by An Latro
Remi's eyebrows lift despite himself, and says, “What compensation might you be referring to?”
Seth swallows the dry lump that's suddenly trying to stop his voice. He keeps his chin high when he answers, “My family is in debt to yours. I ask that we can come to some agreements to fulfillment of that debt.”
Remi lets loose a low, wolfish laugh that surprises Seth into stillness. The sound is not quite one of amusement. He takes a moment for a slow sip of scotch, his eyes pinned on Seth as he does. Seth is sure he can see an evil gleam in that gaze. Finally, Remi says, “You know the compensation your family owes.”
“I also know,” says Seth, “that as adults, we can make provisions for an instance when we might want to settle an issue without bloodshed. I'm trying to keep this from becoming a perpetual chain of death. We can end it. And only we can. You and my father never had a rift like this.”
For a long moment, Remi's face remains set in a grim answer, one that Seth begins to believe means he has made a grave mistake in coming here. All he can manage to think is that Emma will be furious if he dies today and proves her right. But then Remi sits back in his chair and folds his hands together on his lap. He says, “I'm afraid my wife will not accept anything less than the traditional payment method. This has destroyed her.”
Seth's brow hardens, and in his moment of misery, he thinks perhaps it's not a bad thing to show the sincerity of his pain right now. He looks away, to the desktop, and let's the storm rage in his eyes. He says, “It has destroyed me, too.”
He hears Remi's breath catch, reminds himself to breath. If Remi knows anything, it's that Seth has always loved his daughter. Then Seth shuts it down, carefully hides his emotions back in the vault where they were, and he turns much colder eyes up to Oliver. Seth continues, “But is your wife also prepared to lose the significant amount of money you make from dealing with my family?”
Remi takes another drink. He shakes the ice cubes around as he sets the glass down. His eyes narrow shrewdly. Of course he's thought about it. But he says, “She is beyond reason.”
Seth gives no time for any more emotion. He says, “Yes, but her word is not the word of blood. You're the only one who can make that decision.”
“Are you suggesting I demolish what's left of my marriage for money's sake?” Remi asks, his tone sliding down the slope toward menacing.
“I'm asking you to be reasonable,” Seth answers
Remi sits up, straightens his posture, and the darkness for which Seth has been waiting finally appears in the other's regard. Remi smooths his tie, an action Seth recognizes as a stolen moment for composition's sake; then he asks, his tone almost violent, “You're asking me to be reasonable about the murder of my only child?”
A point and a blow to Seth's resolve—he manages not to grimace from the truth, but only barely. He twines his fingers together to steady his hands, and says coldly, “I had wanted to keep technicalities out of this, but the truth is that your only child was three seconds from burying me when Emma stopped her. She betrayed me beyond what my own family did.”
Remi is still and silent for long enough for the moment to become uncomfortable. His face has become a passive set, completely unreadable. He waits long enough to be assured that Seth isn't going to wither under the heat. Then, Remi says, “I will consider your solution, and I will have an answer for you within three days.”
Seth’s next breath feels like the first one he's taken since he got in the car with Tinney to drive here. He doesn't let his demeanor relax, though. No, that could be taken as weakness. Instead, he says, “And will you extend the ceasefire until we have met again?”
Remi allows an eyebrow to snag upward. Shortly, he says, “Of course.”
Without pomp, Seth stands, buttons his jacket, and makes sure the eye contact is steady when he says, “Thank you, Remi.”
Never again will he sink to the point where he has to call this man Mr. Oliver. Flashes of his brother's funeral wash through him, when he felt fear in the presence of this giant. A giant no more. No, to Seth, this is a man, one with weaknesses just like any other. Remi says, “I will be in touch.”
Seth's gut does a barrel roll as he, against his instinct, turns his back to Remi. If he doesn't show faith in their temporary truce now, Remi will never take him seriously. His jaw grinds all the way to the door, and only stops once the oak is closed behind him. He nods briskly to security, vaguely ready to counter an attack—one that doesn't come.
