Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance
The dinner party was held in a Banquet hall, adorned with everything luxurious from floor to ceiling. Several politicians and rich-as-fuck businessmen were present, eager to mingle with each other to gain more power. Everyone present were vampires—only they weren't out for blood. Not always anyway. But they were hungry for money. Lots of it.
For the regular…innocent citizens, they thought they had a choice on who sat to rule New York. What they didn't know was that the governor, the mayor, or whoever was sitting on the throne…were just puppets. And the puppeteers were none other than the people hosting tonight's event. And the puppets were glad to kiss their puppeteers' asses.
Wearing a custom-tailored tux, Gael stood confident in all his dashing glory. His hair was combed neatly and parted to the side and he wore an expression that he usually displayed in front of people who needed to know they couldn't afford to mess with him.
He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to his uncle, Giovanni, who stood next to him, looking just as debonair and composed. The two leaned their backs to the bar and watched the party before them while keeping their distance from the guests who were itching to get a chance to talk to them. It was either a proposal—for business ventures, or a proposition—for sexual favors. Neither of the two attracted them that night, especially the latter.
"Have you told Sandro?" his uncle asked.
Gael briefly glanced at the closed door to the left where they had just come from half an hour ago. Alessandro and his consigliere, and the Russian's Boss and his right-hand man were still behind that door. The leaders and trusted men of each of the crime families had the meeting there after dinner before the four were left to talk privately.
Gael didn't have to ask for clarification. He knew Giovanni was referring to Angela and her mother. He nodded without saying anything and then took a sip of champagne.
"What did he say?"
"To act as if I don't know anything. Dad is uncertain if Novikov knows he has another granddaughter—and a grandson," Gael added when he thought of Oliver. He kept his voice low, making sure no one was listening. "If he finds out about them, and he learns that I know—that we know, he might take it as a betrayal for keeping the truth from him."
"Fuck," Giovanni hissed under his teeth. "Of course he'd think that."
Gael huffed in response. "As if the Morellis aren't enough already."
His uncle chuckled in a mocking way. "Tell me about it." And something told Gael that there was more to his uncle's annoyance about the Morellis—which possibly had to do with his ex—than he was letting on.
The two men straightened as if by instinct when they noticed someone closing in near them. They didn't turn their heads, but their senses were heightened, waiting for the person to approach.
"Where is she?" Cynthia Volkov asked in almost a whisper as she stood to Gael's left. She was facing the bar, ordering a cocktail from the bartender. To others, they wouldn't know she was talking to the two men.
Still keeping their backs to the bar, Gael and Giovanni side-glanced each other, exchanging knowing looks. Then Gael muttered under his breath, "Far away from here."
Cynthia waited until her drink arrived, thanking the bartender before she spoke discreetly once the bartender walked to the other end of the bar. "Let her go."
"Does Pakhan know that you left a family in Esmea?" Gael questioned. The 'Pakhan' was the Russian crime family's boss—the Bratva's boss, just like Don was to the Italian mafia. The older woman gritted her teeth but said nothing, and he took it as a sign. "I guess not. My… What a big secret." He tsked.
"I'll do anything. Just… Take her away from New York. Away from all this. I don't care what you have to do."
A small smirk lifted his lips. Then he took his time in taking another sip of his drink. He hadn't spared a glance at Angela's mother since she decided to come closer and talk to him, but he could sense her agitation even though she tried to keep her composure. Gael wasn't opposed to keeping Angela away from the Bratva because it was already a given. But it didn't mean he would let Cynthia know she could order him around. "With all due respect, Mrs. Volkov, you don't get to tell me what to do. I don't work for you. You're wasting your time talking to me."
Cynthia snapped her head towards him, her eyes a mixture of seething anger and…something else that Gael couldn't explain. For the first time tonight, he met her gaze and matched it with his blank one. He didn't allow the woman to read him.
Seeing her face, he was reminded of how hurt Angela was when she realized that she had a younger sister. "I'm confused. If you're so adamant about keeping Angela away from these…proclivities like you said, why did you give birth to another child? Such a contradiction."
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then she looked away. "My Anika wasn't planned."
"If you say so."
Frustrated, she glared at Gael but her display of strong emotion was short-lived when a tall man came over to her right. Ivan Volkov. The man was big and had a permanent scowl on his face wherever he went. Gael couldn't blame seven-year-old Angela for getting scared of this man.
"Gentlemen," Ivan greeted before turning to his wife. "Everything okay?"
