Ninety: Triangle

((Max & Mel))

This had to be the worst day of his life. All he wanted was to get his girl and take her out on a date. Carmella was old enough, after all.

“Are you calling me old?” she’d asked him the day before. That warranted a fair slap to the face that Max had oh-so-keenly earned. “No, no babe. I’m just saying it’s ridiculous that I gotta go to your house and I can’t just straight up take you out on a date. You’re almost thirty for crying out loud!” The moment those words left his lips, he knew his mistake. “Oh, fuck,” he mouthed.

His girlfriend punched him in the face. “You never, and I mean NEVER tell a girl she’s aging!” Max had doubled over, cupping his pained nose with both hands. “Jesus, Carmella! I was gonna look good for your brothers tomorrow! And now you’ve gone and, agh! You broke my nose, you bitch!”

“Well that’s what you get for calling me old, you pig! And your nose isn’t broken. But it’ll bleed for a while” She hadn’t even left him with so much as a kiss as she stormed out of his room with a deadly glare in her eyes, and out of the hotel he was staying in. It was sleazy, much to Max’s dismay, but Carmella insisted that they both lay low. Being seen in a hotel together where photographers follow your every move wasn’t convenient for either of them, so he reluctantly agreed.

The place suited him. Though it wasn’t to his normal standards, it had every comfort a guy could want: Bed, privacy, mini-bar, a working bathroom, and a good view of the city. He looked at the bed of the now-empty room. It was unmade. Scratching the back of his head, he wondered just how in the hell he survived a romp with Carmella. It wasn’t their first, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last (he hoped), but because they were here, in de Rosencourte territory, his mission wasn’t one that he’d usually take. And it wasn’t gonna get him paid, either.

No, this time, the “job” was to get the trifecta of the de Rosencourte brothers’ permission to date their sister. During a job some few months ago, they were left alone together, hanging in the balance of life and death. Oh, what a sticky situation this was. “So then why the hell do I have to ask her brothers permission for her? She’s not that special,” he spoke to empty air. Flopping on the bed, onto his stomach, he contemplated his plan of attack. To approach the trio of de Rosencourte brothers all at once was like suicide when you weren’t on their good side.

The next day…

Angelus, Gabriel, and Henri. Max initially thought he could just walk right in and tell them that he was fucking their baby sister. But that wouldn’t sit too well with the other guys. They’d have ripped his balls off if he’d so bluntly stated it like that. But that’s how Max was. And apparently, that’s how Carmella, bitch that she was, liked it. And she liked a good spanking, too. Chuckling to himself, he was “welcomed,” so to speak, into the main de Rosencourte mansion. The butler escorted him in towards the room. Max was feeling uneasy. The further he walked inwards, the more cramped the place seemed to get. Almost as if the walls were closing in on him. Turning around to look backwards, nothing had moved. All of it was just a figment of his imagination. ’Ach, whatever. Maybe I’m just thinking too hard,’ he wondered silently. He attempted to loosen his collar a bit, as well as his tie. It was as if his own tie was actually a noose and he was going in for his execution. The butler stopped for a bit, hearing Max’s hesitation to walk forward.

“Is there something wrong, sir?” the old man asked.

“Well it’s just really dark in here, isn’t it?” Max replied.

“This corridor is part of the middle of the house. There are no windows or curtains,” was the answer he received. True, there were electrical chandeliers, but they had only been lit up so much that the place was dim. At any moment, it was like they could go out and he’d be stuck in the dark.

“Right. So, are we almost there yet?” He walked on, following the butler, who nodded. “Masters Angelus, Gabriel, and Henri have been expecting you. Shan’t be too long until we reach their offices, sir.” Max didn’t feel reassured one bit. He was going into the veritable lions’ den, and he wasn’t sure if he was even going to make it out alive. Carmella had assured him that he’d be all right? “Where is that bitch anyway?” he said out loud. The butler frowned. “Pardon, sir?” he reacted, adjusting his glasses a bit to stare at Max.

