He finishes his drink and beckons for a new one. “Two please, sweetheart,” he says, and the waitress dutifully places a drink in front of me.
“Not tonight,” I say.
He gently pushes the scotch toward me. “Come now—be a sport. Just because we’re in a cold war doesn’t mean we can’t share a drink.”
I don’t feel like pushing the matter. I take the glass, raise it. “And to what are we drinking, Peter?”
He smiles. “Old friends, new friends, health, whatever gets the booze in my belly fastest.”
I snort, tapping the rim of my glass with his. We sip. The scotch is good. Very good.
“Now,” Peter says, leaning forward a bit. “Why are you here? I know the pretext. But I’m more concerned about the real reason.”
No sense in tiptoeing around it. “One of my employees was nearly killed. A young woman. Twice now.”
“Is that so? Perhaps she should be more careful.”
“Not like that, and you know it. Two assassination attempts.”
Another sip. “Dreadful business. What’s this girl done to walk into such a streak of bad luck?”
“She’s important for current business affairs. Best guess I have. But I managed to get ahold of one of the would-be assassins in the latest attempt.”
I watch Peter carefully as I speak. He sips, glances away. Hard to tell if I’ve rattled him.
“And?”
“He mentioned your name.”
Another snort, another sip. He shakes his head. “And you decided to come all the way here to accuse me in person? I could have you killed where you sit, boy.”
Bluster. Not a chance he’d follow through on it. He’s throwing up smoke. So far, nothing to lead me one way oranother.
“Easy,” I say, raising my palms. “I didn’t say I believed him. Could’ve just been throwing names against a wall hoping something stuck.”
“Perhaps.”
“But I figured I might as well ask, see if you’d heard anything about small-time pricks around town making moves. Could be it was a setup.”
“Could be. Very well could be,” his tone terse. “But no, I haven’t heard anything.” He narrows his eyes, smiles a bit. “And what would make you think I’d tell you, even if I had?”
“Maybe I’m hoping there’s a part of you ready to put this cold war on ice for good. Maybe it’s a stupid, sentimental part, but it’s there.”
He laughs, throwing back the rest of his drink, signaling for another. He sighs, shaking his head as if he doesn’t quite know where to begin. “You’ve done well for yourself, Sasha. AngelCorp wasn’t much when your father built it, just a little logistics project that served a single function—to move product without attracting the wrong eyes. But you’ve truly turned it into an empire, a spotless little empire. Logistics, finance, hell, even crypto. It’s almost charming how clean you’ve managed to make dirty money look.”
He narrows his eyes until his gaze is as sharp as broken glass. “But you forget: Every empire has a heartbeat. Find it, press on it, and the whole thing stops.”
I lean forward. “Are you threatening me?”
He sits back and smiles, satisfied with the effect he’s having on me. “No. Just reminding you that thiscity was mine before you were born. And it will remain mine, regardless of whatever machinations you have going on at your little AngelCorp.”
Interesting. What does he know, exactly?
He looks away thoughtfully. “The girl being targeted, it’s not your assistant, is it? I’ve seen her with you—pretty thing. Blonde. Gray eyes. Body to die for. You always did have your father’s tastes, Sasha. She reminds me of the sorts of skirts he used to chase.”
I say nothing. Rage courses through me. With each word he speaks, it becomes clearer that he knows more than he’s letting on. Peter’s shrewd, understands just how to dance around the edges, maintain plausible deniability.
“Anyway,” he says, finishing his drink, “step carefully now. As good as it was to see you, Sasha, keep in mind that cold wars have a way of heating up, especially if boundaries are overstepped. Take care,Yunosha.”
