Page 22 of Dimitri
Rimi’s crew has been silent for over six months now—double the length of time Roxanne was an inpatient at Erkinsvale Private Hospital. I don’t fucking like it. A ransom payment for Fien hasn’t been requested in months. That makes me edgy because if I’m not paying to keep her safe, how can I be assured she is?
Although I understand the reasoning for the silence—Rimi now has both sides of the law chasing him—usually nothing stops business from progressing in this industry. Not even having my wife kidnapped and my daughter forcefully removed from her stomach saw me awarded any leeway. I work or die. I don’t have any other option, so why isn’t it the same for Rimi?
After grinding my jaw side to side, frustrated by the world I was born in, I restart the live feed just as Rocco’s face fills the screen of my phone. “Satisfied?” he asks, sounding anything but.
Even with the eyes of thirty men on me, impatiently awaiting my verdict, I jerk up my chin. I don’t know why I needed to see Roxanne move into a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the middle of Erkinsvale anymore than I needed to watch her walk out of the hospital three months ago, but for some reason, the urge wouldn’t pass no matter how hard I fought it, so I gave in and let fate play its hand for once.
Will my indecisiveness see me scolded for the third time in my life?
Only time will tell.
“What now?” Rocco mutters, aware one task never ends without another one taking its place.
Hummed whispers bounce around the room when I reply, “Organize the jet to collect me. It’s time for me to return home.”
The sternness of my jaw doubles when Rocco mutters, “For your girl?”
His smile tells me his comment had nothing to do with my daughter, but I act stupid. “If you’re referencing Fien, yes.”
“What?” He pushes out a few seconds later, incapable of ignoring the wrath of my glare for a second longer. I’ve always been a temperamental prick with a short fuse, but it’s grown substantially worse over the past six months. “You’ve had me stalking that girl for months. Justine’s recovery didn’t even get this much heat, and you take the blame for what happened to her.”
I didn’t think my mood could get any worse, however it just did. My father’s verdict for Justine’s ‘supposed’ disrespect was an hour in a room with a dog trained to kill. Maddox moved fast after I called him, but he was still minutes too late. Justine was torn to shreds.
I asked Rocco to keep me updated on the progress of her recovery. That surveillance wasn’t as easy for him to conduct as it was Roxanne’s because Justine has an army of people propping her up. Roxanne has no one. From what Smith tells me, her parents are alive, but she hasn’t seen them in years. Her grandfather passed away a year before her grandmother, and she has no known siblings.
Do I feel sorry for her? Not. At. All. There are far worst things she could have faced than being forced to live with her grandparents. Her daddy could have sold her to his friends for the night like he has her mother multiple times when his drug supplies get low.
If a man pays to fuck you, he’ll take it with or without your permission. Nearly every man around this table has done so in the past. The sex slave industry is rife at the moment. It’s right up there with baby-making factories.
That’s what my meeting today is about. A new baby-making facility is hoping to place footholds in the Sicily region. They want to take sex slaves, impregnate them, then sell their babies to the highest bidder.
Although this scheme isn’t close to my predicament, I can’t help but source similarities from it. Fien wasn’t sold to the highest bidder, but is that because I can afford to keep her safe? What would happen if that changed? Would she be passed on to the next candidate? Or killed like her mother?
Just the thought has my mood souring to the lowest it’s been. “Organize a meeting with my father within hours of my return,” I say down the line after standing to my feet, hopeful the table’s height will hide the raging pulse of my cock not even a bad mood could slacken. “I have some questions I’d like to ask him.”
Rocco scrubs at the stubble on his chin. “I don’t think it’s wise to mingle with him right now, Dimi. He’s knee-deep in some murky shit.”
“Murkier than this?” His silence speaks volumes. The only time Rocco is ever quiet is when I’m right. If I’m wrong, he shouts it from the rooftops. “Although the journey to my takeover is miles away, at one stage, I must take the first step. That time is now, Rocco.”
Since all is said and done, I disconnect our video chat, shut down my phone, then slide it into the pocket of my trousers. Despite the brief intermission, today is all about business, so I’m dressed to the nines—expensive suit, designer tie, diamond-encrusted cufflinks. If you didn’t know any better, you could confuse me with a legitimate businessman. It’s just the crooked people I’m forced to deal with day in and day out that would have you thinking differently.
“I gave your business proposal my utmost devotion the past week. The figures cited are impressive considering the lack of capital needed, and it appears as if you have infrastructure and clientele at the ready.” The faces of the men seated around me gleam with hope, optimistic I’m about to approve their baby-making facility. “But…” I wait to ensure they have plenty of time to absorb the snip of annoyance in my tone before continuing, “Operations like this don’t sit well with me. I want to drag my family’s name out of the mud, not smear it with more dirt.”
“But Dimitri, your father—”
“Lost the ability to make decisions for this sanction many moons ago,” I interrupt, equally frustrated and shocked someone had the gall to speak against me. The day you lose respect in this industry is the day you retire.
I don’t mean to an old folks home. I meaneternalretirement.
When my eyes stray to my contester, the reasoning behind his boldness becomes apparent. Cristo is one of my father’s longest-known associates. He practically ran this chapter of Italy before I arrived. He didn’t like handing over the reins, but he didn’t have much choice. Names open doors in this industry, not decades of service.
“I said no—”
My nostrils flare to suck in a quick breath when Cristo defies me for the second time. “Your father approved our tender. Today’s meeting is merely to tie up loose ends…” His arrogant words are gobbled up by a big swallow when I nudge my head an inch to the right, wordlessly demanding for Clover to move to his side of the room. Clover won’t kill him. He’ll just linger nearby in case he needs to muzzle his mouth. I’d hate for his throaty gargles to frighten his employees.
More times than not, a bullet to the head instantly kills you, but there are a handful of occasions where the bullet doesn’t traverse through the midsection of the brain, leaving the victim gurgling on their blood for a good three or so minutes. It’s rare but possible to survive a bullet wound to the head. I’ve seen it twice in my lifetime.
My lips twist when Cristo goes down without the slightest snivel. I wouldn’t have minded hearing him sob. He was an arrogant prick who should have been taken out with the trash decades ago.
