Chapter Seventeen
Adam
“I don’t see why we need to do this,” I told Preston when he arrived at my Ibis Isle house the evening after we traveled to Palm Beach to close the sale on InstaPost’s new headquarters. “Dinner with the seller is highly irregular, even for a deal like this one.”
“I know it is.” He leaned against the wrought iron staircase railing that decorated my house’s grand entrance. “But you heard what the realtor said. Apparently, this land has some sentimental value to the seller, and he wants to celebrate doing business together.”
I raised an eyebrow. “This all sounds pretty off to me.”
“At least we’ll have the security team.” Preston pointed out the window at the black SUV parked in my driveway. “And those guys are the best in the business.”
“I know.” I looked at my reflection in the hallway mirror and straightened my tie.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the whole thing.
Sheila had been urgent, almost insistent that we attend the last-minute dinner.
The shrillness of her voice when she called Preston’s cell phone that afternoon stayed with me long after the call ended.
“But what are we going to do if things don’t turn out the way we expected? ”
Preston ran a hand through is hair. “Look, man, as I said on the flight down here, I looked up the seller and we ran a background check weeks ago. It’s all legit.
We’re talking about Tony Roberts, for God’s sake, one of the most affluent businessmen in South Florida.
He seals deals over steaks and champagne.
That’s just part of the way he does things. ”
“It’s not the way I do things.”
“Maybe it should be.” Preston narrowed his eyes, and a familiar seriousness crossed his face.
“We need this space, and he’s willing to let it go for way under what I would have expected to pay for a place like this.
We’re getting a steal here, and this is going to do a world of good for InstaPost. Think of the future. ”
“The future, huh? I’m not convinced we need to move the business to South Florida. There are forty-nine other states.”
“Goddamn it.” Preston slapped the hall table. “You are not doing this right now. You’re not.”
“Doing what?”
“Changing things. Backing down. Coming in last minute like a fucking—”
“Okay, Okay.” I held up a hand to silence him. “I get it. You’re right. I haven’t been as engaged in the acquisition as I should have been, and that’s bullshit. This is important for the company.”
“It is.” Preston’s expression turned into a scowl. “You’ve been in a goddamned funk, and I’ve let it go. But not anymore. Too much is at stake.”
It was a good point. And I had been an asshole. That needed to change.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but it sounded weak even to my ears. “I’ll snap out of this. I’ll focus.”
Preston didn’t look convinced, but he let out a long sigh. “Good. You’re coming to dinner, and we’re closing this sale. That’s final. Our new second headquarters will be right here in Palm Beach County. End of story.”
“End of story,” I echoed, taking my keys from the bowl on the hall table. He was right, of course, and I knew it. My personal life and my business one needed to stay separate. InstaPost was my baby too, and this step would take the company to the next level. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
Antonio’s Steak and Seafood was on the other side of West Palm Beach, across the bridge and a lifetime away from the usual spots I frequented when in town.
Since opening a few years earlier, the fine dining revival in a repurposed school had earned a lot of acclaim, as well as a reputation for some of the best shrimp cocktail and red snapper in the region.
When we arrived, the hostess led us to a back room, sectioned off from the rest of the dining room by a large screened wall and special doorway.
“You’ll need to leave your security team outside the event space.” The hostess gestured to the two bodyguards Preston had hired for this occasion, ones that came from the same agency I often used. She pointed over her shoulder. “They can take seats at the booth over there.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “They’re part of our negotiation team.”
“House rules,” she said, her expression unchanged.
“It’s fine,” Preston muttered. Then he addressed the rest of the group. “That’s fine. We’ll abide by your rule on this. Gentlemen, please have a seat.”
The security detail followed Preston’s request and slid into the booth closest to the banquet room entrance. I eyed the hostess, still unconvinced. I didn’t want to get caught in a situation I couldn’t control without the people we’d hired expressly for that reason. “I’m not okay with this.”
Preston glared at me then turned back to the hostess. “Don’t mind him. We’re happy to comply.”
