“I’ve obviously gleaned some idea, but sure.”
“It’s a shame your family is Spanish. It would be so much easier if they were Italian.” He picks up his whisky glass from the table.
It takes me a flicker of a moment to make the connection, then I wonder how I didn’t see it before. “Mafia?”
DeLuca inclines his head like I’m a precocious student. “It might be wise, while you’re here, to play up your Catholic education, remember the better lines fromTheGodfather, and choose lasagna if it’s an option.”
Now I’m not sure if he’s joking. “Are all the… members…” Or whatever the word is. “…of Italian American heritage?”
“Not at all,” he says, deadpan. Then his face cracks into a smile. “Your expression. Priceless.”
So not the Mafia, then. And as far as I’m aware, I don’t currently have an expression. “What can you tell me?”
“At this point, anything you wish to know.” He gestures to encompass the room we’re in, or maybe the whole house. “We’re past the point of no return.”
It’s mildly concerning, if not a surprise, to hear him confirm it. But I had assumed as much after our dinner the week before. Still, I’m curious how far down the rabbit hole I’ve already fallen. “Once here, does anyone ever leave?”
DeLuca regards me for a moment, then accepts the question as nothing more than the straight inquiry it is. “No.”
Clear, if somewhat chilling. I keep my tone light. “Then the perks must be good.”
He barks a laugh. “The perks, dear Alexander, are to die for.”
“Whose house is this?” I ask, ignoring the unsubtle implication he’s just dropped.
“It’s no one’s. Which is to say, it belongs to theCompany.”
There’s that deliberate emphasis on ‘company’ again. “And the purpose of tonight?”
“Our quarterly meeting. You won’t be the only new face, so you won’t be under any focus. In fact, all we need to do is attend. The board handles everything.”
“Who are they?”
He smiles thinly. “Representatives of the various groups, some of whom sit on the official boards of those organizations, and some don’t. You’ll know their names.”
His answers to my questions are light on detail. I try again. “Then this setup is, in essence, a vehicle for deal acceleration and increasing win chance.”
“Simplistic, if not wrong.” He takes a sip of his whisky. “What we do here is ensure—and I do emphasizeensure—that the engagements we throw our weight behind are continuously successful and profitable. And yes, to your point, faster. Because time is money, is it not?”
“Obviously.”
“Quite. The Company has controlling stakes and financial interests in everything within the wider Cadrion Group. In essence, we are Cadrion, and we like to win.”
Beneath the holding umbrella, there are billions of dollars at stake, control of it circulating through the fifty or so people that DeLuca tells me make up this shadow society. Even if most of the profits sit with the board, the crumbs of that particular table are enticingindeed. With that much money, it becomes political too. Influence to conduct themselves—ourselves—almost as we wish.
Finance through Northbridge; Law via Armitage and Calder; Apex Advanced for technology and defense. And Sentinel Risk Advisory, a company which could cover all manner of things—intelligence, compliance, security. Coercion.
With that combination, there’s little Cadrion couldn’t do, with a willingness to be underhanded. If that’s not too weak a word.
Someone like Greenstone won’t stand a chance, which makes that thirty-million as good as in my pocket. As DeLuca says, the perks are to die for. Or kill for.
He’s watching me as I put it all together, mouth curving in smug satisfaction.
“Our own private corner of the world.” With our own rules.
“You get it,” he says, toasting me with his whisky glass.
“And the price of all this?”