Cynthia's expression completely flipped. She was now smiling when she turned around and allowed her husband to pull her to his side as if she didn't have the conversation with Gael just now. "Oh, darling. I was just telling the De Lucas that the food tonight is exquisite. I was wondering if they could recommend their caterer. You know…for Anika's birthday."
"I really don't like that man." Giovanni shook his head.
Gael's phone buzzed in the inner pocket of his jacket. His brows furrowed as he read Trigger's text.
[ Trigger: Boss, we're here. For the record, this is completely not my fault ok? ]
A photo loaded on his screen when he clicked on the attachment. It was of two women's backs, Angela's and Nina's, and they were looking at topless men on stage.
In the next second, he called Trigger and snapped as soon as his call connected. "Where the fuck are you?"
Loud music thumped through the receiver of his phone and Giovanni arched a brow, his focus now on Gael.
"At your club, Boss," said Trigger.
"What?" Gael's jaw ticked. "What do you mean you're at my club?"
"Empire. I brought them here after dinner just like you said."
"Cazzo.Why the hell are there shirtless men on stage at my club? Since when was it a fucking strip club?"
"Beats me. I'm just following your orders, Boss."
Gael pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure whether he was pissed that there were male strippers in his club, or that Angela was watching said strippers.
"Give me Ruth. Now," he growled.
The couple of minutes he waited while Trigger hunted for the manager kept his blood boiling, his brows knitting deeply.
"Phantom?" Ruth's voice came through the receiver.
"Ruth. Why the hell are there male strippers in my club!!!"
"Because you approved it?"
His eyes darkened. "What do you mean I approved it?"
"Last year, Sir. Around June, was it? We signed a contract with Ms. Imogen Stewart. You said it was for a favor?"
Suddenly, it all dawned on him. He did sign that deal for an exchange of favor. At that time, he didn't think much of it. Offering The Phantom's Empire for one Friday night for an open bachelorette party wasn't a big deal. He wouldn't lose customers, only he had to allow Stewart whatever she wanted for the night—aka the fucking shirtless men on stage.
When he didn't say anything, Ruth probed, "Is there a problem, Sir?"
Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, Gael rubbed his temples and replied, "No. Thanks, Ruth. Give it back to Trigger."
"Boss?" Trigger got the phone back.
"Move them to the VIP lounge on the second floor."
"Yes, Sir. Are you coming?"
Gael glanced at the closed door where his father was still in a meeting. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Chapter 368: In Which All They Grind Were Teeth
For the regular…innocent citizens, they thought they had a choice on who sat to rule New York. What they didn't know was that the governor, the mayor, or whoever was sitting on the throne…were just puppets. And the puppeteers were none other than the people hosting tonight's event. And the puppets were glad to kiss their puppeteers' asses.
Wearing a custom-tailored tux, Gael stood confident in all his dashing glory. His hair was combed neatly and parted to the side and he wore an expression that he usually displayed in front of people who needed to know they couldn't afford to mess with him.
He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to his uncle, Giovanni, who stood next to him, looking just as debonair and composed. The two leaned their backs to the bar and watched the party before them while keeping their distance from the guests who were itching to get a chance to talk to them. It was either a proposal—for business ventures, or a proposition—for sexual favors. Neither of the two attracted them that night, especially the latter.
"Have you told Sandro?" his uncle asked.
Gael briefly glanced at the closed door to the left where they had just come from half an hour ago. Alessandro and his consigliere, and the Russian's Boss and his right-hand man were still behind that door. The leaders and trusted men of each of the crime families had the meeting there after dinner before the four were left to talk privately.
Gael didn't have to ask for clarification. He knew Giovanni was referring to Angela and her mother. He nodded without saying anything and then took a sip of champagne.
"What did he say?"
"To act as if I don't know anything. Dad is uncertain if Novikov knows he has another granddaughter—and a grandson," Gael added when he thought of Oliver. He kept his voice low, making sure no one was listening. "If he finds out about them, and he learns that I know—that we know, he might take it as a betrayal for keeping the truth from him."
"Fuck," Giovanni hissed under his teeth. "Of course he'd think that."
Gael huffed in response. "As if the Morellis aren't enough already."
His uncle chuckled in a mocking way. "Tell me about it." And something told Gael that there was more to his uncle's annoyance about the Morellis—which possibly had to do with his ex—than he was letting on.
The two men straightened as if by instinct when they noticed someone closing in near them. They didn't turn their heads, but their senses were heightened, waiting for the person to approach.
