Instead of sadness crossing his face—at the reminder of why I wouldn’t mind staying home for longer than was previously planned—all I see in his eyes is pride.
“It brings me great joy that you’re that confident in the people who work for you. That means they respect you. That you’ve earned their trust and loyalty. All the trademarks of a strong underboss.”
I wish his pride didn’t feel like a knife twisting in my chest. The only reason the people working for me actually like my ass now is because I took the time to get to know each one of them, listened to their concerns and ambitions, and followed through on my promises. And none of that would’ve been possible if Stella hadn’t lit a fire under my ass by insinuating I was a bad boss to begin with. Even without knowing it, she’s made me a better leader. A better underboss. Fuck—a better man. Not that she cares.
“I must admit, when you first told me your plans for the club, I was reluctant,” Misha adds, pulling me out of my tumultuous thoughts. “After all, that isn’t the business we’re in. But it was a smart move to have one legal establishment in Chicago. A great camouflage for everything else we get up to.”
“Thank you,” is all I manage to say.
“I just wish we didn’t have another problem on our hands when it comes to Chicago,” he adds, pressing his lips together. “Vincent was anything but pleased with his children being takenfrom him. It’ll take many long, thoughtful hours to come up with a plan that will enable us to restore his trust in us.”
“Why do we even want it? That’s the better question,” Sasha adds his two cents with a flat, irritated look.
“Because in a world full of enemies, it’s good to have a few friends you can rely on,” Misha replies. “Vincent is an honorable man. He keeps his word. And that is a man I don’t mind doing business with.”
“Right. Business,” Sasha scoffs, as if the notion itself was offensive.
And that’s exactly when an idea sparks. “Why don’t we do business with him?” I ask. “For real, I mean.”
Misha eyes me intently. “What are you thinking?”
“Hear me out,” I say, trying to hold onto the thought before it slips away. “The Romanos work with the Irish to keep eyes on the Cosa Nostra in New York, right? They let them use their ports to ship guns overseas. They also use the Firm for the same kinds of transactions. They even managed to sweet-talk the Canadians to launder their money on their own turf. So, why don’t we make a similar arrangement?”
“I think the Outfit is satisfied with their gun suppliers,” Misha says, thinking he found a hole in my scheme.
“But how satisfied are they with their cash flow? What if we presented them with a new way to clean their money, one that can’t be traced back to them? They take none of the risk and get all the reward. And we get a percentage for our trouble. A healthy percentage.”
“You sound like you already have an idea.”
“I think I do,” I say, before walking him through the plan forming in my head.
A plan that just might get me closer to getting what I really want.
WhoI really want.
“That might do it,” Misha says after weighing the pros and cons. “Start the process. And only reach out to Vincent once you have the full deal in place.”
I nod, feeling lighter now that I have direction—a purpose. And if that purpose leads me back to Stella, then so be it.
“Now that Chicago is in good hands,” he continues, turning his gaze on Kostya, “that leaves San Francisco.”
“Actually… about that,” I cut in. “I was hoping you’d let me keep Kostya with me a few more months. Just until my plan is sorted and everything’s in place. I’ll need all the support I can get, and who better to help me than family?” I wink at a relieved-looking Kostya.
“That might take months,” Sasha blurts, clearly irritated with the idea.
“And what if it does,” I counter. “Are we really in a hurry to run back to California, where we’re not even a real threat to the Triad? I mean, is San Francisco even worth our time when we could be, I don’t know, anywhere else?”
“IneedSan Francisco,” Misha deadpans, shutting down my whole argument instantly.
“Can I ask why?”
Misha leans back in his seat, eyes fixed on me. “Did you know that Sun Wei, the current boss of the Triad, will be turning seventy years old in a few months?”
“No.” I shake my head, since remembering birthdays from rival bosses isn’t exactly in my job description. “What does that matter to us?”
“It matters a great deal,” Misha says, almost too calmly. “Since you haven’t been keeping up with what’s happening in Northern California, let me give you some context. Up until last year, Sun Wei had three sons. Three adult sons with large families of their own. That is, until they all died suddenly when someone decided it would be a good idea to plant a charge in theengine room of their yacht, as they were sailing to Napa Valley for a long-weekend celebration.” Misha takes a beat to let that sink in before he continues with his tale. “The only survivors were two of Sun Wei’s younger brothers, Tao and Lei, who by sheer luck didn’t attend the celebration that weekend, and also kept their families from attending.”
In other words, one of those assholes is responsible for their own kin’s deaths.
