pissed," Arianwen whispered.

"Because we're late. He hates tardiness."

Arianwen smirked. "Then he shouldn't have insisted I be here. Because of him, I had to go buy this damn dress for his stupid dinner."

Sighing, I got out of the vehicle, walking around the front to open the door for my woman. The second she stepped out, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She looked really pretty in that dress, even if she hated it.

Holding her hand, we walked up the steps as Sinclair looked directly at me and clipped, "You're late."

"My fault." Arianwen smiled, squeezing my hand. "Didn't have a dress. Had to go shopping."

"My apologies, Little One. Had I known, I would have had my personal shopper send over a selection for you to choose from."

"We're here. Now move," I sneered.

Sinclair smiled warmly, stepping aside. "Please come in, Little One, and welcome to my home."

Narrowing my eyes, I glared at the fucker as Arianwen let go of my hand and walked ahead of me. Stepping up to him, I whispered, "Whatever you have up your sleeve, forget about it. I mean it, Sin. Just dinner, and then we are leaving."

"You wound me, Gideon."

"Liar," I huffed, storming into the house, heading straight for the dining room. Dinner with the family was always an event.

God forbid Sin just ordered pizza like everyone else.

Fuck that.

Pretentious fucker.

Seeing the place cards, I quickly found mine, only to realize that Arianwen wasn't sitting next to me. Glaring at the son of a bitch, I found her card right next to Sin, who had her seated between him and Silas.

I didn't fucking think so.

Picking up Silas' card, I threw it over my shoulder and plopped my ass down in the chair as Sinclair escorted Arianwen over to her seat. Pulling it out for her, the annoying fuck smirked. "I see Gideon wasn't happy with the seating arrangements."

I fucking refused to apologize.

Wasn't happening.

"Sorry!" Pippen rushed in and Silas scowled.

Sin shook his head, taking his seat at the head of the table as he waved to the chair next to me. "Please take your seat, Dante. I did have you seated next to your brother, but Gideon insisted on a seating change."

With everyone seated, we all looked at Sin and waited, and when he reached for his wineglass, he smiled and said, "Finally. My family is together again. To the family."

Grabbing my wineglass, I grumbled, swallowing the vile shit.

I hated wine.

When Arianwen didn't reach for her glass, Sin frowned. "Do you not like wine, Little One?"

"Sorry, no. I'm not really a drinker."

"What would you like, then?"

"Um." She grinned mischievously, looking at me before turning back to Sin and with a straight face, asked, "Do you have any apple juice?"

Choking on my wine, Dante quickly moved to slap my back.

"Dude, are you okay?"

Shoving the intern off me, I put my wineglass down and reached for the water glass. Guzzling it, I turned to Arianwen, who winked at me and smiled.

What the hell kind of game was she playing?

This was not the fucking place to be flagrant.

"I've recently acquired a fondness for anything apple."

Sin smiled warmly, waving his hand toward the waiter standing in the corner. "Please bring Arianwen a chilled glass of sparkling apple cider, and then you may serve the first course."

The waiter nodded and quickly left.

Leaning toward me, she whispered, "Why are there three different types of forks?"

"Because Sin's anal-retentive and can't decide which one he prefers," I mumbled, and Pippen chuckled, quickly covering his mouth with his napkin, as Silas glared at him.

Sin sighed. "You know, some of us at this table prefer a more refined dining experience. Not everyone prefers to eat with their hands."

Glaring at the fucker, I sneered, "How else are you supposed to eat a fucking burger?"

"Are we really having this conversation again?" Silas groaned. "Because if we are, I am leaving."

"If Silas leaves, then I will too," Pippen piped up.

"No one is leaving," Sin said, laying his napkin in his lap. "Please forgive us, Little One. Not all of us have manners."

"I have manners!" Malice sneered.

"Of course you do." Arianwen smiled, patting my hand while everyone around me snickered.

Fucking jackasses.

The whole lot of them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Looking up from my phone, I saw Montana, Mercy, and Fury all glaring at me.

"What?"

"Something on your mind, Malice?" Fury questioned, leaning back in the chair he was sitting in, twirling his gun in his hand as if he were a gunslinger.

"No."

"Then why the fuck are you growling?" Montana clipped.

I frowned, then purposefully growled again just to piss him off.

Rolling his eyes, Montana returned to the deck of cards he was shuffling while we waited for Benson Graves and that cunt Iris Hughes.

