Maid To The Three Mafia Kings

⋆ Chapter 62: A Jealous Madman

Mr. Jameson, his brow furrowed and his face etched with worry, leaned forward in his chair. "The man was Bartok, one of Emilio's most trusted men," he paused, glancing at Ethan, who sat across from him, a glass of brandy in hand. "He's not someone Emilio would send lightly."

He and Evan were gathered in Ethan's office to discuss the recent events.

Ethan, usually calm and composed, felt a surge of frustration welling up inside him. He tightened his grip on the crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling gently as he took a sip, trying to calm his nerves. The taste was familiar, comforting, but it did little to ease his mind. "The Brix office was bombed last month," he began. "The Vanguard office was hit two weeks ago, our new offices are being targeted, one after another. But why did Emilio suddenly send his men here instead of the new office in New York?"

Evan, casually sprawled on the leather sofa, glanced up from his drink. "Don't ask me—he didn't fill me in on that plan," he said, looking between the two men. "I thought, like you, that he was going to hit the New York office. Maybe he finally figured out I've been working with you the whole time?"

Mr. Jameson frowned deeply, the lines on his face growing more pronounced. "I don't think so. You're his son."

Evan smirked. "You really think that's enough reason?"

"He wouldn't think so," Mr. Jameson insisted. "I just know." But he still looked troubled. "It doesn't make sense, though. If it was an assassination attempt, Emilio should've known better than to send Bartok with just three men."

Ethan cut him off, his frustration finally boiling over. "What I still don't understand," he said, turning to Evan, "is how you could just shoot him like that."

Evan shrugged casually. "He wasn't giving us anything. He was useless to us," he replied. There was no remorse in his voice, no hint of regret.

Mr. Jameson looked at him, his expression one of disbelief and dismay. His hands, now clasped tightly together, trembled slightly as he spoke. "Of course he resisted! But there are other ways, Evan. We could have applied pressure, worked him slowly. I'm sure he would have cracked eventually."

A mocking smirk tugged at the corners of Evan's lips. He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the table as he locked eyes with Mr. Jameson. "Your methods are ancient, old man. You really think a slow death would've broken him? Even if you'd taken his head clean off, he wouldn't have said a word."

Mr. Jameson's face flushed with anger, his patience finally snapping. "And your methods are barbaric!" he shot back, his voice rising. "You're too quick to pull the trigger!"

Evan's gaze hardened. "He knew," he hissed. "I could tell he figured out I wasn't fully on their side."

"So you just shot him in the head," Mr. Jameson said, staring at Evan.

Evan leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but his eyes stayed locked on Mr. Jameson. He shrugged casually, as if Mr. Jameson's reaction didn't bother him at all.

Ethan, seated behind his desk, set his glass of brandy down with a soft clink. He cleared his throat, his sharp gaze shifting between the two men. "How about the NDA?" he asked Mr. Jameson, steering the conversation in a different direction. "Did Amelia sign it?"

Evan straightened slightly in his seat, his casual demeanor giving way to a more attentive posture as he listened for Mr. Jameson's response.

Mr. Jameson shook his head, the lines on his face deepening with frustration. "Amelia did not sign the contract. She's a hard-headed one."