“The Italians?” Dom replies as he tilts his head at me.
“Gavriil talked with them before. They don’t like the Irish or the Armenians either and don’t want them coming after their territory next.”
“I told you that fell through,” Gavriil replies. “They wanted the warehouse near the harbor. I refused, and they walked.”
“What good is having that warehouse if no one is alive to use it?” I question him, hearing a few people draw in sharp breaths. I’m not afraid of Gavriil like they are, and someone needs to talk some sense into him. “Asking for help doesn’t make you look weak, Gavriil. It’s the smart move. What good is holding on to your pride if you’re dead?”
Gavriil stares back at me silently, his jaw tightening. He then exhales slowly. “What do you think, Dominik?”
“We’re at risk of losing the entire territory,” Dom says, crossing his arms. “Losing the harbor warehouse would hurt our operations, but we could find other warehouses. We could survive without it, but I don’t know if we can survive this war without help from the Italians.”
Gavriil nods his agreement. “Your call.”
It’s down to Dom to make the final decision.
Dominik glances over at me and nods. “We’ll contact the Italians for support. They can give us the numbers that we need for a quick ambush from behind.”
People around the table nod and murmur in agreement. Some look hesitant, but we’re backed into a corner right now. We don’t have the luxury to be picky about who our allies are and what assets we keep.
“Get Maximo Luciani on the phone,” Gavriil tells Matvei.
“Yes, sir.”
A few minutes later, the sound of ringing fills the bunker as a secure phone rests on the table in front of Dom.
There’s a crackle before a man with a smooth, deep voice speaks.
“Who the fuck is suicidal enough to call me this late?”
“Dominik Morozov,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering.
A chuckle sounds. “What happened to thePakhan? Did you finally kill him?”
Gavriil’s jaw tenses before he speaks. “I’m right here.”
“Ah, Gavriil,” Maximo says. “You made it clear that you didn’t need my help. Why are you and your brother calling me in the middle of the night?”
Gavriil looks over at Dominik, nodding for him to take the lead. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Gavriil step aside instead of standing in front.
“Our estate has been attacked by the Irish, the Armenians, and a group that we haven’t been able to identify,” Dom tells him. “We’ve regrouped in a safe location, and the estate is still swarming with enemies.”
“And?”
“And we need your help,” Dom says, slightly gritting out the words. “I know you wanted our warehouse by the harbor. We’re willing to give it to you if you help us.”
“Do remember that these are your enemies too,” Gavriil adds. “If they claim our territory and equipment, what makes you think they won’t try to take yours next?”
“You expect me to send my men into a possible deathtrap in the middle of the night just for a warehouse? After you already denied my generosity to my face?”
Nervousness twists in my stomach. This might not work out. We might be stranded to handle this ourselves, and we all know how that’s going to play out.
“Consider this a longstanding partnership. If you need us in the future, which you know may happen, you’ll have an ally to support you,” Dom explains. “With your help, we have a good shot at beating them. Show them Italian brute force. Ensure that they don’t come after you next.”
The silence stretches long enough that I start counting heartbeats.
Everyone is holding their breath, waiting for his answer. The one that decides our fate.
“How many men do you need?”