A small smile crossed her face. “This way, then, gentlemen.” With a flourish, she opened the door to the small banquet room. Two men sat at a table in the center. “Please be seated,” the hostess said. She pointed to the two empty seats at the round table. “I believe this is the rest of your party.”
“Thank you, Jenna. I appreciate it,” a man I recognized as Tony Roberts said with a curt nod.
She gave him a small bow and backed out of the space.
As the hostess closed the doors behind her, I noticed a man just inside the door wearing a black suit, a crisp white shirt, an earpiece, and what looked like a holster with a gun.
We might not have our security detail, but the other people at this dinner certainly had theirs.
Not good.
I glanced at Preston. Did he notice this too? If he did, he didn’t show it. Still, the realization that a bodyguard was in the room gave me my first indication that my suspicions were right. We didn’t need to be here. At all.
Fuck.
“Tony.” Forcing myself to stay calm, I extended a hand to Tony. He was as burly as I expected and wore a double-breasted pinstripe suit with brass buttons. “I’m Adam Greene, the co-founder of InstaPost. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Tony shook my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” He gestured at the other two men, both of whom had also risen with him. “Before we begin, this is my associate, a man you might consider my silent partner. Gentlemen, this is Alexi Chekov.”
My breath caught in my throat. Had I just heard him correctly? What the fuck?
“Pleased to meet you as well,” Chekov said, then shook hands with both of us. “I look forward to doing business together.”
I shot Preston a look. Doesn’t he know who this is?
Alexi Chekov’s name and reputation extended all over South Florida, mostly in whispered conversations and murmured remarks.
I’d never encountered him in person, but it didn’t matter.
My mind flipped over all the things I’d heard about him—drug dealing, shell companies, real estate deals with high interest rates, a few dead former associates, and more.
Bad news about an equally bad man.
“Have a seat,” Alexi ordered after the pleasantries were over.
The way his clipped accent barked out the command, I understood something else I hadn’t known before. This was his meeting. His show. Tony Roberts might have set up this dinner, but whatever would happen here would come at Alexi’s discretion, and his only.
Fuck this.
My instincts had been right, this whole deal was wrong, and the dangerous man in the room proved it.
Goddamn it, I should have grabbed my gun before leaving the house.
Having a concealed carry license would come in handy at a time like this.
Some people called this guy the head of the Russian mafia in South Florida.
Others said he ran a network of criminal enterprises that rivaled any Latin American cartel.
If this dinner didn’t go the way Alexi liked, he’d make us pay for that mistake, and have no problem doing that whatsoever.
We engaged in a round of small talk, ordering drinks and a few appetizers from the private room’s dedicated server.
It was perhaps one of the most awkward dinner meetings I had ever attended, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
As one course turned into another, I became more and more annoyed and frustrated with Preston.
How dare he agree to do business or buy real estate from one of the most unsavory people in South Florida?
How could he put us in this kind of position?
Didn’t he understand who—and what—he’d been dealing with? God, what a fuck-up. On both our parts.
“Tonight, we’re here to celebrate,” Alexi said once we all had a fresh round of drinks, along with a copious serving of oysters. I only ate one of them. “Tony is a major business partner of mine, and he negotiated quite a deal for a certain property in Wellington.”
Preston nodded. “We were happy with the outcome of today’s closing. The property is adequate. It meets our needs, and we’re happy to take it off your hands.”
“Yes,” I added through clenched teeth, feeling like I had to say something, it was expected of me as cofounder of the company. “This business transfer has gone so well for all parties involved.”
Alexi Chekov nodded. “I love it when that happens. These days, it rarely does. And that’s why—well, with that in mind”—he shot Tony a sly smile—“let’s take a few moments to enjoy the evening.”
Alexi snapped his fingers, and it might as well have been the curtain call for the evening’s entertainment to enter the room.
In a nanosecond, three women in skimpy black dresses and sky-high red heels walked through a doorway on the far side of the room.
They all wore more makeup than clothing, and as I regarded them, shock pulsed through me.
What?
She didn’t look at me. She kept her eyes trained to the floor. It was as if she was locked away in a box. But I had no doubt in my mind: the third woman in the group was Lila. My Lila.