Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance

Monday — February 11

It took about three days to set up the meeting with Makarov. The man was elusive, not wanting to meet secretly while being asked not to bring his security with him. He had every right to be cautious—not that Gael planned to harm him or anything. That wasn't his intention at all.

Eventually, he agreed to meet privately at a restaurant of his choosing. It was in a small Chinese restaurant with private dining rooms in the Upper East Side.

Gael went there with Savannah, leaving his men to guard Angela in his brownstone and bringing only Rio with him. Rick was still recovering, and he wanted Trigger to be in charge of Angela's security while he was away. To say that she was okay with him being out with Savannah was a lie. She frowned when she found out who he would be with, but she didn't say anything else—she didn't have to, though. He knew she was still wary about Savannah.

In the past, he didn't care for it. Savannah had been a loyal friend and a great lawyer when he needed her with legal matters. Nothing romantic happened between them, and he hadn't felt anything from her that told him she was interested in him. In fact, Savannah swore she would never be interested in dating him or anyone from his family. But he couldn't say the same with Giovanni. Gael knew something happened between the two at one point—or maybe until now—after all, they knew each other longer. He wouldn't put it past his uncle not to tap her—or keep tapping her. Savannah was definitely Giovanni's type.

Not Gael's, though. He could admit Savannah was attractive, but not enough for him to make a move on her. He valued their friendship. Besides, he was head over heels in love with Angela. His eyesight was that of a horse in a race track where all he saw was his Angel at the finish line. So while he didn't care for Savannah as more than a friend, he cared about Angela's feelings, and he didn't want her to be bothered. Savannah was closed off, and Angela didn't know her well enough. Which was why he needed to make the two get to know each other. 

"Where the hell is he?" Savannah clicked her tongue as she checked her watch for the hundredth time today. They were supposed to meet Makarov at 1 p.m. It was only five minutes past one, but she hated tardiness. It also probably didn't help that she once won a case against Makarov's wife years ago, and she thought the man held a grudge against her. She didn't like this meeting any more than Gael did.

On the other hand, Gael kept his cool, cracking his neck from side to side and moving his shoulders to see if his back still hurt. It was not as painful as the first few days, but the soreness and tenderness were still there.

Just as Savannah rechecked her watch—not two minutes later—the door to the private room opened, and Makarov entered, a man in a suit and thick eyeglasses following behind him. Makarov stood tall and imposing, his serious gaze glancing between Gael and Savannah who didn't bother to get up on his arrival. He looked pretty much like his pervert of a son whom Gael taught a lesson a few weeks ago for touching Angela—except he looked a much older version with grey hair on the sides of his head. 

Makarov took a deep breath before settling in his seat across from them. The man with glasses remained standing a couple of feet behind him. "What is this about, De Luca? I'm busy," was Makarov's first greeting.

Gael slid a black folder towards the other without preamble and said, "KMH's 2%. I want it."

Makarov had only glanced at the folder without checking the inside before his eyes shot up to Gael's. He looked slightly surprised, but he quickly masked his expression and raised his chin. His eyes flashed at Savannah as if assessing her. Her expression was unreadable, her stoic appearance giving off a vibe that said she didn't have time to play games. She was used to Gael's way of handling things, and she preferred a direct approach.

Makarov shifted his gaze back to Gael. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're wasting your time here." He got to his feet, pushing back the chair, and it skidded loudly against the floor. Without saying anything else, he was already on his way out the door.

Gael needed this transaction. He had already given up building the new company for this. There was no way he would let this go.

"I didn't want to have to use this." Gael tossed a brown mailer envelope onto the table. That caught Makarov's attention that he stopped in his tracks, and his gaze fell at the mysterious mailer.

"What is this?" Makarov asked as he stepped closer and picked it up. The envelope was thick in his hands. His jaw clenched.

Gael didn't say anything. He merely looked Makarov in the eye. The older man couldn't stand being stared down by someone much younger than him.

Makarov checked the mailer's contents with a grunt, and he paled. There were photos and papers of him and a younger girl at a restaurant outside New York. His eyes went wide, and his grip was so tight his knuckles turned white. "You!" He seethed and glared at Gael.

"Sign the papers, and those will be destroyed."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not cheating on my wife with this—"

"Oh, I know. She's not a mistress," Gael interrupted in a calm voice. He took a sip of his black coffee in a leisurely manner. Now that he got the other's attention, the rest would be easier. "She's your daughter—from a married woman. Delilah, the mother, is a politician's wife. Did I get that right?"

Makarov's hand—the one holding the photos—shook, and his pale face turned red from anger. "I knew partnering with you lots was a mistake. We've warned Pakhan not to get involved with you Italians, but he is too blind to see what scums you all are." He spat at the word Italian as if the word itself was offensive. 

This was why Gael wanted to avoid having to blackmail Makarov. He didn't want to risk getting him all pissed and have him start tattling to the Pakhan that would cause a rift between their families. A war between them wasn't necessary. But he was desperate.

A small smirk formed at the corner of Gael's lips. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. Despite himself, he didn't show any fear.

"Let's not pretend you wouldn't do anything less similar to this if you find our alliance no longer fits your goals. We know you also keep tabs on us. And we all knew what we agreed to since our partnership. Also, I'm not targeting the Pakhan at all. I would never." That would be a grave mistake. "And I'll pretend I didn't just hear you say he's blind. He doesn't need to know what you think of him. This…" He waved at the contract. "…has nothing to do with our alliance. This is a personal business matter between you and me."

Makarov swallowed, and he stood taller as if realizing he had just slipped out of anger. It took him a few beats before he spoke again. "Still. If Pakhan knew what you're doing to me—"

"What I'm doing has always been the way I conduct business. I'm not asking you to hand over the shares without getting anything in return. If you had just read the contract, you'd find I'm rather generous with how much I'm willing to pay for the shares."

Makarov placed a hard fist on the table as he lowered his head slightly to look Gael in the eyes. "As I've said, you're wasting your time. I can't sign it because I don't own any shares from KMH."

Gael's brows drew together. When he mentioned KMH earlier, he could've sworn Makarov reacted. "There's evidence linking you to Kline and Morgan."

"I'm not finished. I don't own the shares, but I know who does. I'm only the messenger—that's why I showed up in your little investigation."

"Then who?"

Makarov took a step back, lifting his chin once more. "If I tell you, you have to swear this," he gestured at the brown envelope where he had already stuffed the pictures back inside, "won't come to light. Or I swear to God, boy. I don't care about the alliance. I will bury you alive in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere."

Gael couldn't care less about Makarov's secret daughter. He only wanted the shares. "Who?" he asked again in a clipped voice.

Taking a deep breath, Makarov turned towards the door. "Tomorrow. Here. At one o'clock." Then he looked over in their direction. "You come alone. Your lawyer stays outside." Then he left, the door clicking behind him.

"Shit," Gael cursed. "I don't like this.. I have a bad feeling about who I'm going to meet tomorrow."