"ARE YOU THERE?"
My father's voice rings through the phone, his voice wise old timey voice filling my ears as I rode in the backseat of the car waiting for us to arrive at the restaurant. "Almost," I replied, my eyes drifting off to the phantom ceiling of the Rolls Royce before drifting over to the men in the car right me who all sat still and silent. Good, they know how much I hate noise especially while I'm in the car.
"You know you don't have to do this," I hear him say already knowing the conversation that was to follow next. I exhaled a low sigh preparing myself. "I could've gotten someone else to handle it, son. You don't have to get yourself involved in these kinds of affairs." Even after almost forty years in the States his French accent still remains on his tongue and it's only seen to grow over the past year with him being in the house all the damn time.
"I think I do because the last time you sent someone to negotiate it ended up costing us half a million dollars," I remind him and I could hear him sigh over the line. "you don't have to keep sending these random ass people who couldn't talk themselves out of a box to negotiate your deals for you. That's what I'm here for. You don't need anyone else."
"I know s-son," a hard cough erupts from his throat and my eyes roll to the phantom roof once again. He clears his throat before he speaks again. "I know you can take care of things on your own, it's just I don't want you to feel like you have to do this because of me."
"I don't. I'm a Bellerose too and I don't like getting fucked over especially when it comes to my money."
I can hear him smile on the phone, picture the lines on his caramel face stretching upwards as he runs a hand over his salt and pepper hair. "Mon amour, tu as raison," my love, you are right.
"We're here." The driver says from up front once we stop at the valet parking of the restaurant. I look out the window at Le Crème, one of the most popular restaurants here in New York. I don't know why the guy wanted to meet here. I think it just goes to show what kind of person he is. Everyone knows this is where all the celebrities go for dinner, politicians have their meetings, and rich men with nothing better to do come and grab drinks. The food is not even good but people still come here to keep up appearances, it's for those who seek attention, validation, and whatever else to inflate their already giant ego. I hate it.
My men get out of the car before me while I continued with my dad on the phone. "We just arrived. I'll let you know when I'm done."
"Good," he responds. "and before I leave you to be I just wanna ask have you talked to your brother today?"
"No, why?" I immediately raised a brow.
"He hasn't been home all day. I'm worried about him. You know how that boy is."
I exhaled a sigh into the phone. "You know how Enzo is. He's probably staying over with one of his college friends or maybe he's snuck off to Las Vegas again with some random girl because he didn't feel like taking an exam. You never know with that boy." I said to him as my door opened.
"Garçon fou," Crazy boy, "I'm paying all that money for him to go that school and he barely shows up to classes. They're gonna kick him out if he doesn't get his act together and I'm not paying his way back in."
"You will." I rolled my eyes as if he could see me.
"What is his problem Stone?"
I stepped out of the car into the cooled air that chilled the night. "Je ne sais pas, c'est un garçon fou et impétueux," I don't know, he's a crazy and impetuous boy. My brain automatically switches to French when I see unfamiliar faces. Though me and my father are talking about nothing of importance you can never be too sure with who's listening. Even the two valet drivers standing outside waiting for us who looked not too much older than my brother — you can never be too sure around here in this city.
One of the men comes and brings over my jacket while I finish up on the phone with my father. "Call me when you're done. Alright?" he said into the line and I nodded as if he could see me through the phone.
"Sois prudent," be careful.
"Don't worry about me," I say to him before ending the call and stuffing my phone in my pocket. I fix the jacket over my shoulders, looking up at the valet workers in front of us, the two of them with unmoving stares on us probably waiting for the keys. We took two cars here because not all of us could fit in one obviously, but I also called for two just for extra precautions. Though I doubt anything would go down here at this fancy-ass restaurant but you can never be too sure with anything here in this city.
