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He liked to think he was very involved with all aspects of his business—both legal and illegal—but he didn’t have his finger in every pie. He delegated. He trusted the people under his employ. But perhaps it was time to do an internal audit. A drug kitchen on his property was no longer his speed. Especially one that was cooking dirty drugs.
“Let’s go have a chat with him,” Roman commanded, grabbing his suit jacket.
Abel followed, and Roman wasn’t surprised when Salvatore met them in the parking garage. Roman slid behind the wheel. He rarely used a driver, preferring to be in control of where he was going and when. They were followed by two more SUVs filled with his people, just in case Beltane proved to be an asshole.
It was closing in on ten in the morning when they pulled up in front of the warehouse. It didn’t have a view of the water, being set back from the docks by a row of boat sheds. Roman was pleased to see it was in good condition.
“Beltane looks to be keeping it clean at least,” Salvatore said, as if reading Roman’s thoughts.
Roman grunted, striding to the side door. “Too bad he isn’t doing the same with his merchandise.”
Beltane opened the door himself. He was a tall man with hazel eyes and an interesting mixed heritage. His skin was dark, yet his hair was very fair, and he was built like a tank. “Roman.” Beltane held out his hand. “What a surprise. It’s good to see you.”
Roman took the offered hand, shaking it briefly. “I hope you still think so after our talk.”
Beltane’s friendly smile faltered, but he still politely welcomed Roman, Abel, and Salvatore. “I’m sure I will. Come on in.”
Roman looked around, finding the inside had an impressive set-up. There were tables and boxes and drugs everywhere—lots of drugs. But it was all neat and tidy, with nothing on the floor. Nothing seemed amiss at first glance, but Angel had a black eye and a swollen cheekbone, so Roman got straight to the point. “I’m evicting you. Shut down your operation. I want you out in a week.”
Beltane laughed, obviously thinking Roman was joking. “Good one. Why are you really here?” he asked with a smile.
Roman stared at him. “I just told you why.”
Beltane looked from Roman to the other two men in confusion. “I don’t understand. Has something happened?”
“Your drugs have happened, that’s what,” Roman replied. “I want them off my streets. Yesterday,” he added harshly.
“Off...?” Beltane’s eyes bugged out. “You can’t be serious! Do you know how much revenue this pulls in? I’m sorry Roman, I am. But I can’t do it.”
Roman ran his tongue over his top teeth, impatience and anger rising. “There’s no point being the richest man in the graveyard, Beltane.”
“Are you threatening me?” Beltane demanded, his hands fisting at his sides.
“He’s not. No,” Salvatore said, stepping between them. “He’s simply stating a fact.”
Beltane shook his head, taking a step back and shoving his hands through his hair. “Since when do you have a problem with drugs?”
Since the creamy perfection of my stubborn beloved’s face was marred with dark bruises, he thought. “Since now.”
Beltane flung his arms out wide, clearly aggravated. “We’ve always had a good business relationship, Roman. I don’t want to jeopardize that. But this is my world, man.”
“Find a new world,” Roman stated implacably.
Beltane looked at him askance. “Like what? You want me to take up knitting or something?”
Roman considered the logistics for a moment. Beltane was a decent guy. “I could use another team to help with the weapons going international,” he offered.
“Guns?” Beltane shook his head. “I don’t know guns, Roman. I know drugs.”
“You obviously don’t know them very well if you’re cutting them with dirty shit,” Abel pointed out scathingly. He, too, had taken exception to Angela’s bruised face.
“What are you talking about?” Beltane asked.
“Are you saying you don’t know?” Roman looked him over carefully. The man was a picture of curiosity, rather than guilt. “There’s been an influx of overdoses and people going into drug-induced rages. There’s a new drug on the streets—or a dirty one.”
Beltane looked genuinely shocked. “That’s not me, Roman, I swear it. The stuff we produce is pure. You know our crops are well outside the city. This, here, is just where the packaging occurs. It’s a pill press. Nothing more.”
Roman scanned the room , noting the two lines of workers operating the presses like a well-oiled machine. Beltane looked to be running a tight ship. But Angel had been booted in the face by some guy hopped up on something. And she’d said it wasn’t the first case. The drugs were a problem, he had no doubt. “Looks like you’ve got someone undercutting you, Beltane.”
