He’d acted instinctively, guessing and bluffing in equal parts—and the gamble had paid off. Why exactly had he said that?
Valerio had watched Lazarov’s interactions with both Errichiello and Silvestri—the disdain and entitlement he seemed to have towards both. The attitude made some sense when it came to Silvestri, since Lazarov owed the rich old pedophile no allegiance or respect. He’d been merely a tool—useful for his connections and proclivities—and Lazarov had treated him accordingly.
But Lazarov had also been contemptuous towards Errichiello, and this had surprised Valerio from the outset. Lazarov had treated Luca like a nuisance, not a benefactor. Luca had clearly bristled at this, telling Lazarov to “Fuck off.”
It made little sense for Lazarov to disrespect his employer.
The power structure had felt off. And Valerio realized: Errichiello wasn’t actually in charge.
So, who was?
Was Lazarov actually in control—the mastermind of this operation?
No.
Valerio had met men like Lazarov—talented in a kinetic operation. Quick to assess an opponent, with a reactive instinct. He’d combined these skills with a taste for brutality. But a natural physical prowess was its own vulnerability. He relied on strength and fear to rule themen who worked for him; fear to dominate his prey. But reliance on his physical abilities meant he was never forced to think creatively—and you needed to think creatively if you were in charge.
No, Lazarov liked to be close to power, was drawn to those who could appreciate and harness his vicious skills, yet he lacked the finesse and patience to claim real power himself.
Lazarov was the sheepdog. And that meant there was a shepherd.
So, who was the shepherd?
Valerio’s mind felt out the edges of this missing piece—rough outlines in the dark. There was just enough here to know that it was bigger than the individual players.
Whoever it was, Valerio felt certain that it was connected to his name. He’d introduced himself to Valerio as Ivan—and was known in the underworld as il Fantasma. But he’d clearly been surprised when Valerio called him by his name: Yasen Lazarov, the Bulgarian operator wanted by INTERPOL.
Valerio had bought himself time by claiming affiliation with Lazarov’s master. Maybe Lazarov believed him, maybe he didn’t. But he wouldn’t kill him until he knew for certain that Valerio was lying.
—
Valerio was shivering badly by the time the car slowed, tires crunching on gravel, and stopped. He was wet, his hands frozen, fingers numb, when the trunk opened.
Lazarov wasn’t taking any chances. He stood a meter back, gun aimed at Valerio.
“Get out,” he ordered.
Eager though he was to escape his cage, Valerio was also stiff, leg badly swollen, every movement an invitation to agonizing pain. He maneuvered gingerly, easing over the rim of the trunk. He balanced on his good leg, and leaned against the car.
They were in a narrow gravel area close to Luca’s compound. Through the trees, Valerio could spot the pool behind Luca’s house, a winking patch of blue.
Valerio spoke urgently: “I know you don’t want to fuck this up any more than I do. But Luca’s ambitious and self-interested—this couldblow up in our faces. You’re here to make sure he doesn’t fuck up. That’s why I’m here, too. Let me go. Let me get back to my mission.”
He didn’t have a chance to see if Lazarov believed him. Two men came around the side of the house, weapons drawn. They glanced between Lazarov and Valerio.
“Put him away,” Lazarov ordered.
“I’ve been shot. I need medical care,” Valerio said.
But Lazarov strode off. The men grabbed Valerio harshly. Finding he couldn’t walk, they dragged him down a stone path into the trees—to a small windowless concrete outbuilding with a padlock.
“I need water,” he told them. “If I die, you’ll have a big fucking problem to deal with. Your boss won’t be happy.”
As they approached the building and opened the door, Valerio struggled, shouting, hoping someone on the nearby property might hear—might think to report this to the police.
“Lazarov isn’t telling you everything,” he told his captors as they shoved him inside. “You don’t know who you’re working for!”
Twenty-Eight
