Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken (44 page)

“I don’t think so. After Don Salerno assaulted, embarrassed, and stole thousands of dollars from Don Bonaducci, I believe we deserve much more.”

“We stole nothing. Your Don failed to pay his taxes in Salerno Territory. Manhattan business is expensive. Don Salerno took what was rightfully his.”

“But he still had no right to put his fucking hands on Eric! The other families are watching, you know. They see how rebellious the Salernos have become under Nathan’s rule.”

“Rebellious,” Kyle repeated.

“Yes, rebellious,” David said, his tone now becoming serious. “War with us isn’t what you want, Mr. Valente. Trust me. We have too much support for our position.”

“And what exactly is this position?” Kyle asked, interested in what the talk was regarding the situation between the two families.

For a moment there was nothing but silence over the phone, David’s hesitation to share the information was more than obvious to Kyle. Yet he waited the man out. He wanted to know exactly what was being said behind Nathan’s back. Not only that, but he needed to know who the fuck was saying it. Kyle wasn’t a fan of betrayal, and he sensed a shitload of it right about now.

After Nathan had first been named Don of the Salerno crime family at the Pascatorre dinner a little over three years ago, an overwhelming amount of New York’s crime families—both bigtime and small—were lining up to become his ally. They’d been throwing him their support, their loyalty, basically begging to become his newest associates. And this only increased, after what happened between him and Don Bonaducci. But even as the desire to be a part of the Salerno’s inner circle increased rapidly, there were the few that sided with the Bonaducci clan. The few who agreed that Nathan was out of line, and should have taken the time to specify what territory still belonged to him after taking his father’s place. Kyle needed to know who these people were, how powerful they were, and how many of them wanted Nathan gone. This was the only way he’d know what they were up against. They could plan better if they knew who to look out for.

“You’re hesitating,” Kyle said, breaking the silence. “Are you afraid to say?”

“I fear nothing.”

“Then why have you not answered my question?”

Kyle was met with silence once again, but this time, it was David who broke it.

“We all know what Salernos think about themselves, Valente. Your Don is fooling no one.”

Sitting back in his seat, Kyle smirked. Now this was getting interesting … “And what exactly do we think of ourselves?”

“You’re out of control, disrespectful, and on some kind of sickening power trip. Ever since the French came to New York and the Luchini family aligned with Salerno, Nathan Salerno thinks he’s the fucking
capo di tutti capi.”

Capo di tutti capi
. Boss of all bosses.

Kyle laughed. “
Sei outta tuo uomo mente.
Don Salerno doesn’t give a shit about any of those motherfuckers.”

“If he couldn’t care less, than why did he think his assault against Don Bonaducci would go unpunished?”

“He doesn’t think shit, David. He
knows
it will go unpunished.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” Kyle snapped. Now he was getting pissed. The longer he spoke to David, the more his ‘demands’ began to sound like a threat. “While I admire confidence in an enemy, I must warn you, David. A second attack on S.O. would end very badly for the Bonaducci family,” he said in warning. “You honestly believe your first attempt weakened us? I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I think it was just the beginning, Valente,” David replied, his voice now raising. “And I didn’t stay on the line to deal with your arrogance, I thought you were finally ready to negotiate. You know our demands. We want a place at his table in Manhattan, and assurance that he’ll keep his hands to himself, and we want it all in writing.”

Kyle frowned. “Impossible, David. A place in Manhattan was taken off the table for Bonaducci the day Niko killed that cop and you know it! The answer is no.”

“Well, no is not an option.”

Kyle snorted. “Fuck you, David.”
The good for nothing piece of shit. Who the fuck did he think he was talking to?

“No, fuck you, you entitled little shit!”

Entitled?
Kyle’s jaw clenched tightly at the insult. He was not entitled; he worked hard for the position he had. If just being his father’s son had been enough to nail him the spot than Mickey would be consigliere, not him. Kyle studied for this shit, and he despised being called entitled, but he held his tongue. His temper was becoming a bit too heated to reply.

“If you’re half the consigliere your father was you’d do what needs to be done to protect your family from another attack.”

Kyle’s fist tightened around the receiver.

“We want a spot in Manhattan or there’s no deal! And before I forget, I’d like you to add keeping that French bitch in line to my list as well.”

And there it was, the last straw.

Kyle wasn’t
normally
a short tempered man. He prided himself on his learned ability to remain calm, cool, and collected even in the most infuriating of situations in work, and life in general. It took time for him to reach such serenity.

In situations such as the one he found himself in at the moment, men usually tended to lose their tempers.

But Kyle was raised differently than that. He was raised by a man who taught him the effectiveness of using opportunities like these to show one’s strength, to give the opponent a clear and precise view of exactly who they were fucking with.

“You know what, David,” Kyle said, sitting up straighter in his seat. He was feeling damn confident about the little curveball he was preparing to throw into these peace negotiations. “I’m looking at my schedule, and it seems I have some time today. What do you say you and I meet at the site of the attack and talk about these contracts face-to-face, and a bit more … in depth? Do you think your Don would allow that?”

Weaker men would find Kyle’s move stupid, dangerous; they’d probably even accuse him of having a death wish. Going to the site of the attack would give the Bonaducci clan a huge advantage over him in man power, especially since the territory was still technically under their dominion. They had men there, a lot, and they probably would only allow Kyle to have a few to protect him. If Kyle were a weaker man—and if the Salerno Organization wasn’t the organization it was—he would be cautious against making such a request. He’d maybe suggest they meet in neutral territory, unarmed with limited men by their sides …

But Kyle wasn’t a weaker man. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t weak at all. He was fucking fearless, and that fact made what he was about to do all the more entertaining.

