44. Alexei #4
“I prefer my compliance at gunpoint.” Roman sounds supremely disinterested in Thorne’s philosophical nuance.
Thorne’s mouth curls in a condescending sneer.
“Now,” Roman says briskly, pretending not to notice his contempt. “Let’s get the practicalities done so I can get one of these famous Kristi Hunter blow jobs.”
Oh, nicely played, motherfucker, Lars chuckles.
“We’re going to need the names of all your contacts in the FBI office,” Roman continues, “as well as Miami PD, and any other bent officials on the payroll.”
Thorne looks for a moment like he’s deliberating.
“For Chrissakes,” Roman says, looking half amused, half annoyed.
“I’m about to blow up Miami for you, not to mention taking care of those murderous Novikov fucks you set loose on the city.
What were you thinking, sending them here, by the way?
” He gives Thorne a sideways look. “And you’re lucky I didn’t mention it around Rico Lucchese, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. ”
Thorne’s eyes narrow. “What makes you think I have any connection to the Novikovs?”
“Please.” Roman looks bored. “You’ve just taken up a lot of good drinking time telling me you’re the mastermind behind all this.” He gestures at the fires burning on the city skyline. “Masterminds like to outsource the dirty work—and cutting heads off is very dirty work.”
“Ha.” Thorne smiles contemptuously. “If Rico Lucchese was smart enough to come to that conclusion, he’d be sitting here instead of you. For that matter, if his predecessors had possessed an ounce of intelligence, they might not have had their heads removed from their shoulders.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dimitry put a restraining hand on Rico Lucchese’s shoulder, although going by the blind fury on Rico’s face, he may wind up needing more force.
“Kiril Novikov might be a psychopath,” Thorne continues, “but like Hunter, he’s a useful one.
He’s stupid, ambitious, and has his own reasons for hating Petrovsky, which gives you added leverage.
You might find it easier dealing with him than that Lucchese dog you had here earlier.
” He scowls. “The Luccheses knew what happened to my son. They played it close, but they fucking knew. And still they did business with the Petrovsky bratva—and the Cardenas cartel.” He glares into the distance.
“I know you’ve allied with Lucchese. But if you’ll allow me to give you some advice—stick with the Novikovs.
At least then you know you’ll be in control. ”
“Noted.” Roman is grinning.
I swear to God he’s enjoying this.
“You were about to give me some names.” He pushes a tablet across the table to Thorne. “And get the spelling right,” he says, checking his watch. “Handing an envelope of cash to a Hernández instead of a Fernández is the kind of mistake that can fuck a day right up.”
Renata snorts vodka out of her nose. “Your man here missed his calling,” she says, shaking her head. “He should definitely consider comedy.”
“But look at the sneer on Thorne’s face.” I zoom in on it. “The fucker is so sure Roman’s a brainless idiot that he’s lost whatever self-preservation instincts he might have possessed.”
“I’ve got all the names on file, along with profiles. Let me just log in and give you access.” Thorne types rapidly on the tablet, then slides it back to Roman, who casts a querying look at the camera.
“I’ve got the file.” Pavel’s voice crackles through the comms. “And . . . it’s downloaded.”
I glance at Renata. “Got everything you need?”
She nods.
“Good. Then before we let the dogs loose, I’m going to have a little chat with Thorne.” I stand up and put a hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to join me?”
Renata’s face pales.
“I can do this alone,” I say quietly, “if you’d prefer.”
“No.” She draws a deep breath and stands up. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
I switch the microphone to the suite with the crime bosses and bureaucrats. “Jorge Cardenas is on his way,” I say into it. “Before he joins us, Renata and I are going to take five minutes with our friend upstairs. I won’t keep you waiting for long.”
Dimitry presses the button on his end. “Better make it quick,” he says grimly, nodding at Rico’s rigid figure.
Knut and Benson, both pale faced and sweating, give me a weak thumbs-up. It takes one look at the murderous fury on Rico Lucchese’s face to understand the cause of their discomfort.
Remember what you’re seeing, boys, I think grimly. And if you want to survive the swamp—don’t ever forget how dangerous it really is.
Opening the door, I go out onto the deck and head for the stairs, Renata right behind me.
“If we’re done here,” Thorne is saying from the upper deck, “I’d like to head ashore. My son Tyler is coming to town, and we’re meeting for breakfast in the morning.”
“Oh, we’re definitely done here,” Roman says lightly. “But the only thing you’ll be meeting tomorrow morning is your maker.” His eyes meet mine over Thorne’s head as I step out onto the upper deck.
Thorne’s head swivels around, horror dawning in his eyes.
“Smile, friend,” I say coldly. “You just got caught on bratva cam.”