Tinney is waiting for him in front of the building. Seth checks his watch as he ducks into the passenger seat. It's been nineteen minutes and counting since he stepped out of the car. Seth grins and reaches for his cell phone. Tinney swings the car into traffic, doing his damnedest to not ask how it went. Seth knows Tinney will never break down and ask, so he waits until they are steadily rolling to say, “We'll meet again in three days.”
“And the ceasefire?” Tinney asks.
Seth answers, “Will hold until then.”
Several slow miles pass before Tinney says, “What do you think he will decide?”
Seth finishes sending a text to Emma and then peels his suit jacket off and tosses it in the back seat. He retrieves his guns and double holster from the glove box. As he begins to put them on, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he says, “Who knows? He's not the only player in that camp. But he's also not one to take others' opinions into consideration when it comes to his bank. We'll just to have to make the best of the next three days. It's a start, and we have a lot to do.”
“And you think he'll honor it?” Tinney asks.
All of Seth's anxiety comes back to the surface, with the knowledge that he’s trusting a man who wants his cousin dead, and he takes a shaky breath. He says, “You would know better than I would. I already told you all I have left is faith.”
The street rumbles beneath them in the moments that pass. Then Tinney says, “Good. Just don't ever lose that.”
Chapter 6. Morgan Estates. New York City. September 27th
The Office Is Buzzing, a low hum of excitement that bristles along her skin. She should have known that Seth would order her office moved to be closer to him, a massive thing in the executive wing. It’s not just that, of course. It’s the watching eyes, the silent knowledge that everyone knows who she is, and what she’s done. It’s being here dressed for the office in a black pencil skirt and a wide neck white silk top, hair pulled in a low, neat ponytail at the back of her neck—all so professional, so mature, a thousand miles from bikinis and sheer coverups.
It’s the long night alone in her penthouse and the tension of Seth’s absence. After a month of sharing space, the distance is almost painful. Even if it’s necessary. She stares at the list of names in front of her. There are some she’s never heard of— people he wants to give positions of power when she knows nothing about them. She taps her pen impatiently, and crosses out two names who served on the board with Mikie. Her intercom chimes.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Morgan, Rama Ratchaphure is here to see you.”
A flutter of nerves rises, and she straightens. She wonders if he ever came here to meet Caleb for business. No. He wouldn’t. Caleb never did any meaningful work in the office. Vaguely, she wonders if she shouldn’t follow her dead cousin’s lead on that.
“I’ll be right out.”
Dom shifts at the door as she stands.
“I want this private,” she says coolly, staring at the bodyguard. She chose him—of all the enforcers in the family, she chose him when Seth asked her to. And he responded with complete loyalty. He stares now, and finally nods.
“I’ll wait outside.”
She gives him a satisfied smile and leads them out of the office.
Rama is standing near the elevator, his hands behind his back. He’s wearing a pair of black suit pants, a red dress shirt and a black tie. Kai lingers near him. He smiles, polite and reserved, when he sees Emma, and for a heartbeat, her steps falter.
She’s on a dance floor, and he’s smiling at her, a slow seduction, and they are not their families. She takes a deep breath, and smiles at him, the practiced, demure smile she reserves for family and court business.
“Right this way. My assistant has everything set up in our conference room.”
It is a strange thing, to step away from intimacy and rely on court protocol and business. But it’s her job.
The conference room is long, with a floor-to-ceiling view of the city, a table of oak and empty chairs. A small lunch has been set out at the far end of the table, next to a neat stack of files that he eyes briefly before focusing on Emma.
She's nervous, her fingers twisting before she forces herself to take a breath. Rama finally breaks a smile.
“Relax, Emma. I want this as much as you.” She makes a little face and he laughs.
“Sit down,” she says, just short of annoyed as she eases into her seat.
