“Ah, Mr. Mladenov,” the commissioner said, turning my way. “We were just discussing the Westside project. Fascinating proposal.”
I nodded, feigning interest. The Westside project was vital to keeping my territory intact. It would keep the district whole, making it harder for the competition to encroach on my turf.
“Yes, fascinating,” I said, trying to make the big English word sound natural. It didn’t sound too broken. I accepted a fresh drink from a passing server. The scotch burned pleasantly going down my throat. The smoky aftertaste spread over my tongue, making my mouth feel as though I licked a scorched barrel.
“I hear you’re the one who owns the real estate available to build on,” the developer mused, assessing gaze sweeping over me. “How is it that we haven’t met before?”
I sipped my drink to buy a moment. “There hasn’t been a good enough offer in the past. But the land along the Skokie Highway is ready for something new.”
“Indeed,” the developer hummed, his smile not reaching the calculating eyes that watched me.
The sense that one wrong word would be a terrible mistake plagued me. I didn’t play word games, didn’t dance around the truth. When I wanted something, I took it. A simple, yet effective strategy. But not the correct one in this world. Tonight, I was stepping out of the rough neighborhoods and into the arena of big, polished corporations.
Ironic because I had more assets, and likely more capital, than most of these men combined. Not that any of it was on paper.
Commissioner Dallas leaned closer, and the scent of bourbon and aftershave wafted over me. “Mr. Mladenov, I have to ask, what’s your background in development? The Westside project requires…experienced hands.”
The question landed like a punch to the gut. I kept my expression neutral while my mind raced. These men dealt inpermits and environmental impact studies, not the kind of negotiations I was used to. In my world, a handshake and the implicit threat of consequences sealed deals. Here, everything required lawyers and paperwork trails that could be scrutinized by federal investigators.
“I’ve been in real estate for fifteen years,” I said, which was technically true if you counted the massage parlors and nightclubs. “Mostly smaller ventures until now.”
The developer—Harrison, I decided—nodded slowly. “And your financing? A project this size requires significant capital backing.”
That probing question required a very careful response. They had friends high on the food chain. Ones who could come sniffing around the books if they caught the ripe stench of green.
“My financing is already secured.” I kept my voice smooth. Practiced. Professional—and totally foreign. “Private investors who prefer discretion.”
Mancini was one of them. I would leave that to his discretion if he chose to reveal the fact or remain anonymous. To them, Mancini was just out host for a group of his acquaintances. What they didn’t know was that he arranged this set-up so we could meet.
Commissioner Dallas’s eyebrows rose slightly. The kind of response that could mean interest or suspicion. It was impossible to tell which. I needed to redirect.
“What matters more than my background is what I bring to the table,” I said, gesturing with my glass. “Fresh perspective. No preconceptions about what can or can’t be done in that area.”
Harrison’s mouth twitched. “Preconceptions often exist for good reason, Mr. Mladenov. Regulations, community concerns—”
“Which is why we need Commissioner Dallas,” I cut in, nodding respectfully to the older man. “My investors and I want to work in a good framework.”
The lie slid easily from my tongue. Apart from Mancini, my “investors” were shell companies, laundering operations that kept my money out of the public records and away from the grubby fingers of the taxmen.
“Well, I, for one, am intrigued. Have the proposal sent to me, and we’ll have a look,” Dallas decided, throwing back the rest of his drink.
Any further opportunity for discussion was cut off as the guests filed into the dining room. I followed, tuning out the conversation that quickly switched to golf. A rich man’s game, it diverted the attention from the topic at hand to the laidback afternoons spent on the green. Dollar for dollar, I belonged to that set, but it would be a cold day in hell when I wasted my time smacking a ball around just to go chase the damn thing to the next hole.
The Italian boss and I shared a look. We silently agreed that went about as well as could be expected. Other than a minor inconvenience in the form of another organization sniffing around the turf, it seemed like we were off to a good start. The don broke contact and led the way into the house.
The dining room took my breath away. Don Mancini had more money than sense—and I respected that. A massive oak table stretched through the center, polished to such a shine that the crystal chandeliers above reflected in its surface like stars on a midnight lake. Each place setting featured what looked like actual gold flatware—not plated, but solid—arranged with military precision alongside bone China plates rimmed with cobalt blue and gold filigree.
Fresh-cut roses and orchids cascaded from towering crystal vases, their perfume mixing with the aroma of expensive foodwaiting to be carried in by an army of servers in crisp, black uniforms. Each server moved with skilled efficiency, appearing and disappearing like ghosts, keeping wine glasses perpetually filled. If one of their number was missing, they didn’t show any lack of attention.
I brushed my fingers over my breast pocket, feeling the knife’s sheath hidden underneath.
Soon.The waiter couldn’t have gone far. Not that the distance mattered. I would find him. My knife would make him sing.
The guests took their seats around the table, each representing some facet of power in the city. Judges, politicians, old money, new money. The kind of gathering I could never host. No one in their right mind would visit me, let alone step foot in my dingy territory.
That was about to change.
Before I could take my place in the throng, the lady of the house sailed into the room. She rose on the tips of her toes to place a quick kiss on the don’s cheek. Only because I was watching did I see the don’s features soften a fraction.
