The room goes quiet. Too quiet.
Raf breaks it first.
"Before we start," he says, lifting a hand, "I want to make one thing clear."
He pauses. "Well… two things." We all look at him. "First: I’m not drinking vodka." He points at Oksana without looking at her. "I hate that stuff."
Oksana gasps like he just insulted her ancestors.
"Second," he adds, eyes cutting to Massimo, "Aurelio is mine to kill."
Massimo rolls his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight. "You can have him, DeSantis. I don’t give a shit who fucks Aurelio’s corpse so long as he dies screaming. I’m here for someone else."
He falls silent for so long that I think this is going sideways after all. I move to the bar—because someone has to act like we’re civilized—pouring Oksana her vodka, the top-shelf stuff. Blue Label for Raf and me, and something expensive—Vegas-level expensive—for Massimo.
He takes it without thanks. Drinks half of it like water. Then he seems to make up his mind. "Valverde took my son."
I search my memory, but the last I heard, Massimo was still a commitment-phobic bachelor. Famous for his never-ending parade of girlfriends. Legendary, really.
"I didn't know you had a son," Raf swirls the Blue Label in his glass.
"Yeah, well, neither did fucking I," Massimo runs a hand through his dark hair, for the first time allowing us a glimpse of the Vegas tycoon unraveling.
Oksana props her boots on the edge of the sofa. "So," she says with bright cheerfulness that is one hundred percent fake, "we’re all on the same page, then. We go in, get Massimo’s son, get our answers from Silvestre and Aurelio, kill them, and go home. The end."
Massimo stares at her again. "Seriously—who the hell are you?"
I would normally laugh. But I’m too busy watching Oksana preen under the attention like a smug little demon.
"My wife," I say, savoring it, "is far too modest to say it out loud." I tip my head toward her. "She’s Metelitsa."
Massimo nearly chokes on his drink. "Metelitsa?" he echoes, sitting up straighter. "La Tempesta di Sangue? Oksana Arsenyev?"
"Oksana Conti," I correct.
Oksana shrugs one shoulder, unbothered. "I prefer Oksana, but yes."
Massimo goes still, then nods once, like a man adjusting the board mid-game. "Alright. Now we’re speaking honestly."
Raf lifts his glass. "Cheers."
Massimo looks between us—me, Oksana, Raf—sees a nightmare alliance forming in front of him. He exhales.
"Alright," he says. "Fuck it. We talk."
Finally.
He sets his empty glass down. "This is how it’s going to work: Aurelio has my son." His gaze flicks away, already done with it. "And someone who came with the package."
He looks back at us. "I’m not staying in Caracas. Whatever we do, we do tonight."
Oksana’seyes narrow, curiosity sharpening into focus.
"Silvestre isn’t sleeping at his usual residence," Massimo continues. "He moved two weeks ago. Quietly. No announcements." His mouth tightens. "But he’ll be at Aurelio’s compound tonight. They’re consolidating. Too much pressure, too many loose ends."
That gets Raf’s attention. "Both of them?"
Massimo nods once. "Same roof. Different wings." He pauses, then adds, "They’ve doubled external security and are rotating guards every four hours. Which means they’re worried about the perimeter."
