“That looks fresh.” I walk around the bloodstain and sit in one of the empty chairs. “You seem to have had an eventful morning already.”
“Something like that.” Roman Petrov’s lips pull into a wry smirk. “So, what brings you to Chicago? A hankering for a deep-dish pie? What has it been? Years? You don’t call. Don’t write…”
“You know exactly why I am here, Roman. Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we? I want to know how that list ended up in your hands, and what it is you want from me.”
“Straight to the point. Always liked that about you.” He lays the gun on the desk, then leans back in the executive chair, scrutinizing me. “I want inside your distribution network.”
Crafty son of a bitch. Bratva has been trying for years to get me to move their drugs. I’ve refused every time. Officially, there are no ties between Boston Cosa Nostra and Chicago Bratva. We all stick to our own turf and lines of business. Hell, as far as I know, not even Ajello has any entanglements with the Russians, despite a marriage connection on two fronts. I’ve never liked the idea of giving even an unofficial competitor a leg up. Not unless it’s worth my while.
“Not happening,” I say.
“Jesus fuck! Why are you so opposed? Is my money not good enough for you?”
“I don’t have a problem with you or your money, Roman. It’s the personnel that you usually send to escort your shipments that worries me. As much as I can appreciate his enthusiasm for his work, I don’t want your brother anywhere near my trucks.”
“Blyat. You heard?”
“That Sergei blew up the truck stop diner while the rig with your shipment was still in the lot? Yes, I heard about that.”
“They didn’t have the almond milk he takes in his coffee. Sergei has a…small…issue with dairy, so that set him off.” He shrugs. “But no sweat. I’ll just make sure he brings a thermos of coffee with him. Problem solved.”
My eyebrows rise. I thought Belov was the crazy one. It seems that lunacy runs in the family.
“Alright, fine,” Petrov grumbles. “If I keep my brother away from your precious trucks, will you reconsider?”
“Maybe. What channel are you interested in?”
“Colombia—out of Cali, specifically—to Chicago.”
“Frequency and amount?”
“Half a ton. Once a month, to start. Our partnership with a local supplier is still fairly new.”
“Any chance of getting them to move the product for pickup out of my warehouse in Medellin instead?”
“Should be doable.”
“Alright.” I nod. “Transport will cost you ten percent of street value.”
“Ten fucking percent?” he roars. “Are you nuts?”
“That’s my price for guaranteed delivery. Take it or leave it.”
“You Italians are damn cutthroats when it comes to business dealings.” He tsks as he pours me a glass of whiskey, then pours one for himself. “Tell me, Adriano… Is your don aware of your little enterprise? Your ‘side hustle,’ as we say? The fact that you’ve been using your company’s resources to establish a distribution network that covers half the country, and—because of that—you hold practically every criminal syndicate in thepalm of your hand? I doubt Spada would be thrilled to learn that he’s not your sole customer. You are his subordinate, after all.”
“Don Spada is the head ofla Famiglia, yes. However, I hold no official role in the Boston Cosa Nostra hierarchy, merely occupy a seat on the Council, where my money is always welcome. Hence, what I do with my personal assets is none of his business.”
The Russianpakhannarrows his eyes as he glares at me, then bursts into a raucous guffaw. “I’ve been curious as fuck why someone like you has never been promoted to capo. Hell, even underboss. I assumed that the Family must have been reticent to give a man of your means that much power. But, it turns out, you don’t fucking want it!”
I nod. Ihavebeen offered a capo’s position over the years.Manytimes. I’ve always declined, choosing to follow my own path. I have no intention of relinquishing either my personal or my business interests to Cosa Nostra, and accepting any sort of rank inla Famigliawould lead straight to that. I might recognize and respect the don’s authority, but not over me. I bow to no one.
“Well then? Do we have a deal?” I say.
“We have a deal. Now, about this problem of yours. The list—”
“How did you get it?”
“Funny story, actually. Five days ago, this mofo showed up at Baykal, looking for me. Said he’s got some valuable info to sell. I wasn’t around, but Mikhail was here. He can be very…persuasive, let’s say, when it comes to asking the right questions. It’s his gift, really. You know how with just a kind word or two, or the touch of a hand, some people can convince others to spill all their secrets? That’s Mikhail. He’s an excellent listener and—”