The drivers of the vehicles walk up to the boys and hand them the keys. I take note that the driver who drove me handed to the valet driver with Kylo on his name tag. I remember it. The men exchanged a few laughs with the valet drivers, a joke I had no interest in hearing as we started to make our way inside. The doorman of the restaurant opens the entrance door for us and we follow swiftly behind taking the lead into the semi-crowded restaurant.
Le Crème was packed full of people with reservations. With the smell of spices sweeping in from the kitchen, I realized just how not hungry I really am because everything smelt disgusting. With a high vaulted ceiling, glittering cutlery, elegant decorations on every wall, and well-dressed clientele, the whole restaurant came off as very... stuffy.
It was just... the atmosphere.
The whole place felt like I walked into some sort of fashion show for peacocks. Each very subtly showed off their wealth in little ways and watched from the corner of their eyes to make sure the others saw. No one here seemed to be friends or to even be enjoying the company of their guests but it was about being seen. It made me want to vomit, to be honest. The hostess asks for my name and I give the name of the man I'm meeting with tonight which she quickly recognizes before leading us to the back where the meetings are held.
We walk for a while until she leads up to the back and towards a room. I send some of my men off to the bar where I know they wanted to be anyways with their alcoholic asses and left two to stand with me just in case. When we get to the room I see a circular table clothed in the palest white cloth sat two wine glasses filled with champagne, and behind the glasses sat the face of Marco Carlucci himself. I noticed him before he noticed me. His hands were too busy wrapped around his wine glass. He only looks up when the hostess walks inside the room before me.
"Mr. Bellerose," he nearly spilled the champagne on himself from how fast he tried to place the drink down. "so nice to see ya." Marco stands up and extends a hand. Reluctantly I accept the shake. I remember my father telling me I need to work on my people skills during these negotiations but in my defense I think my people skills are great it's just once people start getting all touchy-feely with me is when I start to get annoyed because if you have to touch me to express something then I should be able to slap you to express how I feel as well.
But I don't slap Marco instead I respectably shake his hand taking a seat at the table in front of him. My men standing behind me. Marco eyes them and I know what he's about to ask before he even says it so I bet him to it.
"Tu peux rester devant la porte," You can stand in front of the door. I tell them and they both sent me a nod before making their way outside the private room though it wasn't that damn private since the door is still open.
"It's nothing personal it's just we're talking about really sensitive information here ya know?" Marco says, reaching for his glass again.
"I see." I simply said.
"How's your father? I was disappointed when he told me he wouldn't be able to meet with me tonight. Is he getting better-"
"Do you have it?" I cut him off. I hate small talk.
Marco Carlucci smiles behind his wine glass before taking another sip. "Just like your old man. Quick and straight to the point," he pointed a ring finger at me smirking. "and I do have it. It's right here." He reaches inside his grey blazer for a while and when his hands finally come out there's a black hard drive wrapped around his fingers.
I cocked a brow up at him. "That's it?"
"There's more to it, my friend," Marco reassures. "this drive holds some very important information on it."
"Like . . ." I say waiting for him to continue.
"There's an email and password with a few documents here that'll get you in contact with some people out in Vietnam. Word across the water is they've been cooking up something new that'll earn them what in American money is almost twenty million in the next couple of months. Get in contact with them through this and you can get some supply shipped to you within the next week."
My hands intertwined on the table. "How much for the hard drive?"
Marco leaned back in his chair, shrugging his shoulders at me. "How much you brought Mr. Bellerose?"
I snapped my fingers catching the men outside the doors' attention. "Bring it in," I tell them and almost immediately one of them comes with the briefcase and places it on the table. He opens it and turns the case towards Marco. "Hundred thousand in cash enough?"Marco Carlucci looked down at the money in front of him, money most people never even see in their entire lifetime, amounts they can only dream of having, and shook his head. "Anything else?" he asked.
I made a face at him because what the fuck does he mean anything else? "What?" I let out, lips twitching.
"I'm flattered at the offer but 100k for something as valuable as this? I'm sorry Mr. Bellerose but this is just something I can't accept. I have more customers that are willing to pay ten times the amount you're offering."
