Luca Castellano arrives at eight on the dot. He's brought two men of his own, both of whom take positions at the bar opposite mine.
Luca himself is thirty-two. He looks younger. He has dark hair, good suit, the kind of easy smile that gets him into places his name alone wouldn't. His father built the Castellano operation on fear. Luca is building his extension of it on charm, which makes him more dangerous, not less. A man you fear, you watch. A man you like, you let close.
"Dom." He extends his hand across the table. His grip is firm, brief, correct. "Thanks for making time."
"Luca."
He sits. He orders a bottle of something expensive without looking at the wine list and makes small talk with the waiter about the specials. I watch him.
He's confident. More confident than the last time we sat across a table, which was eighteen months ago at a fundraiser for the children's hospital, the kind of event where men like us write checks to make ourselves feel clean. Since then, the Castellano operation has expanded. New territory on the east side. A construction firm that's almost certainly a front. And now, whatever they're trying in my casino. I don’t have any proof that it’s the Castellano’s behind it. But it is.
The wine arrives. Luca pours for both of us. I don't touch mine.
"I'll get straight to it," he says. "I respect your time."
"Go ahead."
"The market's changing, Dom. You see it. I see it. Ten years ago, there was enough room for everyone. Now?" He tilts his hand:fifty-fifty. "The feds are squeezing the traditional revenue streams. My father's generation could run things the old way. Ours can't. We need to be smarter."
I agree with him on that. The old ways don’t work, but I think we’d disagree on what the new way should be. I don’t answer, let him keep speaking. He keeps going as if I asked him to elaborate.
"Integration,” he says, sitting back and looking satisfied. “Your family has the infrastructure. Legitimate businesses, licenses, cash flow that can withstand an audit. My family has supply chains and distribution networks that generate revenue your casinos could process without anyone looking twice."
He says it the way you'd pitch a merger at a board meeting. But what he's describing is money laundering on a scale thatwould triple our federal exposure overnight. Yes, it’d bring in more money, but I have money. The only real thing I’d be gaining is an increased risk of a racketeering sentence. The Castellanos have always handled things the Novikovs haven’t wanted to touch. Even rats have some honor.
"We've always kept our operations separate for a reason," I say.
"Our fathers’ reasons. Times change."
"It’s a good reason. We’d be taking on substantially more risk. And for what benefit?"
Luca smiles. It's a good smile. Open, warm, the kind that makes you want to trust him. "I understand the hesitation. But consider the alternative. Right now, there are... inefficiencies in the system. It creates vulnerability. For both of us."
The subtext is thin enough to see through. He's telling me his people are already operating inside my casinos, and the fact that it's taken me this long to find them is a demonstration of capability. He's not threatening me. He's showing me his hand, the way you'd lay down cards.Look what I can do. Imagine what we could do together.
"I'll think about it," I say.
"That's all I ask." He lifts his glass. "To efficiency."
I raise mine. "To efficiency,” I repeat.
"Mm." Luca picks up his menu. "Shall we order? The veal here is outstanding."
The conversation turns to lighter things: the boxing match last weekend, real estate prices. Luca is engaging, funny even. He tells a story about his uncle in Naples that has the timing of a professional comedian. In another life, I might enjoy his company.
The waitress has come over to take our order when the front door opens and the temperature in the room drops.
My father is not a large man. Nikolai Novikov is five-ten in his shoes, slim, seventy-three years old. He wears plain dark suits and his hair is white and cropped short and he carries no visible weapon. He doesn't need to. The two men who flank him are younger, larger, and armed, but they're not the reason every head in the restaurant turns.
My father walks to the table. He doesn't hurry. Luca stands immediately, buttoning his jacket, his charm recalibrating from casual to respectful in the space of a breath.
"Mr. Novikov." Luca extends his hand. "This is an honor. I do apologize. I didn’t realize you would be joining us."
Neither did I. A flush of annoyance rises up from my belly. The last thing I need is Luca thinking I need my daddy to hold my hand over a business lunch. Or that he doesn’t trust me enough to handle this on my own.
My father takes his hand, then shakes mine. He pulls out the chair beside mine and sits down. His two men take positions at the wall. Viktor hasn't moved, other than to acknowledge his former boss with a brief respectful nod.
"Luca," my father says. "You look well. Pass my regards to your father and to your brothers of course."
