Page 67 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Prince

I clear my throat. “Nothing to worry about, Marcus.”

“Alright then.”

“We can discuss our unfinished business right here. We have all the privacy we need.”

His eyes flicker toward my men in the front seat.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I say reassuringly.

He nods in response.

“Your coke is stronger than the rest on the market. It has less impurities.”

“Ah yes,” he grins wide. “My supplies come from a friend in Bolivia. They make the finest coke.”

“I want it.”

“It's more expensive than anything sold around here, Luca. More quality means moresoldi(money).”

“That wouldn’t be a problem, Marcus. Let me know when the next shipment arrives.”

“Just how much are we talking about?”

“About a ton.”

He adjusts in his seat and stares at me.

“That is... that is quite a lot, Luca.”

“I’m about to take back the city. I need to have the good stuff stocked in my warehouses to meet my clients' demands.”

“Fair enough. Although I’m not certain if I can handle that much, seeing as how you just returned to the game.”

I rest my palm on his left knee and squeeze lightly. “You’re a smart man, Marcus. I’m sure you’ll find a way. Right?”

“Yes. I will,” he nods in response.

“Good.”

I remove my fingers from his knee.

“Cheers to our business together.” He stretches his hand toward me.

I shake in return, firmly holding his hand before I let go.

“I should get back to the party. I’ll stay in contact with you, Luca De Santi.”

I hit the window glass to alert my man outside. The door opens immediately and Marcus makes his way out.

I’ll have one of my men watching him. I need to stay ahead of them. He’ll have to think twice before daring to double-cross me.

I leave the party and go straight to the warehouse, my men and associates waiting in their cars, the headlights casting an eerie glow on the surrounding walls. The cars form a semi-circle, trapping us in a cover of steel.

I step into the center, my cigar clenched between my teeth, and take a long, heavy drag. The smoke billows out, hanging in the air, before it finally dissipates.

I chuckle lowly before asking the question that’s on everyone’s mind. “Which family is responsible for this?”

Nobody says a word.

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