"Oh, you do?" I asked, brows raising on my forehead as I clenched the inside of my jaw. Marco nods, an almost sympathetic look on his face that only makes me more furious on the inside. Who the hell is he to give me that look?
"If you can come up with a better offer by tomorrow then the drive is yours but until I'll have to meet with others to discuss a deal," Marco explains right before his phone suddenly goes off on the table. He looks down at it and then back up at me. "It's my wife. I have to take this but call me when you're ready to discuss an offer again." he stands up and answers the phone before making his way out of the room.
I sat at the table in silence, my intertwined hands tightening around each other. He declined the deal. No one ever declines me. No one ever tells me no. I feel the anger ripping and crawling and scratching through my skin and I feel my brain pulsating. I can feel the anger running through my veins and I feel like my chest is gonna explode. I try to inhale a breath, holding it in for a second or two before exhaling in hopes of calming my nerves but it seemed the more air I sucked in the angrier I grew.
"What now sir?" One of the men whispered to me.
I kept my eyes trained ahead at the empty seat in front of me. "We wait," I told simply him.
After a while, I gathered up my men and headed back outside the restaurant. We walked over to valet parking to see the same two guys from earlier only this time they were filming themselves dancing on their phones as trashy music played, a complete 360 from their stiffened modes from earlier. "How am I eating you up and you're the dance major?" one of them said to the other which in reply earned them a slight shove. "I'm not about to dance my ass off for your five followers."
I clear my throat catching the attention of the boys, immediately causing one of them to grab the phone and stuff it in their back pocket. They stiffened again as we got closer to them.
"The cars . . ." one of the drivers came forwards and said dryly.
"Oh right, we'll go get them right away sir." The one whose name tag read Kylo said though his eyes bounced over to me as he spoke instead of the driver. There's an anxiousness in his eyes, those big round pools of black reflecting the moonlight above us. He blinks and turns his head elsewhere. The two valet workers ran off towards the car while the rest of the men waited for their return.
"What are we gonna do now sir . . . " The driver came up to me and asked. "about Marco?"
My lips stretch into a sly smile at him. "We wait. Like I said." I patted his shoulders which caused him to mirror with his sly smile in response. "Tell the others," I said to him and he nodded.
Headlights shine in front of us and we can see the cars coming. They parked them in front of us and made their way out. One of the valet workers hands a set of keys to the driver from before but the one named Kylo steps over to me with the keys. My 6'4 build caused him to crane his neck up a bit, not too much but enough to where it's noticeable with his 5'11 frame.
"I didn't drive," I tell him.
His doe eyes grow even wider once the realization hits. He runs a hand through his dark curls, a pomegranate scent radiating off him the more he moves in front of me. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, full lips showcasing a pristine white row of thirty-two and a dimple in his left cheek. "it's been a long night." his voice is mellow and gentle like there's thought before every word.
"Yo," one of my men came forward and took the keys from him.
We all made our way to the cars and I got inside. I could see the valet workers standing outside a little confused so I rolled down my window as I reached into my pockets and handed whatever I could find to the workers as a tip. I pulled out a couple of hundreds and handed it to the boys who came forward and accepted it without much hesitation.
"Appreciate that sir." One of them said while the other one nodded in agreement, a dimple growing deeper in his cheek. I don't respond to them though and just roll back up the window so they can leave us the hell alone.
"Where to now?" The driver asks from the front.
I lean back in my seat getting comfortable. "We wait."
••••
Marco Carlucci is someone quite well-known in the underground business. There was a period, much earlier in his life when he was making a name for himself as a second in command to a street gang that was causing a ruckus through lower Manhattan back in the late 90's. When he was accused of working with the NYPD in exchange for some quick cash, however, he suddenly discovered he had more enemies than he had thought, and his power and influence were wrested from him. He tried, in desperation, to hire a killer to silence the one who leads the campaign to bring him down, but after it went wrong, he was forced to abandon everything and go into hiding for a couple of years.
