3. Ilias
ILIAS
T he ink hadn’t even been put on the contract yet before I was sure that Dino Scarpato would try to fuck me over.
The moment he stepped into my office, all swagger and cologne, I could practically smell his eagerness underneath all that bravado.
Men like him thought they were pulling the wool over people’s eyes, but he didn’t fool me. He was up to something.
“Ilias,” he said, extending a hand like we were old friends. The gold rings on his fingers caught the morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. What a tool. “Thanks for agreeing to the meeting.”
I didn’t stand. "You're late," I said, tapping my Montblanc pen against the edge of the contract that I was now pretty sure I had no intention of offering. There was nothing I hated more than people being late. Well, that wasn’t entirely true — there were many things I disliked.
My friends thought I was grumpy, which was probably accurate. “Sit.”
His smile faltered, but only for a second, before a smug smirk took back over that I didn’t like.
It was a sign of someone who thought they knew something you didn’t.
I prided myself on having information, and this asshole definitely either thought he knew something or he did know something I didn’t.
He took the seat across from me, his expensive suit a poor disguise for the twitch beneath his left eye. Nervous. Always a tell.
We had pulled Anthakos Shipping out of the sludge in which my father had been mired and had created something great.
It was a company my brothers and I could be proud of, one that enjoyed tremendous success worldwide.
We were involved in both legal and illicit shipping and smuggling operations worldwide.
The legitimate side operated like a well-oiled machine: container freight, maritime logistics, and customs brokerage.
The other side seemed like controlled chaos, but it flowed even more smoothly.
Smuggling routes were often hidden in plain sight, aided by outdated port software and corrupt ports where employees were underpaid and lacked the incentive to resist the temptation to look the other way.
We never took unnecessary risks and maintained an exceptional record of getting the product from point A to point B.
Contracts with our company were highly sought after worldwide.
"You requested our East Africa route. That run is delicate. High risk." Looking over the details in front of me, I pretended like I wasn’t already familiar with what Dino had requested. Vaso had gone over these numbers before they’d even hit my desk, and we’d talked about whether we’d take the contract.
Ultimately, we all agreed that I’d make the final decision today after speaking with Dino and gauging the tone of the meeting.
We didn’t have beef with him, but he wasn’t someone our family usually did business with.
Tensions had been high in New York lately, as the group I worked with, the Commission, faced some family issues.
Angelo Santelli’s family drama had spilled over multiple states and countries, and we’d ended up blowing up a few things.
There was also still territory up for grabs in New York, and that never ended well.
Power-hungry crews were still scrambling to claim it.
The Scarpato family was among those pushing hard to take pieces of territory they hadn’t earned.
Usually, we wouldn’t mind another family taking an empty territory, but we didn’t like the way Dino did business. The guy was a sleaze.
The Anthakos wasn’t a mafia family, but we were certainly crime-adjacent.
Our father had been an original member of the Commission, a group of crime lords who had originally secured their business ties in New York through the most traditional means possible — a blood oath.
Of course, our father and his friends were pieces of shit.
They were primarily involved in the skin trade, which was why they had made their little blood pact: the Anthakos, the Volkovs, the O’Kellys, and the Santellis.
They thought they’d rule the world with their Commission.
Too bad for them, their sons didn’t see it that way.
Each of us had turned the tables on them, primarily for our own reasons, but none of us agreed with their way of doing business.
Now, the four of us had our version of the Commission: Maxim, Angelo, Conall, and I.
It also made us a powerhouse in New York and beyond.
The Volkov Bratva had connections on both the East and West coasts.
Maxim handled our guns, Angelo laundered our money, and Conall managed our booze and gambling venues.
My role was more flexible. I moved things for them when needed, but we weren’t heavily involved in distribution.
"High reward," Dino offered with a lazy grin, throwing an arm over the back of his chair.
I stared at him as I tried to pin down exactly what was bothering me. The numbers added up, and the Scarpato was a small-time operation. Something wasn’t right.
He shifted uneasily. Good.
“I want specifics. Cargo. Timeline. Port of discharge." I wanted to rock back in my chair, but I hesitated to show that he was making me anxious in any way, so I forced myself to keep focused.
“It’s medical equipment," he said too quickly. "Perfectly legal. Just needs discretion."
I tilted my head. "You're insulting my intelligence. If it were legal, you wouldn’t be here.” I tapped the paperwork.
“You mentioned it was medical equipment, but we don’t ship anything without knowing everything .
If you are smuggling drugs in the equipment, then you need to tell me.
We don’t waste space for that shit.” Dino was wasting my time for no reason.
He looked off to the corner of my office for a moment, compressing his lips tightly.
Dino’s jaw tightened as if I were annoying him, which was funny as fuck.
"Look, I was told that Anthakos handled sensitive logistics. I’m offering a generous cut.
" His body had tensed as he spoke, but he forced himself to relax back again into the indolent pose that he had adopted with an arm over the back of the chair, even as his fingers tapped on his thigh.
"A generous cut of a pie you haven’t even named." I leaned forward slightly, my voice flat. “One more lie, and we’re done.” If he came in here thinking that I wasn’t serious, he was going to find out the hard way.
Silence.
He swallowed. "Fine. Electronics. The kind governments don’t like being moved. We have buyers in Tripoli and Abu Dhabi."
"That’s more like it." Not as specific as I wanted, but I thought about it for a minute as I watched him. Kostas was going to have to look into what was going on with this asshole. “I’ll want a sample in advance.” Angelo had said that Scarpato had sent a few guys into one of our construction projects a few months ago, too.
Still, that shit was about Commission-specific business, and I did try to keep it separate.
I signed the bottom of the form and slid it toward him.
"You get one run. My brothers will oversee it. If anything goes sideways, that’s it. ”
Dino opened his mouth, likely to protest. I raised a hand.
"No. Just... One shot. No second chances. The Scarpatos will vanish from every ledger. Every registry. I don’t make threats, Mr. Scarpato. I make edits. You want to ship with us, then don’t hold back. Play games somewhere else.”
His fists clenched at the insult, but he nodded, and for the first time, he looked like he understood his position in the room. Here, he was not an equal. Not even a partner. He was a visitor. He was temporary.
“Sure, Ilias. Sure. See ya around then.” He sneered at me before leaving, his smarmy smirk an attempt to provoke me into something he probably thought would lead to a street brawl.
That thought pleased me. Just the idea of smashing him into the ground thrilled me, but this was business, not the streets.
People like Dino couldn’t tell the difference.
Dino might think he could beat me in a street fight, but that wouldn’t be the case either.
When he left, Vaso slipped in—my brother, broader and with a grin that concealed more menace than most could fathom.
Vaso was well-trained and deadly in a fight.
He might be wearing a suit in the office that housed our legitimate business, but underneath, Vaso was a predator.
He was the hammer that struck when you weren’t looking.
While we had all ensured we were more than capable as adults, Vaso enjoyed it more than Kostas or I did.
All three of us had trained hard. Being victims was something we’d decided didn’t suit us after the childhood we’d endured.
"Is that prick worth the fuel?" he asked. “We could always refuse the job, or I could take him out.” He couldn’t keep the hopeful note out of his voice.
Shaking my head at him, I pushed the contract away. “He’s not even remotely worth it, but I want his supplier. Let him run the first drop. If it smells clean, we trace it."
"And if he’s trying to fuck us?”
“Burn it. And Vaso, if you know he’s trying to screw us,” I pointed the Montblanc at him. “Take out a few of his men. You can decide how many.” His eyes lit up. “And some of his warehouses, just because.”
Vaso grinned. "I’ll let Kostas know."