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“I’m not sure what you mean,” Alessandro purrs. “You told me to mind my business and stay out of your way, and that’s what I’ve done—just like you wanted.”
“Is that what you call a ten-million dollar bounty on my wife’s head?”
His wolfish smile grows tight, but he keeps it in place. “I hadn’t heard about that.”
“Strange, because the wire transfers, wiretaps, and both attempts on my life all point to the same person: you.”
Alessandro arches a curious brow. “Throwing around errant accusations in our line of work is dangerous, Mr. Adamov.”
“Attacking my family is even more dangerous. And I got all the proof I needed when someone called me out of the blue and asked for a private audience.” I reach for a cigar and light up. “I’d offer you one, but there’s no point in wasting a perfectly good smoke on a dead man.”
Alessandro stiffens. “You’re bluffing. None of my men would ever betray me.”
Dominik looks between the two of us, trying to figure out which of us is full of shit.
The silence stretches and Alessandro’s face turns red. His jowls tremble as he turns to inspect his men. “If one of you turned on me, you’ll?—”
But his threat is interrupted by the scream of a gunshot.
Alessandro’s mouth is still open as blood pours down his chin. His two muscle-bound thugs shift casually to the side to avoid the spray as their boss collapses onto the glass coffee table, shattering it under his weight.
Directly behind him is Enzo, arm still raised, gun smoking.
“You gave him a clean death,” I accuse. “Pity.”
He shrugs as he reholsters his weapon. “Whatever he became, he’s still my father.”
“Blyat’!” Dominik glares between me and Enzo. “The two of you planned this together?”
Enzo carefully fixes his cuffs. “Was it a good show?”
“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet, Enzo,” I warn. “Alessandro’s death alone isn’t enough compensation for the last several months.”
“The bounty has been withdrawn. I’ll make sure that message is reiterated now that I’m at the helm of the Calcagno mafia.” He waves away both henchmen, who retreat without a backward glance. “I have a wife, too, Arsen. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. Family should be off-limits. As don, I give you my word that it will be so.”
“You’ve been don for sixty seconds. Your word means nothing yet.”
“But it will soon. Let’s set up a meeting,” he offers, unbothered. “Apropermeeting. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. I’m willing to make it worth your while.”
Stubbing out my cigar on his father’s sallow cheek, I rise to my feet and offer him my hand. “If I come to the table, it better be.”
2
ARSEN
Jasper springs out of bed when I barge into his room. He’s pale. The t-shirt he’s wearing swallows him whole. Underneath it, he’s just skin and bone.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Getting sober can do that to you.”
I take a quick scan around the room. It’s bare and depressing—a single bed pushed against the window and a lopsided dresser with a stack of coasters where the fourth leg should be. There aren’t many places to hide a stash in this room, but Jasper was always creative.
“I know that look.” He squares his shoulders. “Iamsober now, Arsen. Painfully so.” He opens his arms like it’s a magic show. “It only took four months and a couple of suicide attempts before I saw the light.”
I’ve read his reports. Not once, but twice, he tried to slice a knife across his wrists. Matvei and Valentin were there to stop him. Without them, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
I can’t decide if that would’ve been the better outcome.
