“Hey,” he hands me a clean shirt. “Thanks for coming over.”
I remove my jacket and pull on the shirt—we’re the same size, so thankfully, it fits. “No problem. Is Benny here?”
“On his way. I’ve told him we need to talk about the warehouses but he has something else he needs to tell us—in person.”
“Sounds ominous.”
Benito is our consigliere and though his favorite vocation is getting to the frontline and squeezing the life of people, his real job is understanding the markets, the competition, potential allies, opportunities for expansion, that kind of thing. When he says he has information he needs to deliver in person, it’s usually something serious.
“So, there’s time to explain why you left the house half-dressed.”
I’d hoped to dodge that line of questioning. I sit in a chair opposite his and shrug. “I didn’t.”
“So, what happened?”
“A tray of coffees, an unfortunate collision and an angry female.”
“Angry female?” He grins. “Isn’t that your favorite kind?”
Yeah. It is. But for some reason I don’t want to discuss her in the office of New York’s mob boss. Not yet. I chuckle instead and leave it at that.
We talk through some of the warehouse logistics until Benny arrives, then he closes the office door and leans his back against the window, feet crossed, hands deep in his pockets.
There’s a knowing look in his eye. So I can tell before he’s even opened his mouth, the information he has is juicy.
“So?” Cristiano lifts a brow.
“I know why the Russians have gone quiet.”
I lean forward resting my elbows on my knees. “Go on.”
“Our suspicions are correct. They’re working on something big. Bigger than New York. I’m still waiting on some details, but it’s international.”
My eyes narrow. “An arms deal?”
“I don’t have that insight yet, but it’s likely. Or drugs.”
“Or humans,” Cristiano says tightly, sitting back in his leather chair.
My knuckles throb a little. “When will you know more?”
“I have someone on the inside but they’re not inner circle. They need to bide their time and butter up the right people without seeming suspicious. He thinks he’ll have something for me in the next few days.”
Cristiano stretches his arms overhead, interlinking his fingers behind his head.
“Okay. As soon as we know what it is, and how it impacts us, we’ll figure out a way to get closer. I knew they were up to something.”
“Yeah.” I flick my gaze back to Benny. “It’s not like Morozov to simply walk away.”
I sit back, letting the weight of that name settle in my chest. Morozov doesn’t retreat unless it’s strategic. Silence from a man like him doesn’t signal peace. It signals that something else has gotten his attention—for now.
We catch up on some other business, then we part ways, each of us tacitly agreeing to keep our eyes open and our mouths shut until Benny’s guy comes back with something concrete, and I head back to my car.
The first thing my gaze is drawn to is the crumpled, coffee-stained blouse.
I don’t start the engine right away. I just sit, thinking about Russians with shady ambitions and women with oceans in their eyes, and how neither ever enters your life without changing the landscape in some way.
I don’t know which one will demand more of me in the days to come.