The second Arianwen and I returned from dinner, Montana wasted no time ordering me out the door. Fucker didn't even give me a chance to change my fucking clothes.

Someone knocked at the door before it opened.

Walking in, Illyria Valentinetti happily announced, "Your guest has arrived."

"Thanks, beautiful," Mercy said, winking at the volatile woman. Illyria Valentinetti was the owner of the Gentlemen's Club and also the sister to Giovanni Valentinetti and the wife of Maxim Fedorov, the head of the Russian Bratva.

She was a woman no one wanted to piss off.

Pocketing my phone, I rolled up my sleeves.

"You look fucking ridiculous."

Side-eyeing Montana, I snarled.

Fury chuckled, getting to his feet and moving to the opposite side of the room just as Benson Graves walked in with five heavily armed men.

The second Illyria shut the door, Fury and I wasted no time before we drew our guns and killed Graves' men, leaving only the slimy fucker against the four of us.

Smiling like a fucking lunatic, Montana leaned back in his chair, holding his gun in his hand as he slowly screwed a silencer onto the barrel of his gun.

"Sit down, Benson."

"You son of a bitch!" Benson shouted. "This is neutral territory."

"Sit the fuck down," Montana clipped, pointing his gun at Benson.

Benson Franklin Graves was a slimy two-timing shitbag. Graves was originally the broker for the Soulless Sinners back in the day before he syphoned millions from the club. He was good at accumulating information. Lots of information, which he happily handed over to a man named Boris Petrovitch for a hefty price. We all thought Graves was dead, but recently learned that the fucker worked for the west coast Bratva, more specifically Boris Petrovitch. With Petrovitch dead, Benson didn't have the backing or the safety he needed to stay alive and considering the fucker was wanted not only by the club, but by the Valentinetti Family and Maxim Fedorov, the asshat was lucky to be breathing.

Leaning forward in his chair, Montana looked at the dead man walking and smiled. "You know, when you showed up at the clubhouse, I thought you had a death wish. Maybe you were tired of breathing and you wanted me to put an end to your miserable life. But seeing you show up here with five goons, I now realize that you are the stupidest motherfucker on the planet. Did you honestly think you were going to walk out of here alive?"

"I have information..."

Montana groaned, shaking his head. "You always have information. A plethora of information, yet you never really seem to say anything of value."

"I mean it this time, Montana. I have information that will bring down the Golden Skulls. Information you need to protect the Soulless Sinners."

Before Benson could say anything more, the door opened again and in walked several men who wasted no time cleaning up the bodies, dragging them out of the room.

Illyria stepped in and smiled. "Montana, you have some unexpected guests that have arrived and are requesting, or should I say, demanding to sit in on this meeting."

Not giving Montana a chance to respond, the beautiful woman stepped to the side as Giovanni Valentinetti and Maxim Fedorov, along with Vladmir Ivenok, walked into the room. However, when Maxwell Doherty, Reaper, the President of the Golden Skulls, walked in behind them with Bullseye and Massacre, I knew shit was about to get real.

Montana quickly typed something into his phone before sitting back in his chair, saying nothing while he glared at Reaper, who just smiled and took a seat at the other end of the table.

"How's the leg, asshole?"

Now it was Montana's turn to growl.

"Hello, Benson," Giovanni politely greeted, taking a seat next to Mercy.

Maxim just sneered at the fucker as he took the seat next to Reaper.

Benson gulped.

"Now for the rules." Illyria smiled, taking charge. "I love all of you. Except you, Benson. You are going to get what you deserve. Now, since I don't trust you boys not to kill each other, I am sitting in on this meeting, which is my right as the owner of this club. Anyone got a problem with that?"

Everyone shook their head—no.

Massacre leaned toward Gio and whispered, "Cuz is still scary."

Shoving him away, Giovanni firmly said, "Stop being a nuisance and call your mother."

"I did call her. Two months ago."

"Uncle," Bullseye snarled, standing behind Reaper.

Maxim glared at his nephew, before turning to Gio. "Where is my niece?"

"How is my daughter?" Vladmir asked, staring down Reaper, who smirked, then shrugged his shoulders.

" My wife is happy and sated."

Maxim grabbed Vladmir's arm, slowly shaking his head.

"Maybe I should just leave." Benson went to get up from his seat, and everyone around the table pulled a gun and pointed it right at him.

The man gulped, slowly sitting back down.

Shaking my head, I knew this entire meeting was about to turn into a three-ringed circus.