“Everything you say about Thatcher is true,” I admit. “Except for the very last bit. He might have the capacity to lead if the situation calls for it. But it’s obvious what that man needs, more than anything, is someone to tell him what to do.”
Chapter 8
My ire isn’tfor Misha, but he’s the messenger, and he’sthisclose to being shot.
“This might be a good thing for you. If you aren’t going to fuck anyone, you can let off some steam with your other favorite pastimes. Scheming and torture.”
“Fuck you. This is bullshit, and you know it.” Idolove both of those things, but they takeenergy. Energy that I don’t currently have.
As always, his demeanor doesn’t budge an inch. He’s calm, relaxed in the chair across from my desk, and ready to provide me with whatever I need. A shoulder to cry on? It’s mine. A weapon or five? He’ll be back in fifteen minutes with a selection for me to choose from. An ear to listen to me bitch unproductively, then try to offer a solution, even if I don’t wantto hear one? As annoying as his advice can be, he’s usually right, and healwayslets me get every ounce of my frustration out before trying to fix my problems.
“I do know it, moya sila.”
Fuckingfuck.As if I don’t have enough shit on my plate already, one of the board members has come to me with an “amazing opportunity” from a former lawyer of Ivan’s brother, Pavel. Based on the way he ran things here, my guard was up as soon as we received the meeting request. Misha handled the initial contact, and without a hint of subtlety, we were basically handed a piece of paper with a giant “screw you” written on it.
It’s a joke of an offer from a syndicate that’s been a thorn in this branch’s side for years. The fact that Pavel’s lawyer is the intermediary makes me wonder how much information he took with him when he left. Their offer is to stop fucking with swaths of our shipping in an area that borders their territory, in exchange for us allowing shared access to one of our priority shipping lanesandextension of protection from various maritime law enforcement agencies that we pay off handsomely.
“They want us to back off territory we already own and givethemaccess to our protection. And all we get is a couple fewer bombed shipments per quarter?”
“The last one was a pretty solid hit, and it took out one of the men who’d been here a while. He was getting ready to go on paternity leave. And they’re framing this as a welcome gift for you, the new Pakhan. It’s not a bad strategy, if you think about it.”
My hand itches with the urge to shatter my teacup against the wall, but instead I sip it, enjoying the burn on my tongue. “Hmm. So the men who lost a friend will enjoy the stability that’s offered, and anyone else will see the weakness of conceding territory for what it is.”
“Indeed. The timing is—”
“I know what the timing is.” A warning shot, right across my bow just as I’m approaching the safety of port. Someone wants me out of here, and they have enough sway to use our rivals to do it. Anyone willing to lower themselves to do business with these brutes will stop at nothing to see me ousted. “Do we have any clues about men in the ranks who are this disgruntled over our takeover?”
Misha shrugs. “We’re doing our best to ease in and find out. You know I wish I had loyalty-vision goggles just as much as you do. It takes time.”
It does take time. Time that I clearly have even less of than I realized. “Who else knows we received this?”
Now he winces, and I swear. “Well, once the men in the unit that suffered the casualty found out, I think news spread quickly.”
“That’s what they wanted. Not the lanes or the protection. They want factions in my men. Half will think we’re weak if we take the deal and cede their demands. The others will think I don’t value their lives and view them as cannon fodder. Whoever here is pushing this must have paid a pretty penny for the syndicate to stick their neck out like this and bet on the fact that I wouldn’t wage war.”
“Will you?”
The grandmother clock in my office chimes before I answer. Finishing my tea, I message the chef to prepare an afternoon snack before answering Misha’s loaded question.
“I refuse to have my hand forced. Based on everything I know about the syndicate, they’re too unstable to risk provoking us much more than they have been. I have a suspicion that they got lucky with the recent strikes, if they even consider those outcomes positive. They may have preferred to continue to cause minor damage and shit themselves when they drew blood.”
Of all the things I learned sitting at my father’s side, haste wasn’t one of them.
“We’ll continue with our own agenda as planned. As you worm your way into the ranks, we’ll see who advocates heavily for a conciliatory attitude with the syndicate. Ensure the widow and the child are provided for, and I’ll move up the announcement of the enhanced resources we’ll be offering across the board. As far as I’m concerned, business as usual. Don’t send a response.”
“They’ll consider that a response, you know.”
“They can consider it whatever they wish. Now, I think you were right earlier. Anything good in the barn for me?”
“Of all the sick things about you, each of which you know that I love, this has to be the sickest.”
Clinking my champagne glass against Misha’s in a toast, I drain the remainder and help myself to another scone. The chef prepared an excellent spread for my afternoon tea, inspired by a lazy summer beach day. Citrus and mint prevail, and the tiered tray wouldn’t be out of place in the tea parlor of a five-star hotel in London.
“See, that’s where I disagree. If you can make an argument for mercy for any of these men, by all means, I’ll hear it. I see it as meting out exactly the justice that they deserve.”
Although our business isn’t saintly, I do pride myself that it’s as above board as any illegal operation can be. My father felt the same way, as does Ivan. We’re working to undo the worst of what Pavel was involved in first, with many of his underworld contacts already taken out. I’m under no illusions that we make the world a better place, but I don’t traffic humans oranimals, and I also offer…closure to some of our agents in law enforcement who scratch our backs as we scratch theirs.
For some crimes, the American justice system is just too soft. Too lenient. Although I hope I never set foot on Russian soil again, it’s impossible to escape the fact that many of my most formative yearswerespent there. Perhaps the only way I feel more Russian than American is in my belief in justice.
