Leverage. Human. Obvious.
The Mexicans would benefit. So would the Venezuelans. Considering we’re standing in Venezuela, staring at the most powerful man in Vegas, who should most definitelynotbe here, my money is on the Venezuelans.
What doesn’t fit is Massimo.
Massimo Manetti should be toasting that bill’s failure. He should be running projections, adjusting margins, and finding new pipelines. He should not be here. Not personally. Not breathing the same air as Silvestre and Aurelio.
Massimo doesn’t run errands. He doesn’t babysit interests that aren’t his. And he sure as hell doesn’t show up unless blood is already on the table—or about to be.
Which means the kidnapping isn’t about policy.
It’s about something—orsomeone—he wants back.
And just like that, Raf’s smile stops looking smug. It looks informed.
I watch the realization click into place behind Massimo’s eyes. He doesn’t ask how Raf knows. He doesn’t deny it either.
"You want them alive long enough to give something back," Raf continues. "We want them dead. Those goals don’t have to compete."
Silence stretches. Thick. Loaded.
Massimo exhales through his nose, slowly. "You’re suggesting a joint operation."
"I’m suggesting," Raf says, "that we remove your problem first. Clean. Quiet. Then we deal with ours."
Massimo’s gaze shifts to me. Then to Oksana. Then back to Raf. "And if I say no?"
Raf’s smile fades. "Then we do it our way. And whatever collateral damage happens after?" He shrugs lightly. "That’s on the men who chose to sit on leverage instead of handing it over."
Massimo studies him for a long beat. I don’t look away. "If this were just about money," I say evenly, "you’d have sent men." A flicker. Gone almost before it registers. "If it were about politics," I continue in a calm voice, "you’d have sent lawyers." I step half a pace closer, close enoughthat he has to hear me. "You came because the people taken mean something to you."
Silence. Massimo’s jaw ticks. "Who told you that?"
It was more of a guess, but he doesn't need to know that. "We have our sources."
Oksana, never missing a beat, lifts the tension by raising a hand. "It was me. Hi."
Massimo stares at her. "What are you?"
She grins. "Complicated."
Sasha, standing by the door, murmurs in Russian, "Psychotic."
Oksana fires back in Russian, "Jealous."
Massimo looks between them like he’s stepped into a bad play.
Then he rounds on me again. "This is just a courtesy visit because of the family ties, but make no mistake, if you don't leave within the hour, I will have you removed."
"Alright, why don't we all take a deep breath, drink a vodka, and talk like adults and not like testosterone-fueled macho mafia bosses?" Oksana suggests, earning her another irritated look from Massimo.
She sighs dramatically, "Let's find out if we have any common ground here first, and if we don't…" she trails off, shrugs, "then we can start making threats."
I blink. Who is this woman? The Oksana I know would have shot Massimo the first time he opened his mouth. It takes but a moment for me to realize that she's doing it for me. She doesn't care about the Cosa Nostra. Neither in New York, nor in Vegas, nor anywhere else. She's doing this for me. To keep the peace inmyfamily. She's being diplomatic because she knows we have another war to fight.
Suddenly, I just want to get everyone out of here and be alone with her. Show her just how fucking much she means to me.
Massimo’s stare lingers on Oksana longer than I like. Much longer. I shift a little closer to her, and his gaze flicks back to me, not intimidated, not challenged, just… calculating.