"Where is she?" Cynthia Volkov asked in almost a whisper as she stood to Gael's left. She was facing the bar, ordering a cocktail from the bartender. To others, they wouldn't know she was talking to the two men.
Still keeping their backs to the bar, Gael and Giovanni side-glanced each other, exchanging knowing looks. Then Gael muttered under his breath, "Far away from here."
Cynthia waited until her drink arrived, thanking the bartender before she spoke discreetly once the bartender walked to the other end of the bar. "Let her go."
"Does Pakhan know that you left a family in Esmea?" Gael questioned. The 'Pakhan' was the Russian crime family's boss—the Bratva's boss, just like Don was to the Italian mafia. The older woman gritted her teeth but said nothing, and he took it as a sign. "I guess not. My… What a big secret." He tsked.
"I'll do anything. Just… Take her away from New York. Away from all this. I don't care what you have to do."
A small smirk lifted his lips. Then he took his time in taking another sip of his drink. He hadn't spared a glance at Angela's mother since she decided to come closer and talk to him, but he could sense her agitation even though she tried to keep her composure. Gael wasn't opposed to keeping Angela away from the Bratva because it was already a given. But it didn't mean he would let Cynthia know she could order him around. "With all due respect, Mrs. Volkov, you don't get to tell me what to do. I don't work for you. You're wasting your time talking to me."
Seeing her face, he was reminded of how hurt Angela was when she realized that she had a younger sister. "I'm confused. If you're so adamant about keeping Angela away from these…proclivities like you said, why did you give birth to another child? Such a contradiction."
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then she looked away. "My Anika wasn't planned."
"If you say so."
Frustrated, she glared at Gael but her display of strong emotion was short-lived when a tall man came over to her right. Ivan Volkov. The man was big and had a permanent scowl on his face wherever he went. Gael couldn't blame seven-year-old Angela for getting scared of this man.
"Gentlemen," Ivan greeted before turning to his wife. "Everything okay?"
Cynthia's expression completely flipped. She was now smiling when she turned around and allowed her husband to pull her to his side as if she didn't have the conversation with Gael just now. "Oh, darling. I was just telling the De Lucas that the food tonight is exquisite. I was wondering if they could recommend their caterer. You know…for Anika's birthday."
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Ivan shifted his gaze towards Gael and Giovanni. The two men lifted their flutes and offered a generic smile his way. Ivan simply grunted in response before leading Cynthia away. "Let's dance, Milaya.""I really don't like that man." Giovanni shook his head.
Gael's phone buzzed in the inner pocket of his jacket. His brows furrowed as he read Trigger's text.
[ Trigger: Boss, we're here. For the record, this is completely not my fault ok? ]
A photo loaded on his screen when he clicked on the attachment. It was of two women's backs, Angela's and Nina's, and they were looking at topless men on stage.
In the next second, he called Trigger and snapped as soon as his call connected. "Where the fuck are you?"
Loud music thumped through the receiver of his phone and Giovanni arched a brow, his focus now on Gael.
"At your club, Boss," said Trigger.
"What?" Gael's jaw ticked. "What do you mean you're at my club?"
"Empire. I brought them here after dinner just like you said."
"Cazzo.Why the hell are there shirtless men on stage at my club? Since when was it a fucking strip club?"
"Beats me. I'm just following your orders, Boss."
Gael pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure whether he was pissed that there were male strippers in his club, or that Angela was watching said strippers.
The couple of minutes he waited while Trigger hunted for the manager kept his blood boiling, his brows knitting deeply.
"Phantom?" Ruth's voice came through the receiver.
"Ruth. Why the hell are there male strippers in my club!!!"
"Because you approved it?"
His eyes darkened. "What do you mean I approved it?"
"Last year, Sir. Around June, was it? We signed a contract with Ms. Imogen Stewart. You said it was for a favor?"
Suddenly, it all dawned on him. He did sign that deal for an exchange of favor. At that time, he didn't think much of it. Offering The Phantom's Empire for one Friday night for an open bachelorette party wasn't a big deal. He wouldn't lose customers, only he had to allow Stewart whatever she wanted for the night—aka the fucking shirtless men on stage.
When he didn't say anything, Ruth probed, "Is there a problem, Sir?"
Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, Gael rubbed his temples and replied, "No. Thanks, Ruth. Give it back to Trigger."
"Boss?" Trigger got the phone back.
"Move them to the VIP lounge on the second floor."
"Yes, Sir. Are you coming?"
Gael glanced at the closed door where his father was still in a meeting. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
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