Page 5 of Red Retaliation
Not after Lorna.
I pull down the cuffs of my Savile Row shirt. It’s not that I’m ashamed of the tattoos covering my body - far from it.
One in particular was the muse for renaming the casino:The Scorpio Lounge.
One of the many chicks I’ve bedded remarked once that the black and red scorpion on my chest was like me: deadly with a sting. Aredsting, like my name.
And I am Red. Plain old Redmond Bateman. That’s the way I like it. But the scorpion, or ratherScorpio, seemed fitting for calling the casino of the firm I took the reins of.
I double-check my shirt cuffs. My attention to detail stems from preferring perfect alignment. Now that my cuffs are at the right level below the sleeves of my expensive, tailored suit jacket, I’m happy.
All of us brothers wear nice clothes. It took a long time to reach the place where we warranted them. The general consensus from firms like the Galvatores and Bristonis is that we have no right to this finery and should remain in oil-stained denim - a more fitting attire to our station. But we’ve more than earned our place in this city, and when the time is right, I intend to further that position and, most importantly, orchestrate payback.
Suddenly, I catch sight of something I don’t like the look of. Plunging over the table, ignoring the drinks I’ve sent flying, I grab Liam around the throat, my fingers crumpling the starched collar of his shirt. Before his shock registers, my other hand yanks his out from up the skirt of the woman on his lap.
The woman looks at me with what could be gratitude, although it could be resentment. She can save either emotion for someone who cares. I am not that person. “Shove off,” I mumble. She doesn’t need telling twice, and with her stilettos crunching in the broken glass underneath the table, she skitters across the glossy floor. It’s only then that I release my hand from Liam’s throat.
Liam indignantly straightens his shirt. “What did you do that for?”
“It’s not how we roll.” My words spit between my teeth, my eyes drilling into my brother. “This isn’t a fucking knocking shop. Keep whatever you do behind closed doors, not in here. I won’t tolerate anything backing up our reputation of being cheap, in-bred wankers, running half of London with mindless violence and no brains. I won’t give those Italian bastards ammo for the bullshit they speak about us.”
Liam has the good grace to look contrite, but he’s thirty-one now, not fourteen, therefore I expect him to have a mode of decorum, and he damn well knows it.
“Come on.” Oscar gets to his feet, his hand on our youngest brother’s shoulder. “Let’s go and sort out the shit needed for tomorrow.”
When Oscar glances at me for approval, I give a slight nod, realizing a small part of him resents okaying everything he does with me, but that’s just the way it is. He also knows I’m not happy with Liam’s show of disrespect. It’s unlikely that woman will complain. Having a Bateman’s hands down her panties in public brings kudos. But that isn’t happening here. It’s not a look I want associated with my firm.
And itismy firm now, and therefore it’s time my brothers, especially Liam, remembered that. Our parents dying six months ago, forcing me to step into the helm, was a surprise to all of us - none more so than me. We’dall figured our father had many more years ahead of him before he dropped off this mortal coil, but the fatal car accident which killed our parents, cut us to the quick. It was devastating.
It became much more than that when I discovered, purely by chance, that itwasn’tan accident.
It was then my anger had no mercy - especially when I found out the last person I’d expected engineered the accident.
My hatred fires up to heat steadily through my veins, but I keep it at bay like I’ve quickly learned to do on this subject.
I removed the culprit - one of them - but not without allowing a false assumption to run to conceal the truth, along with my additional suspicions from my brothers. If they knew, then they’d react the same way that I’ve wanted to react every second of every day since.
But when the time is right, I’ll tell them that my own fiancée was behind it. I will tell them about Lorna’s part in our parents’ death when I finally prove who she was working for. And when I do, I need to ensure the firm is up to the level it needs to be to unleash a full-blown war.
Taking another mouthful of whiskey, I force my rising fury to remain under wraps. The important thing is keeping the reputation intact of what our father fought so hard to achieve, paving the way for us to continue. As is the big delivery tomorrow. And that must pull off perfectly because it will bring an additional chunk of territory, as well as a shitload of drugs.
In the grime of the backstreets, my father built up this firm from scratch. He’d done well, and now it’smyturn.
But regardless of the situation and me and my brothers’ foibles, me, Liam and Oscar are a team. We work well together, and when push comes to shove, we’re on the same page which is a vital part of success.
A smile pushes the frown off my face. The fresh territory we’re about to gain will stick an additional finger up to the Bristoni and Galvatore bastards.
Both those Italian firms have been after our slice of London for as long as I can remember. Our father got nothing but grief from them for years and fought tooth and nail to keep his place. He lost much -fartoo much at the hands of those conniving, slimy cunts, but they’ve been quiet the past few years and I’m happy to let it remain that way.
For now.
They’re waiting for an opportunity to strike and expected us to fold after our father’s death, but we didn’t. Far from it. This unnerved them, so they haven’t yet made their move.
Likewise, neither have I.
But I will. Because my driving force to prove my suspicions and take them down, makes any reason they have for winning this battle, which hasn’t even started yet, look like chicken shit.
We’re stronger than they expected, and that’s something I’ll nurture until the day comes, hopefully sooner rather than later, when we move on themfirst.
