Sullivan sat back with the same easy smile he’d worn the whole time. “Shall we retreat to my study for brandy and cigars? I have a few things I’d like to talk to you about, Miss Gatti.”
Wanda matched his smile. “Of course. We have some news for you, as well.”
Alistair had seen the library where Sullivan held court to greet the guests at his wife’s birthday party. That had felt like the backdrop of a photography studio, set up to give an impression but not actually used. Sullivan’s study was the opposite of that: the comfortable chairs were well-worn, the desk stained from innumerable cups of coffee, the wall covered in what looked like personal photographs. Yet another portrait of his dead son hung on the wall, overlooking the proceedings.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Sullivan said, gesturing to the chairs. “Is brandy all right? What about you, Sam—I have some mineral water imported special from Europe.”
“Thank you,” Sam said.
Turner made as if to pour their drinks, but Sullivan waved him off. “Sit down, Lenny, your wife’ll kill me if I send you home in worse shape than you left.”
Tuner sat down with a groan. “I’m just glad she was never at the hospital at the same time as this one nurse I had. Could’ve given Rudolph Valentino a run for his money. I told him that he was wasted in Chicago, ought to take his face out to Hollywood.”
Sam started slightly, though Alistair couldn’t figure out why.
“You cad, flirting with the nurses,” Sullivan laughed, passing Turner a generous snifter of brandy. “Be glad Betty didn’t catch you!”
“She would’ve shot me, then run off with him,” Turner agreed. “Ah, well, such is the life of a married man.”
Sullivan broke out the cigars; he, Turner, and Wanda all lit one, while Alistair contented himself with his cigarettes and Sam sipped his mineral water. As smoke swirled in the air, Sullivan settled himself behind his desk, and some of his easy air slipped away.
Time for business, then.
“As delightful as your company is, Miss Gatti, I had ulterior motives for inviting you here tonight.” Sullivan flicked ash into a Lalique ashtray. “But first, you said you had some news?”
“Isabella Fabiano paid a visit to The Pride last night. In person.”
Silence followed her pronouncement. Turner didn’t move, but something about him seemed to shift from interested listening to watchful tension.
“I see.” Sullivan didn’t sound happy, but no reason he should if his chief enemy felt comfortable coming that deep into his territory, disguised or not. “And what did she have to say?”
“She wanted us to join her against you.” Wanda spoke matter-of-factly, but her expression was hard. “I don’t know if she was hoping to recruit Sam as part of the deal—his name didn’t come up, but she’d be a fool if she didn’t try. Obviously, we declined. She left without incident, but I suspect she won’t just let the matter go.”
Sullivan lifted his glass to his lips, presumably contemplating what Wanda told him. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I appreciate you bringing this to me. In return, let me do something for you.”
The back of Alistair’s neck pricked. There was no offer Sullivan could make that would ultimately be good for them.
Wanda merely looked curious. “What’s that?”
“I understand you’re having some supply trouble.”
This was probably why they’d been invited here in the first place, only now Sullivan could pretend he was returning a favor instead of making a move.
“I’m happy to say that’s in the past, Mr. Sullivan,” she replied, even though they hadn’t yet made an agreement with Ross Brown.
“Is it? That’s good to hear.” Sullivan sounded sincere, but Alistair didn’t buy it for a minute. “But I can’t help but notice the market has been a bit, shall we say, unstable recently.”
That was certainly one way to describe a series of cold-blooded murders.
“Small time operators come and go, but a businesswoman like yourself understands the need for a steady supply. Something you can count on to be there when you need it.” Sullivan sat back in his chair and blew out a long stream of smoke. “I can help you with that.”
Of course he could—and poison their customers with his panther piss while he was at it. Alistair wanted to protest, but for once he held his tongue.
“I’m sure you could,” Wanda replied politely. “But as I said, we have other arrangements for now, and I’m not a lady to back out of deal once it’s made.”
Sullivan held up his hands, as if to protest his innocence. “I never meant to suggest otherwise, Miss Gatti. In fact, it’s a quality I admire in my own business partners.” He glanced at Sam, as if inviting him to agree. Sam smiled weakly.
“But the situation is volatile,” Turner said. So they were a pack, one moving in for the kill, then backing off and letting the other attack from another angle. “You’d be wise to have a backup plan, should your current arrangement fall through.”