In the years since, he's made another name for himself making deals between gangs across the waters from Argentina to Vietnam. He earned his credibility back but his respect was still in the gutter. He barely clings to life, sneaking from country to country, sleeping hotel to hotel under a false identity, trying to make deals while also planning an escape from the city without alerting anybody who wanted him gone, or anybody who would sell him out to such a person. Ironically, he had taken up a side hustle to sell classified information to sustain himself, a crime for which he was originally framed.
It's later in the night when I finally run into Marco again. He's at a bar in Manhattan. What's the old saying? A guilty man always returns to the scene of the crime. Following him from afar I've been watching him walk lower Manhattan with familiarity, heading to this bar and downing drinks like he's had the hardest day of his life and maybe he has but I personally don't give a damn. I've been watching him waiting for the perfect moment to ask him a simple question. Why did he decline my offer? It's a simple question.
When Marco comes out of the bar stumbling a bit, grey tux slouching on him I knew the opportunity has come to me on a silver platter. I watch him with keens eyes, my fingers tapping against my knee patiently as I hummed a tune I heard earlier that can't seem to leave my damn head.
"Should we get out now sir?" The driver asks and I shake my head no.
"Not yet," I reply.
Marco Carlucci suddenly stops in his steps, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette and lighter. I grimaced at the scene. I hate cigarettes the smell alone makes me gag. Now a nice Cuban cigar is something I can get behind, but a cancer stick is a no-go. Marco takes his cigarette and smokes it, resting up on the end of a building that cuts off by an alley.
I turned my head over to my boys already seeing them ready, straps locked and loaded tucked into their waistbands. "Go . . ." I simply said without a second to waste the three men got out of the car parked outside directly across the street and made their way over to Marco. They yank him up by his collar, cigarette flying from his mouth as they push and shove him into the alleyway away from anyone's view.
I wait a while in the car letting my men have their fun with the man for a bit while I sing the tune that's been stuck in my head. I give it about another minute or two before I decide I should get out before they get a little too carried away and I won't be able to have my own fun.
When I walked into the alley I saw my men surrounding Marco. I walked up to the bloody mess on the ground, his black tie not used as a makeshift muzzle and I smirked at the creativity. Marco looked grotesque. Already his eyes were swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his slack jaws. He was now as revolting as he should be, finally, the outside reflects the man within.
I bent down to be eye level with him, a hand reaching up to inspect his battered face. "Yall weren't playing with his ass at all I see." I looked up at my men in approval. I remove the tie that's tied around his mouth so he can speak giving him a chance to plead his case but when all I hear is crying and whimpering I don't fight the eye roll that comes over me.
"P-please," he said, blood dripping from burst lips. "I have a family."
Not this cliche ass spill again. Why does everyone say that? "So does everyone else in the world. You're not special." I tell him.
"P-please Mr Bellerose. I'll give you the hard drive, money, whatever it is you want I'll give it to you please just let me go." He begged.
"Oh you was gonna do that anyway," I said to him putting the tie back up to his mouth and shutting him up. I stand back up and turn to my men who's already looking down at him like a pack of vultures watching its prey. "Let's wrap this up and try not to get too messy. I don't want to keep paying to get my cars detailed every week."
I looked down at Marco, tears swelling his already swollen eyes, and smirked. "No one ever tells me no," I said to him, the bottom of my foot pressing against the center of his face kicking him onto his back. I turned on my heels and walked away from the scene as I could hear my men getting their last few hits in before the loud sounds of guns being fired went off behind me.
I reached into my pockets and pulled out a Cuban cigar, tucking the thick stick in between my lips. My men come up behind me shortly after, one offering me a lighter and another handing me the hard drive. I light my cigar and take a quick puff. "Clean this mess up." I tell them as I made my way back to the car.
••••
EXCUSE ANY ERRORS OR MISTAKES
Who else was turned on by Mr Bellerose?