The problem, she realizes, staring at him, is that she can’t hide behind protocol and court. He is an ally, but he’s also a friend—her lifeline to the city and syndicate while she and Seth were in seclusion.
“Thank you,” she says, abruptly. Rama’s eyebrows go up, startled and questioning, and she shrugs. “For being there, for Seth and me. You made being gone easier.”
Surprise flickers on his face for a moment. He leans forward, and Emma shifts, sliding him a thin folder.
“This is what I would like to do,” she says.
Rama’s lips thin, but he doesn’t press—he is a foreign ally in a formal situation, even if he has seen the young queen naked and writhing in his sheets. Keeping the two separate is important.
He flicks it open and Emma watches him as he scans the proposal. When he glances at her in surprise, she manages a small smile. “I found some of Caleb’s plans—and I knew him well enough to put some of it together. We’re looking at high-end sex, Rama. We provide the best resort in the state for our clientele to go to, as well as parties in the city twice a month that can move through our hotels. You provide the girls. The blow will come from Seth’s Cuban alliance.”
“And it brings what to me?” Rama asks, a challenge in his tone.
“Aside from the percentage of profits your family will receive—in addition to the cut you take from the girls,” she adds, and Rama grins, a surprisingly boyish expression, “You will do what you came to New York to do. Ally with the Morgans formally. It takes your syndicate from a small nuisance in clubs and restaurants to a legitimate force on the East Coast, which is what you want, right? A foothold here.”
He goes quiet and still, staring at her for long enough that a flush rises in her cheeks. Then he looks back at the proposal. She is guessing on so much—hoping that she has it right based on the little she found in Caleb’s apartment and what she knows about her cousin, but there is the very real fear that Rama will hate the plan.
“This is a large investment, mali.”
Emma’s spine snaps straight and her expression hardens. Rama smiles, quickly hidden as her temper slips, despite her careful control.
“The investment is commensurate of the profits you stand to make. And the risk is largely falling on my people.” She snaps.
She slides another folder to him. He glances at it briefly, seeing the numbers, but doesn’t bother looking at them in depth. Doesn’t seem to care—she isn’t sure if it’s because he trusts her accounting or because he doesn’t care.
“How are you planning on keeping this off the radar?” he asks.
Emma nibbles at her lip and reaches for her wine. Their lunch of seared salmon, rice and roasted baby carrots, prepared by a five star chef, sits ignored.
“We’re buying two resorts. The profits will be absorbed by the legitimate side of both, and we’ll run operations from there.” She offers him a tight smile. “We’re hiding this in plain sight, which is risky but the only way we can make it work. And until the resorts have been remodeled and reopened, we’ll be able to generate profits with the traveling parties.”
“And Seth has agreed to this?” he challenges.
Her eyes go stormy and she sits back, her expression icy. “Are you pushing because it’s expected or because you’re offended I’m the one here instead of him?”
“I’m pushing because this is my family I’m risking, and I’ve been courted and ignored by your people before.”
It’s said quietly, calmly, but she hears the edge in his voice.
“Seth and I wouldn’t bring this to you if we weren’t in agreement,” she says. Stands, and smooths her skirt. “Look at the proposal, Rama. Talk to your people. We need an answer by the end of the week.”
She takes a single step away from the table, and his hand closes around her wrist, a light grip that stops her effortlessly.
“Of course, Emma. All of it—yes.”
She stares at him for a long moment, and then nods once, a tiny smile slipping through, the only expression of her sudden relief. “Then we’ll put everything in motion.”
Chapter 7. Morgan Continental Hotel, Ballroom D. October 3rd
The Clinks Of Silver On plates and the soft murmur of voices overlay the low lighting of the banquet room. This is strange formality, tables full of old acquaintances with the same ties to high crime. An event such as this is extremely hush-hush, and closed to all press.
It's a fitting thing to honor, Seth thinks as he stands back in a hallway behind the stage. This is a proper family reunion, something that hasn't happened since he was too young to care what it actually meant.
