Kaz strolled inside, stopping at the podium where a young woman was standing, a microphone wrapped around the shell of her ear. Her gaze shifted to his left, and he realized a moment later that she was listening to someone speaking on the other end.
Then, she smiled at him, gesturing to a hallway off to the side. “Mr. Shelby will see you in his office.”
There were cameras set up all around the restaurant, undetectable to anyone that wasn’t looking for them. Alfred Shelby—or just Alfie, depending on his mood—was a careful man by nature, and his restaurant was no exception.
Kaz rapped his knuckles against the solid oak door at the end of the hall, stepping back so the guard he knew was waiting on the other side could get a good look at him. Once the door was open, and Kaz was inside, he smiled at one of his oldest associates.
“How’s business?”
Alfie Shelby was a bull of a man, standing as tall as Kaz but much wider all around. His hair was short, but wavy, and he had the coldest eyes Kaz had ever encountered, like whatever switch he had on his emotions was always turned off.
“Not bad,” Alfie said reclining back in his seat, folding massive arms across his chest. “Not bad at all. I guess I have you to thank for that.”
Kaz waved his words away. “A favor between friends. Let’s not speak on it.”
Alfie just stared at him, seeming to gauge the sincerity of his words, before he nodded to the chairs in front of his desk. “Go on, have a seat.”
Alfie waited until Kaz did just that before he spoke. “Your father won’t bend on our little issue.”
Yeah, Kaz had been afraid of that. His father liked to believe he knew what was best for the organization—that was his due as Pakhan—but he still had the mindset of the generations before him, where the Bratva didn’t indulge in business with outsiders.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
That was the best he could give, and that was probably more than he should have. If his Pakhan dismissed a new arrangement, that was meant to be the end of it, and if Vasily knew that Kaz had known about the meeting in the first place, that wouldn’t go over well.
When you wanted to do business with the Bratva, you went to the Pakhan, no one else.
“Good, now—”
Alfie paused, his head tilted to the side, and then his eyes cut to Kaz. “Your time is up. Looks like you’re not the only one paying me a visit today.”
Though Kaz didn’t question him, he did wonder why. More than once, he had sat in the room while Alfie conducted business, and had offered insight when prompted, but never had he been asked to leave.
It, at the very least, made him curious.
Because of the position of the office, Kaz could see most of the restaurant—with the exception of the kitchens. Standing where he’d been no more than ten minutes ago was the last person Kaz had expected.
Carmine Gallucci.
He could see it, somewhat, the similarities between him and his sister—the blond hair—but the rest of him was a carbon copy of his father. And he held himself like it too, his shoulders back, his head held high as though everyone around him was beneath his notice.
Kaz couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the man in person, and it was even longer since he had given him any thought. But as Carmine’s gaze lifted to his, awareness making them narrow as his guard shot up, he had Kaz’s full attention.
“Right, gentlemen,” Alfie spoke up, stepping between them once Carmine got close. “This is a respectable place, yeah? And as much as I would enjoy watching the two of you try and beat the shit out of each other, though my money’s on Kazimir here—Russians, they’re fucking savages, you know?—that won’t happen in here.” He gestured to the door with a tilt of his head. “Outside and down the street, far away from my place, and you can do as you please. You still want to have words, Gallucci, you know where to find me. Now, get the fuck out.”
Carmine looked like he wanted to argue, even more pissed off by the way Alfie casually disregarded him, but as quickly as his flare of temper showed in his face, he swept his hands over the front of his suit jacket, even going as far as straightening his tie. He tried to make himself seem taller, but next to Alfie and Kaz, he still looked like a boy playing dress up.
“Nah, I’m good. You see,”—and this was aimed at Kaz as his gaze shifted past Alfie— “we Italians don’t need to act like dogs in the street. We know how to behave.”
Kaz smiled at his answer. “You’re right about one thing, Gallucci. I am a fucking dog, and when the day comes that you’re ready to find out what that means, look me up.” Clapping Alfie on the shoulder, Kaz headed for the door.
But as he passed—the two Italian guards moving to the side to let him pass without incident—Carmine started forward and bumped Kaz’s shoulder hard enough to make his temper flare. Before he could quell the impulse, Kaz had his hand around the man’s throat, shoved him backward, and made his head crack against the wall.