Page 33 of Seized By the Mafia King
It’s for Willow’s good that I’m not allowing her family near her. “I’m not meeting with?—”
“You are, it’s not even worth the argument, Bethnal.” Anwyn’s bright voice cuts in, and there’s silence.
I look down at Willow beside me, wordlessly asking her opinion.
“It can’t hurt to hear them out?” she whispers.
It absolutely can. I don’t trust those fuckers. They’ll try to manipulate this situation. But so long as I keep Willow, anything else is sacrificial.
“Fine.”
We meet in a restaurant where the outskirts of London slide into the Essex territory. Westminster has snarled at me four times that I didn’t need to do my own checks, and that there was no way things could go wrong because only he and Mayfair are armed.
I sent more men.
It’s only when Turner has had enough too, asking if I want him to build a concrete bunker while he’s at it, that I allow Willow in. It’s an old pub, low ceiling, black painted beams, stone floor, and dark wood chairs with brass domes holding on flower patterned fabric. There are lots of people dining, and only a few look up as we walk in. They’re all eating lunch, casually taking their lives in their hands.
The three Maldon men are waiting, sitting in a line around a third of a round table.
“Willow, are you okay?” one says as we approach.
“I’m fine, Wesley,” she replies tightly, and takes the seat one away from her brother, leaving a gap. I sling my arm over her shoulders as I take the seat furthest, and Mayfair sits next to me. On his other side sit Westminster and his wife, again allowing a space between them and the Maldons.
There’s a glint of black metal out of the corner of my eye as Mayfair settles in his chair. His gun, holstered on his left hip—he must be left-handed—is quickly covered by his suit jacket.
“You screwed with a very lucrative deal for us, Bethnal,” the middle of the Maldon men says. He was at the front of the church, promising to pay Witham’s debts. Robert. He has the vibe of being the eldest, and used to being in charge.
I send him a death stare that would make any of my men cower because they’d know what it meant. Robert isn’t so smart.
I open my mouth to say that I’ll offer whatever they want, then stop. Will that upset Willow if I—in effect—bought her? I regard her profile.
“The loss of the Witham territory, and the damage to the Maldon reputation after that stunt you pulled at the wedding have cost us a lot,” Robert continues, and names a ludicrous figure. “And the cost of our sister’s potential auction price since she isn’t marrying Witham. That’s about half as much again.”
“You think Willow is worth less than the Witham territory?” I enquire. Willow looks down, silent and subdued. I suspect the issue of her value is important. I cannot fuck this up.
“That’s just the price of bitch?—”
“Don’t call her that,” I growl. I won’t have my girl insulted.
“She’s our sister,” Robert replies, curling his lip. “We’ll call her whatever we want.”
“Not in front of me.” I’ve raised my voice, and a couple of diners glance around nervously. “Or you’ll regret it.”
“Miss Maldon will be treated with respect while we’re all at this table,” Westminster interjects in moderate tones.
“We want our sister back,” says the quieter of the three Maldon men.
Willow snorts.
I toy with a tendril of her hair, curling it on my finger until it locks and tugs. She tips her head just an inch, and the sensation of ownership of her is potent. She’s mine. I’m not giving her up.
“Why do you want her?” I suspect I’m not going to like the answer.
“Look, it’s like this,” the other Maldon brother breaks in as Robert starts to speak.
“Who are you?” I snap.
“That’s Liam,” Willow says quietly.
