Wordlessly, I guide her inside and I flip on the lights. The building bangs with the start of generators as everything comes into sight.
There are three trucks waiting to unload. I walk her over to one and open the back.
She looks inside the empty steel tank.
“It’s an oil truck,” she says, looking around then back at me. “So what?”
I pull the hatch.
Her mouth drops.
Amara lets out an audible gasp that echoes down the empty tank chamber. Below that, it is very much not empty. It’s meticulously full, loaded with no less than one hundred and eighty bricks of cocaine.
“Jesus.” She grabs the railing on the back of the truck to steady herself.
I stand behind her to ensure she doesn’t fall, but also so she doesn’t look away. I want her to see it. The enormity of it, the weight of it, the risk of it.
“Is this all from El Paso?” she asks.
“Yes. It’s the purest, most potent on the streets.”
“This is wild.”
I can tell it’s making her guilty, seeing this. Still, I cage her there, forcing her to take it all in.
“This is what we are dealing with, Amara. This is just one load of hundreds. This is the size of the operation.” I hop down and take her hand, pulling her next to me. “This is how deep we are. An operation like this doesn’t just equal federal prison if things go awry. It means death. Not a quick death, either. A bloody one. Beaten, dismembered, tortured beyond recognition.”
“Gee, you’re a ray of fucking sunshine today.”
“And not just for those involved,” I ignore her jab and continue, “but for the people who are loved by those involved.” Then I tip her chin up to look at me. “So what I need to know, Amara, is this: can you be trusted?”
“Can I?—?”
“Can you be loyal? Can you be faithful? Not just to the Bratvaand the Rozanov name, but tome?”
Amara’s eyes flutter as she looks up to the truck around the room and back to me.
And then, like the good girl she is, she nods before answering, “Yes.”
Then, and only then, does Amara earn a smirk from me.
39
AMARA
Fuck being kissed in front of everyone.
I used to think that was the endgame of public gestures, proving I am in fact property of Ransome Rozanov. But even the most passionate of kisses in front of every important and dangerous person in all of New York City takes a back seat to being shown what Ransome just shared with me.
It’s dangerous and illegal and crazy and top secret.
So… much… blow.
And Ransome showed it to me. Ransome has chosen me to be his other half in his life. He wants—no,needs—a woman at his side, on his arm, who will be his partner in all of this. And he wants me. Whether it’s because I am the first assistant he’s ever had who can actually do the job or for some other reason, he wants me. And as terrifying as that is, it’s also exhilarating.
It’s not just the money. It’s not just the fact that this is the first time in years, or maybe even ever, that I’ve actually felt like I might be capable of helping my brother and sisters.
It’s everything else too.