“You’re kidding, right?” David asked, amusement obvious in his tone.

Kyle nodded, no longer affected by the man’s smug attitude. “I do not kid, David. I mean what I say. Shall we set a meeting?”

For a moment there was silence. It was as if the man were waiting for Kyle to say that he was bullshitting, but Kyle said nothing. He sat quietly, and he waited.

Not too long after, he heard David chuckle softly. “Uh, yeah. Sure, Valente, let’s meet on Bonaducci territory.”

“Very well.” Kyle nodded, although he knew David couldn’t see him.

“I’m sure you’ll be on your best behavior?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be in the best interest of your organization to attempt to attack us.”

Kyle chuckled softly. “Oh, trust me, Mitchum …” Kyle smiled. “I promise you, no one man that I bring with me will lay a hand on you or your men.”

“Very well,” David said. “I’ll call your people with a time.”

And with those last words, the man hung up on Kyle, which was fine. It was also fine that David was choosing the time of the meeting. It was obvious the man still thought he had the upper hand in this, but time would tell him the truth. Kyle had just the thing to get shit back on track. Today, he was going to change the whole scheme of this fucking peace deal.

Hanging up the phone for a moment, Kyle picked it up once again and pressed the zero button. It took about three seconds for his secretary to answer.

“Mr. Valente?”

“Yes,” Kyle said. “Get me through to Gabriel, will you, Chelsea?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, then swiftly did as he asked.

“Hello,” Gabriel’s voice came over the line.

“Hello, Mr. Steele. Mr. Valente is on the line.”

“What the hell, Kyle? Didn’t I just leave your damn office?”

He waited until Chelsea hung up the phone to answer the man.

“Well get your ass back down here then,” he chuckled. “We have a meeting with David Mitchum, and I need a new contract made.”

Gabriel groaned. “Are you fucking kidding—”

“Trust me, Gabe,” Kyle cut him off. “Trust me. This one is it. I think I have a plan.”

“This better be it,” Gabriel grumbled. “I’m on my way.”

With that, he hung up the phone.

Sitting back in his seat with a sigh, he turned his chair so that he could face the window, see the view.

He had a plan. He finally had a plan, and this time it was going to work. He was going to please Nathan, and just like his father had said, after this, Nathan was going to bestow on him the keys to the Empire.

The sound of her cell phone going off for the millionth time today made Reanna want to reach in her purse, grab the damn thing, and hurl it into the bustling New York traffic.

“Dammit,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “So annoying.”

Rolling her eyes, she continued to push her way through the crowded sidewalk, trying her best not to get trampled.

Being short in New York freaking City was definitely not ideal when one was as anxious as Reanna was right now.

For her entire photo shoot, Reanna’s mind had been troubled, her stomach twisted in knots, all because of what Ronaldo had said in her office.

“Damn, Rea.”

The sound of Ronaldo’s annoyed voice behind her, prompted her to look back at him just in time to see him adjusting his sunglasses.

“Answer that damn phone or turn it off, bubbles. What the hell?”

Frowning, Reanna shook her head. “It’s not my fault, Ron.”

“Damn it ain’t.”

“It isn’t,” she insisted firmly. “It’s Braden. He won’t stop calling me.” At the sound of his name coming from her own lips, Reanna rolled her eyes.

She never thought that man’s name would cause her so much irritation, but sadly, it was. And yes, Reanna felt a little bad, but her feelings toward the man couldn’t be helped, especially not after today.

He was freaking stalking her. Like literally stalking her! And it was annoying the shit out of her.

Seriously! Reanna had never had to deal with anything like it before. He’d been calling her non-stop all day, he’d showed up at her studio, begging for her to talk to him, and when she didn’t give him what he wanted, he took it. He’d pulled her to her office by gripping the hell out of her arm.

As much as Reanna had hated that, she hadn’t had her staff call the police on him as they’d wanted to in the beginning, because she’d wanted to officially end things between her and Braden. To tell him the truth and be done with it all. But of course, upon doing that … he’d freaking flipped out. Yelled at her, called her a liar, a whore for cheating on him, a bitch for leading him on. Reanna had never seen him angrier than he’d been in that office, and she felt bad about being the one to bring the worst out of him. Although she really did feel remorse for breaking his heart, she had no intention of ever speaking to him again after their last interaction, and she wished he felt the same. But it seemed he didn’t.

He was still calling.

Still harassing her, still texting her, still trying to find her, probably following her, and Reanna was really considering calling Kyle. She would have done it already if she wasn’t afraid he’d kill Braden.

“You need to tell that asshole to leave you alone, Rea,” Ronaldo spoke up from behind her.

Reanna’s lips pursed. “Don’t you think I already did that?”

“Well, do it better,” he said sharply. “That bastard had everybody at the shoot afraid for your safety. I thought he was hitting you when I busted in that office.”

Ronaldo and a few of the other guys from the set had burst into her office once Braden had started throwing things. Reanna thanked God they had come in there, because Braden wouldn’t let her leave the office. Every time she had tried, he’d gripped her arm painfully hard, and pulled her back away from the door.

Her arm was actually hurting because of it. Just a little sore, probably nothing serious.

They’d all dragged him out after that, called the cops, then they’d continued their shoot with the studio doors locked.

“I still think you should call Kyle.”

“No,” Reanna replied firmly.

“Why the hell not, Rea?” Ronaldo immediately began to argue. “He’s your fiancé, he can take care of it for you. Braden will never fuck with you again if Kyle gets his hands on him.”