I hated vodka. But I drank it anyway. Gave Viktor the space to gather his thoughts. Watched his fingers drum the table as he made his decision.
“Timing is everything,” he said eventually. “A year ago, the audacity of a man like Lorenzo would not go unpunished. After all, it is possible, in theory, that the split within the Sambini family has been orchestrated. Lorenzo will fight alone to regain the territory his uncle has lost in recent years. Then they will regroup to become more powerful than they were before.”
Cam considered the scenario. Discounted it with a shake of his head. “Mafia power games don’t mean shit to us.”
“They will if your Russian protectors are distracted by other things. Other wars that require much attention and many resources.”
“So, what you’re saying is that your boss doesn’t have time to give a fuck about us anymore, so Lorenzo Sambini can do what he likes?”
“It ispossible.” Viktor tipped his vodka down his throat. Then set the glass down on the ancient wood table with undue care. “Pavel’s intervention was sentimental, not strategic. You must know this.”
Cam’s eyes blazed. “No one told me his sentiment was expendable.”
“It isn’t. But the practical realities of this life always win out, no? You cannot care too deeply about someone you will likely never see again when you have wolves at your own front door.”
“What’s Lorenzo’s problem with us, then?” Nash exchanged a look with Cam. “Same old shit?”
Viktor glanced at the vodka bottle.
I got up and refreshed his glass.
He nodded his thanks, then returned his attention to Nash. “You already removed yourselves from construction politics. This conflict is more about posturing and pride, and your reliance on Sambini-owned roads to move your legitimate cargo makes you vulnerable.”
“Sambini wants us to pay?” Cam lit another cigarette, exhaling smoke from his lungs with an irritated sigh. “Still, after all these fucking years, these cunts can’t understand we don’t play their games?”
“You didn’t have to when you controlled the cocaine and marijuana trade in Southern England. But you gave that up to drive lorries of wood up and down the M1.”
“Are you patronising me, Viktor?”
“Not at all.” The Russian smiled, and for the first time, I saw a reflection of Alexei. “I am saying that your influence relies on your status. For years, you were formidable players. Right now, you are a motorcycle club good at heavy lifting and street brawls.”
Cam leaned forward, his frustration clear in the rigid set of his broad shoulders. “Lorenzo thinks we’re weak. I can accept that. But what does hewant?”
“It is not about you. It’s about reclaiming what his uncle lost, and he is not as easily cowed as his cousin. Though, being Alexei Ivanov’s prisoner is not for the faint-hearted.”
Cam leered.
Nash cleared his throat. “We gave up the blow runs on the condition whoever picked them up didn’t route them through our turf. Mario Sambini conceded, bringing it through Ireland instead. If Lorenzo wants to challenge that, we’ll fight for our land. We have to. It’s who we are.”
“Yes. And you might win that fight many times over. But at what cost? You will lose men, possibly your freedom if you are caught, and almost certainly the business you are working so hard to build.”
“So we should let this prick move blow through our territory? Then what? He comes for our nightclubs? Our bars? The protection money we take from other businesses?”
“Perhaps.”
Nash hissed his disgust.
Cam rubbed his jaw, a deep,deepfrown creasing his forehead. He shot a glance at me that I interpreted without question.What am I missing?
I seared my throat with vodka and found my voice. “You said there was a second part to your news. What else do you have to tell us?”
“I have found your missing Crow.”
Cam’s gaze snapped back to Viktor. He stubbed out his cigarette and sat up straighter. “Rocco St. John?”
“The vice-president, yes. You have been looking for him, I believe? Since you nearly lost your sergeant to save his life?”
Raw pain flashed in Cam’s dark eyes. He gripped the table, knuckles turning white. “That’s the one. Is he dead?”
