Page 8 of Maximum Bet

He leans back and crosses an ankle over a knee.

My men spent the morning watching Santos. He’s down five thousand dollars in my casino. There doesn’t seem to be a set of blackjack tables or slot machines he can walk by without playing a hand or pulling a lever. I’m sure after our meeting, he’ll keep forking over his money.

In the chair next to him, Leo holds his notebook open on his lap, and on the couch to my left, my father and Nico wait for me to move past pleasantries.

Santos’s enforcer, the same one from the warehouse, lurks by the closed door. I allowed them to keep their weapons. I’m hoping that wasn’t a mistake.

“Jorge,” I say, leaning in, forearms resting on my desk. “I want to make sure you know I meant no disrespect when we didn’treach out in Miami. There is a threat that we did not want to drag you into the middle of.”

Nico shifts minutely, but I can tell the enforcer catches the movement. My cousin only recently became the boss of Chicago. He still needs to work on his tells.

“Ah, but, Dominic, your enemies are my allies,” Santos counters, a gleam in his eye at the prospect of argument.

“Are we not allies?” I cock my head in challenge.

“We are.”

Point for me.

He takes a moment, fingers drumming the arm of the chair. “I do not want to interfere. So, I cannot give you information about the Kozlovas or the Medinas.”

Nico scoffs.

I send him a glare, then nod at Santos. “And I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“I would.” Nico jumps in, rising from his seat. “Kozlova and Perez use your ports to smuggle substances, yes?”

“I can’t confirm or deny.” Santos gives a smug grin.

Nico’s long strides carry him until he’s perched at the side of my desk, arms crossed, peering down at Santos. “I already know the answer.”

“It’s not only drugs they smuggle,” I add, attempting to hold the reins to keep Nico’s temper under control.

“You know we don’t allow trafficking.” Santos sneers, insulted at my insinuation.

Nico’s brow quirks. “Or do you just look the other way?”

“Okay,” Leo says, pen tapping his notepad. “I think wedohave a common goal. Jorge, I’ve spoken to Dominic ad nauseam about this topic, and if he doesn’t mind my cutting in, I think you will find our list of questions agreeable.”

I wave Leo on. If he can get this meeting on track, he has my blessing.

“We understand you can’t tell us Kozlova and Perez’s whereabouts, and we wouldn’t ask that of you. But can you tell us where the majority of your shipments originate?”

Santos debates for a few moments, sliding a finger over the weathered skin of his cheek. “South America and the Caribbean are all I can tell you.”

I fight a sigh. Leo has to narrow it down.

Leo nods. “My understanding is the cartels are looking for places to launch from other than Venezuela due to recent events.”

“Fair to say,” Santos agrees.

“Mexico has too much competition.” Leo shakes his head, glancing at his notebook

Santos shrugs, but a flicker of a smile tugs at his lips. “I wouldn’t counter your assessment.”

“And Cuba.” Leo looks up. “The families you know are in direct competition with the Mexicans, plus they are also dealing with the issues stemming from Venezuela.”

“You’ve done your research.”