“Sit down or leave,” he ordered. “And put your fucking cut on right, you idiot, or fuck off from this meeting.”
Gray glanced down at himself, his eyes widening. He awkwardly pulled his cut off and turned it inside out then put it back on before he sat down in the corner.
“Done? I don’t have all day. We have matters to discuss.”
Gray nodded then sunk deeper into his chair.
I gave him a wink and relaxed against the upholstered headrest of my chair. Earl had a carpenter make the heavy mahogany chairs with the red padding to give our meeting table a royal look. Even his massage chair was upholstered with the red satin. Of course, after Earl himself had managed to get the first burn mark from his cigarette into the expensive satin, things had only gone downhill.
Gray still hunched in his chair like a drowned dog. He always took Earl’s reprimands to heart. Maybe it was his age, but I hadn’t been this eager for Earl’s approval when I was seventeen. Yet, Earl had always given it to me more freely than to his son. But even I had hardly ever received a warm word. I’d learned at an early age to find warm words with women and not my club brothers, much less my uncle.
“So what’s going on, Prez?” Cody asked.
Earl’s disapproval was replaced by a sly smile. “I’ve come up with the perfect plan to kick Vitiello’s ass.”
“Hear, hear,” I said. “What did your pretty head come up with?”
“We’re going to kidnap Marcella Vitiello.”
“His daughter?” Gray quipped. His open shock reflected my own feelings—only I had learned to keep them to myself. I’d later talk to Earl in private about my concerns.
Earl sent him a harsh look. “Who else? Or do you know anyone else with that fucking name? You’d think God didn’t grace you with more than two brain cells the way you sometimes act.”
Gray’s neck turned red, a clear sign of his embarrassment.
“You think Luca Vitiello gives a rat’s ass if we kidnap his spawn? She’s not his heir. Maybe we should kidnap that giant boy of his,” Cody said. He was Earl’s sergeant at arms, and royally pissed because I was the second in command and not him.
“He’d eat the hair right off our fucking heads,” I muttered, which earned me laughter from everyone around, except for Cody, and Gray who was still nursing his hurt pride.
“I want you to vet her, Maddox. You’re going to lead the operation,” Earl said.
I nodded. This was personal. I would have insisted on being part of the job even if my uncle hadn’t asked me to do it. The spoiled Vitiello princess would be mine.
Earl shoved a newspaper article over to me. The headline announced the engagement of Marcella Vitiello with some slick asshole. My eyes were drawn to the image below.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “That’s her?”
Several men let out low whistles. Earl leered. “The whore who’ll cost Vitiello his fortune and life.”
“They must have used some kind of filter. Nobody’s this goddamn gorgeous,” Gunnar said. “I think my dick would fall off in awe if it ever got near that pussy.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t,” I said with a wink. “Your Old Lady would probably chop it off before you got close.”
Gunnar touched his heart. He’d been the treasurer of our club for a decade now and often acted more like a father figure than Earl.
“The photo is manipulated, no doubt,” another brother said.
I could only agree. Vitiello had probably paid extra so the photographers retouched his daughter’s image until she looked like an apparition. Long black hair, pale skin, sky-blue eyes, and full red lips. The asshole beside her in his button-down shirt and carefully combed dark hair looked like her tax consultant and not the one who made her cream.
“Like Snow White,” I whispered.
“What?” Earl asked.
I shook my head, dragging my eyes away from the photo. “Nothing.” Sounding like a fucking imbecile wouldn’t do me any favors. “I assume she’s heavily guarded?”
“Of course. Vitiello keeps his wife and daughter in a golden cage. It’s your job to find the loophole, Mad. If anyone can do it, then it’s you.”
I nodded distractedly as I scanned the photos on the table once more. Risky maneuvers were my specialty, but I had grown more cautious over the years. I wasn’t a teen anymore. At twenty-five, I realized that getting killed before I got my revenge wouldn’t do the trick.
My eyes drifted back to the photo as if pulled by an invisible string. Too fucking gorgeous to be true.
Vitiello had been the center of my attention, never his family, and definitely not his children. For some reason, it annoyed the fuck out of me that he’d managed to father such a stunning daughter. I really hoped the photos were heavily retouched and Marcella fucking Vitiello was butt ugly in real life.