“Yesli by tvoy brat byl zhiv…” my dad says.
If your brother was alive…
I bolt up from my chair and zero in on him. “Finish that sentence and this meeting is over.”
But my dad doesn’t even blink. If anything, he looks bored as he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Sit down, son. You know, if you’re going to run things, you’re going to have to learn to cool your temper. Now. We need to focus on the other moving parts here. What are people saying on the street?”
When I don’t answer, Baron steps in for me. “The Chadovichs are sniffing hard.”
“Do they know what we have going on?” my dad asks.
“They know we are up to something big, but they don’t know what.”
“Keep it that way,” he says.
I snort.
Like it’s that easy.
“You got something to say, son?”
“You know Tristan. I don’t have to tell you that he’s going to worm intel out of people and they’re going to figure shit out. Unless we lock things down, it could get even uglier.”
“Your contracted marriage is supposed to help with that,” he says.
“You know as well as I do that Tristan Chadovich doesn’t give two fucks about the truce,” I spit out.
When my dad doesn’t say anything right away, I know he knows I’m not wrong.
“So what do you propose we do, son?” he asks after a painful moment.
I sit back again. “We need extra measures. I personally would start with running the trucks straight through, no stop. But since you’re determined to do things your way, I think we need someone keeping a closer eye on logistics. Someone who has time to make it a full-time job. An eye and ear on all six trucks at all times.”
“They’d have to be a nobody for it not to look suspicious,” Baron says.
“A smart nobody who we trust,” my dad says. “You know anyone like that?”
I think about it for a second. But honestly, it’s been in the back of my mind for weeks. “I have someone in mind.” My lips tip in a hint of a smirk in one corner.
“Someone we can trust,” he reiterates.
“Yes. This person has proven loyal.”
“And we know this person will stay loyal?” he asks.
“She has incentives to, yes.”
“She,” he parrots. “Let me guess. That little minx of an assistant you’ve been parading around?”
Baron holds his breath, his eyes on me as I go on.
“She’s smart. Whip-smart. And very, very good at detailing sensitive work.”
I give my dad a moment to think about it. After finishing his whiskey, he takes in a labored breath. “Set up dinner, then. If she is going to be involved, and from the sounds of it she already is, I want to meet this young woman in a more… formal setting.”
37
AMARA
