Page 16 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

Society 69.

A collective of the wealthiest, most corrupt buyers in the underground. Enzo Marchetti supplied the human cargo and Society 69 auctioned them off to the filthiest bidders money can buy.

We reach the elevator and Harlon presses the call button. The machinery groans somewhere above us, old hydraulics protesting the late hour.

"I'll work on him." Harlon's voice drops low enough that the guard at the end of the corridor can't catch it. "We both know Enzo has more than he's giving you.”

I nod. “Men like him ration information. He's feeding me enough to stay useful but holding back enough to stay alive.”

Harlon clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I know how to adjust that calculation."

I don't ask how. Harlon's methods are his own and they produce results. That's all I need to know.

“Da, moy brat.” Yes, my brother. “Whatever you can help with. You know me and my brothers are good for the favor.”

Harlon tightens his hold on my shoulder a fraction and I stop.

"One more thing." He turns to face me and slips his hands into his pockets. His posture shifts from relaxed control to tense frustration. It’s noticeable in the bunching of his neck muscles and the tightness of his jaw. He’s about to ask a favor.

“Maybe I can cash in that favor a little early.”

“Name it.”

Harlon runs a hand through the lengths of his dark hair. He’s grayed more over the years and the creases at the corners of his eyes look deeper than usual. Stress ages a man and I know my friend is chin deep in it.

"Your shipping channels. The Eastern European routes, the port contacts, the men who move cargo through your corridors." He pauses and I get the impression what he’s about to ask isn’t something he’s comfortable with.

“What we talk about stays between us until you say otherwise,” I reassure him.

Keen dark eyes lift to meet mine. Doubt clears from his expression. "Have you, or your people, come across the name Tomas Montera?"

The name registers. The elevator arrives. The doors grind open and Harlon reached out, holding them open.

“Santi's brother?” I ask to confirm.

Harlon nods. "That’s the one."

I thumb the ring on my finger. "What's he into?" Santi Montera is Harlon’s partner in Club Genesis along with Cassius. They are connected at the hip and word is they once shared a wife. But that was a few years back. I’m not sure what happened that keeps their wedding bands on but no wife to be seen. There are, however, more rumors about a new love interest they share. And that is where my knowledge ends. I don’t go digging into other people’s lives unless I have a reason.

"Illegal cargo. Moving product through channels he shouldn't have access to." Harlon's jaw works once before he locks it down. "He's gone to ground. Three months, no contact. I need to find him before whatever he's running catches up to people I care about."

The weight of that last sentence lands between us. I’ve been in his position and it’s not fun. He’s talking about his partners and I get the feeling the new love interest is involved.

"Up until now, I haven’t heard anything. Let me put feelers out through my port networks. If Tomas is moving cargo through my Eastern European channels, I’ll find out."

"Appreciate it." I nod and take the hand he offers in a tight grip and he returns it in kind. Solid, strong and unafraid of another strong man. I like that.

"Volkov." Harlon's voice catches me before I step in. "Keep this between us. Santi doesn't know I’m looking for his brother. This shit could get ugly."

“And Cassius?” His other business partner is just as close to this. You mention the Men of Genesis and everyone knows you speak of the three most powerful men in Chicago. I say that with respect knowing where I stand in the line of power. Money is not an issue for me. Status is also something else I have. But the Red Letter Syndicate pays Genesis to do business in Chicago. And we do so out of respect and mutual understanding of where we sit.

“If he starts asking me questions, how honest do you want me?”

“Only between us. We good with that?”

"Da." I step into the elevator. "Between us."

I ride up alone, the hum of the machinery filling the small space, and by the time the doors open at street level, my mind has already shifted from the interrogation to the calculation. Harlon’s problem takes a back seat for now.