“Un tel manque de respect. Tu pensais qu’un costume cher ferait de toi un homme digne?” Such disrespect. You think an expensive suit makes you a worthy man?”
I assess his suit. “Definitely not.”
Before my blatant insult can sink in, I lift my chin to Luis waiting in the driver’s seat. “Longchamp. Merci.”
Antoine pauses his cigarette halfway to his mouth as we race away from the curb. “What business do you have at the horse race?”
I shrug, loving the feel of the expensive shirt linen on my skin. “Maybe I’m interested in the sport.” His soulless black eyes narrow. “Business that doesn’t concern you and has nothing to do with our arrangement.”
He thrusts his index finger at me, the cigarette burning low between his fingers. “You are testing my patience, Ezekiel.”
“I don’t answer to you.”
“Tu le feras si cela affecte mon business.” You will if it affects my business.
“Tell me where I have not held up my end of our agreement, and I will gladly explain myself.”
For years I’ve played shepherd for him, using his underground reputation to both grow and educate his army, herding to gather my own intel while siphoning less than a quarter of his recruits.
What Antoine doesn’t know hasn’t hurt him in the slightest, but it’s greatly helped to elevate me to the position I want to be in. But the more I do for him, the less satisfied he seems to be. With my stint in France coming to an end, he’s been searching for any possible angle to get his hooks in me. He wants me as his second, and it’s never going to fucking happen.
“I have looked out for you, Ezekiel, have I not?”
“We’ve looked out for each other.”
“Why do you feel the need to exclude me from something that’s beneficial?”
“Who says it is?”
“Do you consider me a fucking fool?”
“I consider you a partner.”
Reaching into his small bar, I pour myself a splash of gin. I’m already sweating, and I need to calm my mind. This is a setback I didn’t fucking need so early in the day.
Antoine scrutinizes me carefully. He has a mistress in Pigalle, close to where his tailor is, and I know that’s where he just came from. He reeks of cheap rose perfume. On the other hand, his wife is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s painfully apparent she’s deeply miserable with him. Despite her efforts to get my attention, I haven’t laid a hand on her, nor do I intend to.
Often—especially when I visit their home in Montmartre—I catch her staring at me. The attraction is mutual, but there is zero benefit of acting on it. She’s in her late twenties and desperate for any man to take her away from the man sitting across from me. Sadly, I won’t be that man, but I do catch Palo, Antoine’s most trusted lieutenant, staring at her the same way. One day, I may be able to use that in a play against him.
Emotions, namely love, can make even the strongest man weak, giving opponents leverage. Leverage I never intend to let another have on me.
“Partners share information.”
“Fine. I plan on hiring my own car soon to save you any future imposition.”
“Ah, you’re intent on being greedy?”
“It’s greed that has you badgering me.”
“I have shared with you.”
“You’ve given me scraps, small ends.”
“Only because you refuse to partake in any real business.” He keeps his voice even despite his temperament, a trait I’ve adapted myself.