Jordyn nodded warily. "Always is."
"Good," Antony replied with a grin. "Send him a drink, whatever he likes. Do be sure to tell him it's from a guest. Antony Marcello and his crew. Do not mistake my name when you tell him. Be sure to point me out so he sees me. Understood?"
"Got it."
With that, the woman Lucian simply needed to glance at to turn his skin ablaze and his heart stuttering, was walking away.
She didn't look back.
Chapter Five
Jordyn managed to keep some sort of composure as she circled the table with two bottles of unopened beer resting precariously between her fingers. Barely managed, though, because she could feel the eyes of Lucian Marcello watching and dissecting her every single move.
Hazel eyes, she knew.
It was unnerving.
Jordyn wasn't entirely sure she disliked his attention.
That was even more frightening.
What did he want from her? This strange man, well-dressed, sitting straight, a hint of an accent saturating around the edges of his words, looking as if he owned the fucking world, and like maybe he'd like to own her.
Jesus, did he?
Would he?
She assumed he was older than her by a few years, but only because experience aged his heavy gaze. That wasn't the only thing she noticed about him. During their brief encounter in the confessional, Jordyn had been much too shocked to take in all the man's handsome features before he disappeared. Now, she was seeing all of them. Broad shouldered with a suit that covered him as if it were a glove hugging his frame, it was obvious Lucian was quite fit. A strong jaw, full lips that always seemed to be fighting to pull into a smirk, dark hair hanging a little too long over his fierce stare, and chiseled cheekbones.
Handsome was an understatement, the man was gorgeous.
Frankly, the whole damn bunch were good-looking, but oddly, Jordyn was only able to really focus on Lucian. Because he was clearly focusing in on her.
Ron hadn't been entirely pleased when Jordyn passed on the drink for him from the man named Antony, never mind when she pointed him out as was requested. She hadn't quite figured out just who these Marcello men were. Guessing from the way every MC member in the room had suddenly flocked the walls and doors, watching the strange encounter happening at a new table in the middle of the room, they weren't average men.
It was only after the four Marcello men had moved to the new table to sit with Ron and his two guys did Jordyn notice the other six men seemingly coming out of the woodwork as well. They, like the newcomers, were well-dressed and well-spoken. They stood much closer to the table than any of the MC members did, standing behind each Marcello man like a protector of sorts. Quiet and formidable, each man had his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes glued to the table.
Definitely not ATF or federal agents.
Jordyn placed the two bottles of beer down, one for Ron, and another for one of the club's captains. Tension seemed to rocket sky high. Most of the conversation was spoken quietly, so low others couldn't hear. Ron made it clear Jordyn needed to be the one serving the table, considering she was the only girl in the joint not high or drunk and able to keep her head on straight under stressful situations.
"I'm entirely unimpressed by my businesses being involved in The Sons of Hell's messes." Antony sipped from his whiskey, cocking a brow to the man across the table. It seemed to Jordyn like a challenge. "It looks badly on my family. If your men wish to go around sharing bullet wounds with police, that's fine, but keep it away from the Marcellos. This isn't difficult to understand. It's not rocket science. You make it clear to Will Vetta he and his men are to stay away from my businesses and crews, and I will keep mine away from him. Trust me, Ron, he wants us to stay away. I'm not asking for a lot here."
"So, let me get this straight," Ron said quietly, popping open his beer before taking a long swig. "You're just here to chat, huh?"
"For now," Antony replied indifferently. "That could easily change."
Even Jordyn, not entirely sure of what these men were here for, heard the underlying threat in those words. How confident in themselves were they to walk into a biker bar clearly owned by nothing more than a dangerous gang, and do what they were doing. Very, obviously.
Antony smiled, the sight turning almost predatory. "You don't seem concerned, Ron. I can assure you that you should be."
"Of what, a small group of mobster wannabes tossing around unfounded threats? Listen, if Will was worried about your family, he would handle it."
Mobsters?
