His Kryptonite

Chapter 11

Michael's POV
Two days later

Tony pours himself another glass of red wine, and I can't help but roll my eyes. The guy's about to get wasted before the afternoon even hits. Seriously, it's only noon, for fuck's sake. He could at least try to stay sober until later in the day. How the hell does he even manage his people when he's wasted all the damn time?

Earlier, me and my capos were at my club, talking business and whatnot. After that, we decided to hit up Regganio's, our own private joint, to grab a bite. Now, everyone's sitting around the table, and the tension has eased up a bit from when we were down in the club's basement, discussing all sorts of bloody affairs and drug deals.

But then, Tony erupts into this obnoxious laughter that shakes the whole table, knocking over a glass that shatters on the floor.

"What the fuck, Tony? How the hell are you supposed to handle your crew when you're chugging down all that goddamn wine?" I can't help but ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Boss, the Eastside is under control. Nobody's got the balls to challenge us there," Tony replies, trying to sound all serious.

"Then what is all this bullshit I'm hearing about some punk-ass gang running your streets?" I press him, not buying his act.

Tony's face goes pale, and suddenly, he pulls this serious expression out of his sorry ass. "Mike, it's just some small-time gang trying to make a name. Trust me, I've taken care of those fuckers."

I lean back in my chair, spreading my legs wide, not really giving a damn about that crap. I just wanted Tony to cool his shit. Territory wars were my old man's thing, not mine. I run this empire differently, leaving that kind of stuff to my capos, unless there's a real threat on the horizon. I'm more interested in our investments and passive income. And since I took over as the boss two years ago, our profits have more than doubled. No wonder my old man got caught considering his old-school ways.

My intervention seems to have done the trick, because Tony's finally learned to keep his yap shut, letting the others enjoy their meal and shoot the shit in peace.

Then, out of nowhere, the doorbell jingles, and my heart sinks when I spot none other than Laila strutting her fine ass into the joint, with her brother, Vincenzo, in tow. He has a word with the desk coordinator, who promptly pulls back the velvet rope. But before letting Laila loose, Vincenzo seems to be lecturing her on how to act all proper in this joint, I reckon. And she obediently nods along like a good little girl. Then she gives her brother a goodbye hug and struts right in. Fuck me sideways...

I can't help but wonder what the hell she's doing here, even though I already know the reason. Any broad looking to land herself a made man is practically encouraged to show up at this joint. It's common knowledge. But I never figured Laila for that kind of things, and it pisses me the fuck off.

Someone chirps, and I just know shit's about to go down. Startled by the sound, Laila glances towards the back of the restaurant, and our eyes lock. Her eyes widen a tad in surprise, and she fights back a smirk. I'm shaken by her display of recognition, but I'm not returning the favour, keeping my stoic expression on. She spins around to set up her laptop and iPad on the table, and then the fucking broad bends over to plug in her goddamn laptop.

"Mamma mia! Madonna, salvami! Dio mio!" The comments keep pouring in. Laila stands up, half-turning to realize every damn man in the joint is ogling her like starving wolves. Her cheeks flush crimson as she plops back down in the booth.

She struts in there wearing leggings and a crop top. What the fuck did she expect? An ass like hers is just begging to be noticed in that getup.

The guys start yapping away like a bunch of locker room douchebags, blabbering about Laila's body as if they're discussing fruit preferences—peaches and melons. My blood simmers to the point where I gotta regulate my breathing. I don't know what the hell I'll do if one of those idiots oversteps and blurts out something too damn explicit, but it won't be pretty. I steal a glance at Laila, and even though I only catch her profile, I can feel her discomfort seeping through.