Pretty Sinner (The Oligarchs)

Which was probably why Redmond had agreed to my plan.

“We didn’t come here to argue about my future wife,” I continued once I had their attention. “You know what I want from you, Bernhard, and I hope you’ve considered it.”

“I’ve considered it,” he said, shaking his head, “and I won’t take the plunge. Not with you and not with anybody.”

I sighed and spread my hands though it was exactly what I had expected. “You know killing Maeve will benefit us all. Your crews have been jostling against her territory in the Midwest for years, and with her out of the way, you’ll double in power and influence.”

“And you will too,” he said, glaring at me. “You know the rules. We don’t kill each other. You young men, you think you know better than we do, but you’re wrong, Kaspar. As soon as we start cutting each other’s throats, we’re done for. We’ll be no better than the crime families themselves. Just look at Darren and Roman. Do you think their bitter war’s done anything to advance their causes?”

“I think it made them hard. Roman flew too close to the sun and was pushed back down, but at least he was ambitious. Darren might never have made any moves at all if it weren’t for Roman breathing down his neck. Their feud hurt them, but it also sharpened their wit and made them bold.” I took a deep breath and leaned closer to Old Bern, the wrinkled dog, the blood-sucking old man. “That’s what we need now. The Oligarchs are stale and weak, and I plan on making us strong again.”

Old Bern didn’t move. He sat rigid, anger etched all over his posture. We’d been friendly for a long time, and I was sure he never expected talk like this from me. It was a betrayal.

The first of many to come.

“You know better than that, Kaspar. The rules were put in place for a reason, and if we begin—”

“You and your stupid damn rules,” Redmond cut in, looking at his fingernails like he was bored of the conversation. “They were all made before I was even born. Hell, they were made before you were born! And yet you cling to them like a life raft.”

“They keep us safe, boy,” Old Bern snapped at his son. “Mind your tongue. You’re not the Oligarch at this table, and you won’t forget it.”

“No, I’m not, but perhaps I should be.” Redmond’s eyes glittered.

I wanted to curse and punch him in the face.

Old Bern was a seasoned veteran of the Oligarchs. He’d been through more than any of us could imagine, from his days as a young man taking over for his father before he was even twenty, all the way through multiple disputes and skirmishes and crises, up until today. He knew the game better than anyone else. The old bastard was a survivor.

And he saw the truth in his son’s eyes.

“What did you do?” Old Bern asked softly, almost sadly.

“I didn’t do a damn thing, Father. The world’s doing it for me. Kaspar’s right, we need a change, and going after Maeve can be that change.”

Old Bern looked pained. He turned to me, almost pleading. “Rethink this. You won’t survive long in a world ripped to shreds. If you throw away decency, there will be nothing left.”

Redmond looked panicked, bewildered. He hadn’t realized he’d tipped the game.

But it didn’t matter. I heard footsteps in the distance. Angry voices, more shouts.

“I’m sorry, Bernhard,” I said and really meant it. Of all the Oligarchs, I truly liked him the best. I didn’t agree with him most of the time, but at least he was stalwart, honest, and strong. He was made of steel, where his son was made of wood.

But I could bend wood. I could break it.

“You always were the craziest. When you took over for your father, I wondered if you’d be the downfall of us all, but you proved yourself over and over again. Now I wonder if I was wrong.”

Gunshots, loud and echoing in the cramped space. Penny let out a muffled scream. Shouts of pain followed, then angry cries of rage. More gunshots, closer. My men looked confused and turned to me for directions.

I waved at them. “Stand down.”

None of them moved.

Redmond looked victorious. He sneered at his father, the nasty little prick.

For his part, and to his credit, Old Bern sat with his chin up and his eyes steady. He didn’t cry and didn’t beg. He didn’t try to make a deal. He knew that the life of an Oligarch usually ended in blood. He sat atop the pyramid for longer than most, but sooner or later, everyone falls.

“You should’ve listened to me, Daddy,” Redmond said, acid dripping from his tongue. “You should’ve given me more responsibility. You should’ve treated me with respect.”