The youngest man barked out a bitter laugh. "There's your first."
"First what?" Ron asked.
"Mistake," Lucian stated darkly. "Now you're wearing on our nerves faster than before. I'd step very carefully from here on out."
Jordyn wasn't sure what to make of those words, but it seemed serious. Lucian hadn't even attempted to hide his distain or anger when he spoke. Not to mention the disgust curving his lips into a scowl.
"Listen," Ron spat, setting his bottle down to the table hard enough to spill liquid from the top. "You come into our territory-"
"Mistake two," Antony interrupted, smiling in that frightening way of his again. "You may sell your drugs and deal your pitiful stash of illegal weapons from your businesses here in Brooklyn, but do not mistake whose territory this is. There are three major Cosa Nostra families in New York. Together, the bosses and underbosses make up the Commission for all organized crime that need a voice and deserve to be heard from here, to Vegas, to Chicago, to Canada. Mine is the biggest, Ron. Mine is the most dangerous. Mine is the one that runs Brooklyn's streets and turns the profit. If I want you out, you will go."
Cosa Nostra? The Commission? Families?
Those words seemed foreign to Jordyn, but at the same time, familiar.
"Try not to make a third mistake," the quietest man said. "This might not end well."
Jordyn could see the twitch beginning to form in Ron's cheek. That usually signaled his agitation, and if she didn't have to be serving the table, she'd make herself scarce. "How? Send your dogs after us, Antony?"
The youngest man grinned, baring his teeth. "Woof, woof."
Ron sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "It seems there's something about your family we've overlooked. If you're really as dangerous as you say, I'd expect to see the police making a bit more of a fuss about you, in the least. I don't hear of your … what do you call them, crews, is it? I don't hear of them making a ruckus on the streets, or causing problems. Are you really as big as you think you are?"
Antony sighed and held up three fingers, signaling what Jordyn thought to be the final mistake of the evening. "La Cosa Nostra does not draw attention to themselves unless they have to. A boss-a good one-doesn't need to. But, to be sure, let me explain just how big I truly am. I have a syndicate in every state in this country. Contacts from shore to shore that push my products and pay me to work for me. I am involved with the Cubans, Russians, Japanese, Chinese, and the Mexicans, to name a few. I can't count the amount of politicians I have in my pocket. Your pathetic chapters can't move within this country without me knowing about it. You can't sell a thing without my people finding out.
"The thing is, gangs like yours help to keep the heat from families like mine. Your messes, your drugs, and your public disgraces, they keep eyes away from the guns we're shipping out, the drugs we're importing in, and the money we're making. You want to call me a mobster, as if I'm nothing more than some bootlegging man turning a buck. That's laughable. I am Mafioso. My grandfather, his father-they helped to make this country what it is. The FBI was formed to catch men like me, and yet they can't."
Antony leaned back in his chair, matching Ron in his stature. "We are not you, with your little clubs causing issues, frightening the public, and making ourselves known at every turn. We are the mafia. Do not mistake our organizations to be one in the same. We are nothing like you."
We are the mafia.
Jordyn froze as she was making the move to leave the vicinity of the table. Antony's words rang through her mind like a heavy toll bell. It repeated over and over. A warning. A threat. A promise. Four words, but it was all of that at once.
The slightest graze of something smooth, soft, and warm against Jordyn's exposed hip bone almost caused her to stumble. The gentle touch sent what seemed like a zing straight through every nerve in her body. He'd touched her tattoo of Gabe's name. The simplest brush of his fingertip was electrifying.
Glancing down, Jordyn met Lucian's stare, but just as quickly, he looked away.
She couldn't breathe.
"What is you want?" Ron asked, sounding a little less angry than before.
"Respect," Antony replied. "It's what makes this crime world of ours turn, after all. You can't run if I don't want you to, and I can't remain peaceful if this nonsense with the police continues. When I ask for a meeting, I expect to get one. When I demand your men stay away from my businesses, I want that adhered to."