“Carmella. I want to know where she is.” This was taking up a lot of his sweet time, and if she weren’t around for today, he was gonna be pissed.

“Sir, Lady de Rosencourte is out of the country. Didn’t she tell you?” The butler raised a quizzical brow, and Max did the same, as he stood astride, arms folded. Then he laughed. And laughed. “It’s just like her to do something like this to me, right when I’m gonna get grilled by her brothers! I’m gonna get her for this,” Max threatened with gritted teeth.

The butler cleared his throat. “We are here.” Max was surprised. He had his hands in his pockets as he looked to the butler, who gripped the handle of one of the double-doors and pulled it open. He announced Max’s arrival to the sitting triumvirate of brothers. “Shall I send for any refreshments, sir?” he asked, mainly to Angelus. “No, Pierre. You may leave us,” the eldest brother replied, making a gesture waving the butler off. He was sitting at the head of the large, half-ellipse-shaped table. Gabriel and Henri had serious looks on their faces. Only Angelus gave Max a smirk.

“Mr. Kane. Do have a seat,” he offered, gesturing towards the empty chair directly in front of him.

“And a good morning to you, Angelus. Gabriel. Henry.” He had known the de Rosencourte brothers long enough, but it seemed like this informal tone of speaking wasn’t appropriate for today.

“My name is Henri,” the youngest brother emphasized, a frown evident on his face.

“Whatever, man,” Max said, wanting to shut the guy up and get this over with. And then Angelus leaned forward. “What can we do for you, Max?” he asked, placing his hands folded under his chin and leering at the man that had been working closely with the family for quite a while now. Max was at a loss for words. Angelus was taking the same informal tone that Max had done with them. Gabriel leaned back in his chair, one hand at his side (probably feeling a gun that was under the table that Max couldn’t see), drumming his fingers. Henri, on the other hand, was staring at the older man, the one that he hadn’t personally worked with, but for some reason, his sister trusted this guy enough to continue working with him. And Angelus allowed it.

After a few moments of hesitation, Max finally gathered up his words. “I’m dating your sister. I want your permission for her to be my girlfriend.” There. He said it.

Angelus inhaled deeply, putting his folded hands back down on the table and raising his head slightly, looking down at the man across the table from him. “Yes, we’ve known this for quite some time. I hope you do know that this is our precious baby sister, and we won’t allow her to gallivant around with just anyone.”

Max tilted his head, putting his arms on the armrests of the chair, gripping and ungripping the edges of them. “So is that a yes or a no?”

The head of the de Rosencourte family looked to his brothers and smiled. They all shared the same goddamn smirk. This was getting scary, as they nodded to each other. And then Angelus spoke again.

“You must first best the three of us in a duel for the hand of our sister,” he determined.”

Max was incredulous. “Are you serious, man? This isn’t the Middle Ages. You know me! I can’t fucking hurt her anymore. I don’t plan on hurting her, and she’s old enough to take up a boyfriend if she wants to!”

Gabriel spoke this time, looking down at the table first and then to Max. “That may be, but the last boyfriends she had screwed her over. And the previous one, what was his name again? The one that came after Ferraccio. Yeah, we never met the imbecile. So now we’ve decided to have this little game. Prove yourself worthy, and you might have her.”

The suitor wasn’t too happy. After the false Ferraccio hit, Max and Carmella had spilled the beans to each other on their mutual hatred for Danny. He knew the guy screwed her over royally. Then again Max was screwing her. In a different way, of course. But the other guy, the one with the redheaded girlfriend. Those bitches were just plain creepy.

“So what’s it to be? You wanna fistfight? Draw our pistols and see who shoots first?” Max didn’t know what the guys had in store for him, but he felt ready to take Carmella’s brothers on. The triangle of brothers didn't scare him. At least that's what he kept trying to tell himself.

“Monsieur, this is France. When we duel, we do it properly.” Angelus threw a white dueling glove across the table, landing square in front of Max. “We fence.”

’What the fuck?’