Chapter 520
Wyatt steered his car back to the neighboring villa, the purr of the engine falling silent as he parked. He stepped out, trailing beside James. “The guy tailing our car today had some skills. I’m just not sure whose crew sent him.”
James entered the foyer casually slipping off his shoes to replace them with a pair he fetched from the closet. ‘With the underworld here reshuffling, it’s natural that the other families want a piece of the pie,” he mused.
Wyatt frowned, pondering for a moment before suggesting. “Maybe you should skip the Bishop family’s wake in a couple of days. Curtis and I can handle it.”
The Bishops had vast clout in Ashford’s underbelly and were a key player in the international syndicate scene. Now, the patriarch had suddenly passed, and there wasn’t a single person among the next generation cut out for leadership.
Naturally, the Bishops had long been in the crosshairs of various factions, and now they faced a crisis. It was not just about the Bishops themselves; anyone eyeing their empire was a potential target for elimination.
James glanced over at Wyatt, his tone light as a feather. “No need.” With that, he strode into the main hall.
Wyatt followed, hesitant. “But…”
He was about to add something when he caught sight of Donald sitting in the dining room. His words caught in his throat, quickly replaced by a respectful, “Mr. Donald.”
Donald was far enough and hadn’t quite caught their conversation, but noting their serious expressions, he inquired, “What’s the trouble?”
“It’s nothing,” Wyatt deflected, eyes briefly meeting the floor.
The dinner was already laid out on the table. James washed his hands and took a seat, pulling out a chair. He glanced at Donald and said, “Let’s eat first. Well talk after.”
Donald’s weathered face tensed. “You’re not going to start about sending me back, are you?*
James, just about to pick up his fork, didn’t pause as he served Donald some food, then murmured in affirmation. “I’ve told you I’m not going back to Riverdale just yet. It’s really not convenient for you here, James replied, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
That set Donald off, his hand slamming down on the table, his eyes narrowing. “Explain to me how exactly I’m inconveniencing you?”
James, face still a mask of calm, took a moment before saying, “Your presence here is seriously hindering my efforts to find a bride.*
Wyatt, standing off to the side, shot a glance at James, thinking, “Come on, you weren’t exactly on the hunt even when Donald wasn’t
around.”
Donald’s hand smacked the table again, his frustration evident. “Clarify that for me. How am I getting in your way?*
James met Donald’s imitation with a serene façade. “I thought you’d be aware.*
Donald fell silent.
“Anyway, I’ll personally drive you back tomorrow.” The tone was light, but those who knew James understood the decision was set in
stone.
Donald pushed back from the table, his meal forgott
stomped upstairs.
Curtis, returning from the cellar with a bottle of red wine, scened the dining room, puzzled, “Where’s Mr. Donald?”
Wyatt raised his eyebrows subtly at Curtis, then motioned towards James with a slight shrug. Curtis caught on immediately. Did Donald throw a fit again?
Curtis glanced at the wine in his hands, now unsure whether to uncork it or not After all, it was Donald who had asked for it.
