Roman finishes what he’s doing and piles up the drinks on a silver tray before setting it down on a table and handing them out, leaving me for last. As Roman hands me the cool glass, our fingers brush and his sharp gaze holds mine for just a moment, kicking my heart into gear.
I swallow hard as I take it from him, but when his expression hardens and he snatches his gaze away, anger pours through my veins like molten lava scorching everything in its path. The fuck does he think he’s doing looking at me like that? It was only a few short hours ago that his thick cock was buried deep in my ass. The least he could do is offer me a smile. For fuck’s sake.
Trying to ignore his usual asshole tendencies, I focus on the game at hand.
The dealer is offered a drink and as he takes a long, needy sip, I realize that after all this time, we’ve never even asked him his name, but then, I guess it no longer matters. When the cops come knocking on the door, questioning if we know a man by the name of blah, blah, blah, we can honestly say that we don’t, which is nice in this world. Honesty is rare around here and it goes a long way.
Finding a pair of balls, the dealer drops the glass to his thigh and glances up at the boys, skimming his gaze around the circle, bypassing me, and coming back to Roman, who’s obviously taking the lead on this one. “So, what’s this all about?” he questions. “I assume that it’s not often you invite your dealers for a late drink.”
Roman lets out a breath and leans back in his chair. “You’re right,” he says, his gaze dropping to the contents of his glass as I notice Dill and Doe prancing across the yard as though only just realizing that we’re out here. “We don’t like to bring people into our lives. We’ve always been private men; however, your sales skills have managed to catch our attention, and because of that, we have a proposition for you.”
His brows fly up into his hairline and he gapes at Roman as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “A proposition?” he questions, a sigh of relief in his tone. “I thought this was about missing our meet the other week.”
“We’ll get to that,” Roman says, a dark hint in his tone. “For now, let’s discuss what you can do for us.”
A grin pulls at his lips as he leans forward in his seat, the flames from the fire sending flickering beams of light across his face. “I’m listening.”
Roman pauses a moment as Dill and Doe come to sit by us, casually watching the fire all to the dealer’s horror. His eyes widen with fear at the massive wolves, but he keeps his mouth shut, waiting to hear whatever the fuck Roman has to offer him. “You strike me as a smart man,” Roman starts, bullshitting his way through this by starting with a compliment. “So I am sure that you would have heard whispers that my father is being run out.”
His brows shoot up again. “I, ahhh, no. I hadn’t heard that.”
Roman nods. “Well, consider yourself now in the know,” he says before continuing. “My brothers and I will be taking over the family business, which means there will be some changes.”
“How am I supposed to fit into these changes?” he questions. “I’m just a street dealer.”
“You’ve shown promise,” Roman admits. “Your ability to sell products is like none other that we have seen … at least not for a while. Taking over our father’s business means that we will be taking over his stock, and we’re going to need someone to move it for us.”
The dealer watches Roman through narrowed eyes, and I can see the gears ticking inside his head. “How much product are we talking?” the dealer questions. “There’s only so many connections that I have in this industry. I’m not sure how much more I could move.”
“Not even for a handsome bonus?”
Interest sparkles in his eyes and he takes a moment, throwing back what’s left in his glass. “I mean, that’s a full-time job right there. What you’re asking of me, I’m going to need access to planes, cars, shipping containers.”
Roman nods, understanding how smuggling drugs works. “That’s no problem,” he says. “Perhaps you could use the same ones that you’ve been using while working for my father.”
His eyes bulge just a fraction before trying to school his features. “I, uhmm. I’m sorry? Your father? I’ve never met your father.”
Roman scoffs and stands, swirling the contents of his glass again. He begins pacing behind the chair and I watch how the dealer focuses on every last step. “You know what really gets to me?” he questions, pausing to meet the dealer’s terrified gaze. “Snakes. Liars. Scumbag dealers who were placed into my life by my father with the intention to fuck with me.”
The guy stands, violently shaking his head as he holds his hands up, feigning innocence. “I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a dealer. Nothing more.”
Roman’s eyes sparkle. “And I’m just a businessman, nothing more.”
The dealer pales, knowing all too well that Roman is so much more than just a businessman—they all are. “Look,” he starts. “I don’t know where you would have heard something like that. Someone clearly has a vendetta against me and wants to see me slaughtered, maybe a competitor. I know Gia Moretti’s dealers are feeling the sting since I’ve been taking their customers.”
Roman laughs. “You think Gia is threatened by a dealer making a measly ten, maybe twenty grand a week in stolen product? You’re a bigger fool than I thought.” Roman leans against the backrest of his vacated chair and focuses his hard stare on the dealer as the wolves stand beside him. “We were at the warehouse last night. We saw you with our own fucking eyes. You signed your own death sentence.”
The glass drops straight out of his hand as his whole fucking life flashes before his eyes, finally realizing that fucking with Giovanni is one thing, but fucking with his sons is an entirely different game.
Roman steps around his chair as Marcus and Levi both stand, blocking his escape, though with Dill and Doe standing by, he won’t even get a step before they’re on him.
Marcus steps around the back of my seat and leans forward, curling his hand around my throat as his lips skim over the sensitive skin on my neck. His thumb moves in a gentle circle, skimming right over the artery in my throat. “When in doubt,” he tells me, a deep, wicked excitement building in his tone. “Always go for an artery.”
A thrill shoots through me and I sit up a little straighter, my eyes wide.
Roman moves in front of the dealer, his eyes deadlier than I’ve ever seen them. “Do you know what happens to men who try to fool us? Men who plot and plan for our destruction?” he pauses, letting his words sink in. “They die by our hands, their throats torn right out of their bodies.”
The man gapes at him and in a last-ditch effort to try and save himself, his fist rears back and he throws a punch right at Roman’s face, but there’s nothing quite like Roman’s reflexes. He catches the man’s fist in his hand, mere inches from connecting with his jaw.