For a moment, he just listens. Then, unexpectedly, come flashes of his brother's funeral, when Mikie told him he would go because it was expected. And when he naively told Nicolette that they could change the way of things. All of it, every single anguishing moment of it, comes to this.
He had blatantly ignored his father's last words, and because of it he learned the hardest way possible. The Ouroboros——that goddamned snake eating its own tale. The Morgan mark since well before Seth was a twinkle in the universe. He is stone sober, but his anger makes a rise, not at the way of things, or the universe, or the life he was born into but at himself.
The clues had always been there. The means had always been there. He had thought he knew what it meant to lead, or maybe he just thought everyone would always melt at his stunning charm. Now that he's taken the reins, he realizes he knows nothing of leading. How can he change anything if he can't even hold it steady?
“Looks like everyone's mostly finished eating.”
The voice is close makes him jump; moments later he regrets it. Of course it's her. The tone registers immediately. He turns to find Emma eyeing him with a mixture of concern and surprise that only she can perfect. He laughs at the expression, but it comes out more sheepish than he intends. There's no denying that she caught him, lost in introspection. He says, “I'm ready whenever you are, boss.”
He makes 'boss' as sarcastic as possible, and her expression breaks, torn between the desire to say something comforting or just slap him. She says, “Then lets do this, princess.”
She turns and leaves him, her back stiff with nerves.
Dammit. Her jabs are getting better every day. He rubs his ribs as if she actually hit him, and shakes his head. He never dreamed this would be a lose/lose game. Still, a melancholy smile takes his lips. She's always looking out for him, and she’s young enough to think he doesn't notice—but hasn’t that always been her way? Assuming that Seth didn’t notice her infatuation and her blushes, the anger she never hid very well when Nic came around.
His hand slides from his side to his shoulder. He's taken off the sling, and the wound aches. Maybe it always will.
You were right, Dad. And so was I. If I had known it would be like this, I would have changed it all, but then I never would have gotten here.
He straightens his tie, which is surprisingly in place, and takes a deep breath. When he rounds the corner, and mounts the stage, he is an enviable echo
of his father's calm. The room has quieted by the time he reaches the podium. What was it Remi had said at Caleb's funeral? That Seth was the only one who could quell the unrest. Another boding omen that has proved to be true. As Seth looks around at the familiar faces, he vows to be just that.
He sees Emma watching from the corner of the room. When he told her to set this up, what he wanted to do, she’d been hopeful and nervous. She still is, but she hides the nerves well.
Every eye in the room is on him, standing in the spotlight as he always has, yet representing so much more. The tension is palpable, the anticipation and, yes, the fear. He smiles, looks down at the wood for just a moment, then back into the faces of his empire.
His. Empire.
He finds her in the crowd and she smiles for him, a tiny affirmation.
“We have endured a very savage time.” His voice amplifies over the crowd, and it is gentle—so very gentle. “We have endured a lot of uncertainty. But we have endured. I understand if you are uneasy, and that's why I've called for this meeting. I want you all to know where I stand. To this day, there are things that I don't know, details I may never understand about the way life was here while I was gone. That's why, from this moment, all of you who are under this roof have a clean rap. If you were my enemy, I grant you pardon.”
He pauses for a moment as the shock and outrage slingshot around the room. His expression never changes as he lets his words sink into sense. In her corner, Emma isn’t watching him. Her gaze is tracking the family, watching expressions. No one notices her—no one ever has, and even now, she is hiding behind her demure façade, and helping him by watching the family he is so adamant about trusting.
“I hereby invoke the Morgan family code so that our family can have a moment of reprieve. Time is fast for people like us, and we have to be smart if we want to survive. Sometimes this life can make you forget that you're human, but we can't afford to forget that. I want this family to thrive, and I want to be able to eat lunch without dodging bullets. I want that for everyone, not just myself. We were all wronged by my uncle. I want to build us back to the glory of my father's empire. I want you all to help me.”
