“Dimitri my boy,” the don greeted me when I walked into the bistro’s private dining room, “it is good to see you.”
The older man pushed himself up from the table. His arms shook and he let out a groan of the exertion. While I noticed that at the time, he hadn’t yet told me about the cancer diagnosis. That came later in the conversation.
“How’s your mother?” asked the don before I could even respond to his greeting.
“She’s fine. Decided to head back to Moscow,” I replied.
To an outside observer, it might’ve sounded like small talk, innocuous and unimportant. But as I took my seat opposite the don, the question set me on edge immediately. After my father had been gunned down, my mother might have become a target of his enemies. In that condolences call, the don had offered his protection. It might have saved her life. A favor like that had to be repaid. In our line of work, sometimes all you had was your reputation.
“Who’d have thought.” The don chuckled, shaking his head. “Not many people retire from Miami to a place like Moscow. It’s usually the opposite, isn’t it. I mean, you are sticking around.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call myself retired,” I replied. “It is more a leave of absence.”
“A leave of absence? From your family’s Bratva?” The don chuckled but it turned into a cough.
One of the men standing behind him stepped forward when the cough continued. Castello waived the man off. He sipped his drink and leaned back, calculating eyes moving to examine me.
“I’m not a fan of where my uncle was taking it,” I said, ignoring the don’s coughing fit.
Between the way his arms shook as he stood, and the cough —but more the reaction of the man’s guards to it—I’d already begun to suspect he was ill. That wasn’t something I’d have brought up with him though.
“I can understand that.” Castello shook his head, lips turning to a frown. “Dealing fentanyl is a dirty business. I wouldn’t let my people touch the stuff. Of course, we stay out of the street dealing. Less profitable than transportation, but a hell of a lot less risky too.”
“My father felt the same way,” I said, my face falling with his, “but not my uncle, and he runs the family now.”
“A shame,” the older man said. He shook his head. “You might not have been ready when your father was killed, but I’ve kept an eye on you since. You’ve matured well.”
“Thanks?” The man’s words left me confused.
Castello helped my mother, and had kept in occasional contact in the years since my father was killed. I hadn’t expect the man to follow my career in the Petrovich Bratva. He wanted something from me, but what?
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” the don assured me, holding a hand up. “I only meant it as a compliment.”
Nevertheless, I schooled my features. It did no good to let your emotions show. I’d always worked to keep them hidden, to keep others guessing. Something about Castello’s words had cracked through that facade, if only momentarily.
“I was just surprised you’d kept such close tabs on me,” I admitted, playing it off.
“I always keep tabs on those who owe me a favor,” said the don. He raised his hand and looked behind me. “But I’ve been a negligent host. I haven’t even offered you a drink.”
A waiter came to the table to take my drink order. I took advantage of the break in the conversation to ready myself for the don’s next words. The man had mentioned the debt outright. If he didn’t want to cash the favor in, he’d have left that unsaid.
“I’m dying,” the don revealed after the waiter set my drink on the table. “Cancer. The doctor says I might have a year—might. I need to get my affairs in order, find a worthy successor.”
“That… I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, not touching the drink in front of me. “I don’t know how I can help you though. I don’t know enough about your men to give you any advice on who to choose—”
“You misunderstand me, Dimitri,” the don interrupted, holding a shaking hand up. “My daughter, Livy, she wants to take the reins when I’m gone. She doesn’t know how soon my pull date has become, not yet.”
“With all due respect, I think that would be a mistake. Your men won’t respect her, they’ll fight among themselves. It’ll be a blood bath,” I replied.
The don chuckled, thankfully not falling into another coughing fit. I watched for a different reaction. Everyone knew how much he cared for his daughter, how important she was to him. I didn’t want to offend my host, the man I owed a debt to.
“You know that and I know that, but you try telling her that.” The don rolled his eyes and let out another laugh. “She’s a smart girl. Smart woman, I mean. She read me the riot act the last time I called her a girl.”
“That sounds like Olivia,” I said. “I’m not sure how I can help you with her. She’s not my biggest fan, never has been.”
“Like I said, you’ve matured nicely,” the don said. “She’ll get over having her ponytail tugged a few times on the playground. I’m sure she’ll come around once she sees for herself what kind of man you’ve become.”
For the first time, I picked up my glass and took a small sip of the scotch. I normally preferred vodka, but when in Rome… Not that it mattered. I’d only raised the glass to cover my confusion. The don wanted to cash in the favor I owed, but for the life of me, I couldn’t understand where he was going. If I had known at the time, I would’ve slammed the scotch.
