“Deep equals rich, son. And we are rich. But this is private island rich.”
“You looking to build an El Dorado replica?”
My dad offers half a smile, which is appropriate because it was only half a joke.
“I recommend you gear up, son.” My dad pats my shoulder and walks out.
I stay until I know he is gone. Then I walk over to the room where the workers are and snag a brick. It’s one kilo of finely packed cocaine. I stare at it, let my eyes sweep the room and then back at my hand.
The move I am about to make has risks of its own. And yes, that’s the right word for it. Because it involves another chess piece. One that moves around the board at its own free will—making moves, taking chances, breaking rules.
And maybe… upping my odds.
I head out the back door and hit the button to open the trunk. Amara looks up at me, laying awkwardly in her black pencil skirt and her sleeveless, ruffled, button up blouse. She looks surprised.
“You came back,” she says. But not in a sexyI knew you’d never leave mesort of way. More like she’s surprised. Which is irritating.
“Get out of the trunk,” I tell her, and all the snark drains from her face.
I expect her to lose her shit. To fire off about how I left her, kidnapped her, held her hostage. But Amara is quiet. Calm. Alert.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I say.
“I was going to say the same.”
And there’s the lip.
“Get in the car,” I tell her, and she reaches for the back seat handle. “No. The front seat.”
Amara looks at me. I look at her.
She rounds the car and gets inside.
After a beat, I talk. “You’re a smart girl, Amara. But I need to know if I can trust you to do something for me.”
“Okay,” she says quietly, with no question in her voice. And then, “What can I do for you, Mr. Rozanov?”
Another beat.
“I need to know if you can be quiet,” I say, my voice low and stern.
“How quiet?” she asks.
I reach in my jacket and pull out the brick, setting it on her lap.
Amara gasps, holding up her hands away from it. Like she doesn’t know what to do with it. Like she doesn’t want to touch it.
“Is this?—”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a lot of?—”
“Yeah. And there’s more where it came from.”
Amara’s pretty little mouth is popped open and her eyes flutter over to mine. “How… much… more?”
23
