Page 29 of Hate to Love You

“Yes, Boss,” Giorgi replies.

“Would you like two pieces of free advice?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“The first is that the faster you adapt the more likely you are to survive,” I say, going back to my dinner and looking up at the twenty-something year old kid in front of me. “You see life in the mafia is a delicate balance. On one hand, you kids need to be taught how to serve, and mentored. However, on the other hand, if you aren’t also put in dangerous situations where you might die, we won’t ever know how good you are, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Boss,” Giorgi agrees.

“And the second thing is that none of these veterans really want to see you succeed at that. You know why?”

“No, Boss.”

“Because if you succeed, it won’t be long before you’ll be taking a seat away from one of them at the table,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “See, here, it’s survival of the fittest. One man’s fall is another man’s gain. And in this city and in this family, if you stop being relevant and reliable, you stop being fed. So, at some point, you’ll have to drop this whole good boy routine, and get your hands dirty. You’ll have to fight and claw your way into a meal. Or you’ll become the meal, you got me?”

“Yes, Boss,” he nods.

I lean in, a wicked smirk on my face.

“But here’s the crux of it all,” I whisper softly. “While it’s good for you to be starving and threatened enough to fight for that seat, you need to be not threatening enough that one of these older dogs starts thinking that your advancement equals his “retirement.” Otherwise, your life won’t just be tested, it will be threatened. Consistently. You understand me?”

“Yes, Boss,” Giorgi nods, without breaking his stoic stare. “I understand.”

Cal must’ve mentored this one.

Usually making eye contact with me is the first thing the young ones fuck up, mistakenly thinking that they have any sort of right to look their Don in the face.

I know this because I used to get a kick out of beating the ever-loving fuck out of them when they did.

“Are you willing to fight for that spot, kid?” I ask.

But he doesn’t respond.

“I asked you a question!” I thunder suddenly.

But to my surprise, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, his eyes slowly find mine.

“Yes, Boss,” he says, his words polite but his tone firm. “I am.”

Well, what do you know?

Maybe there is some bite in him after all. I stare him down, looking deep into his unmoving brown eyes. The fire held within crackles with an intensity that borders on dangerous and disrespectful, as if he was a kid staring down a train.

But then, just before I’m prepared to knock all of his teeth from his mouth for his bold declaration, he changes course, and lowers his eyes to the ground, returning to his stoic state.

He also knows when to concede. Smart kid.

“Good,” I grin.

“Put me down you asshole!” Kristinah’s voice suddenly echoes loudly through the factory once more.

“Oh, that’s right, she’s still here,” I say, wiping my mouth with my napkin and tossing it on the table in front of me. “Hold!”

My singular command causes the men carrying her to freeze, setting her bound feet back on the ground and gripping her tightly by the shoulders.

“Oh, God,” she pleads, closing her eyes as I slowly approach her, pulling out my phone. “Thank you, Mr. Antonov! I swear, I really didn’t mean to—”

“Say cheese,” I say, holding up the cellphone in my hand, I quickly snap a picture of her.