Chapter 5
FIVE
S ince Roman’s return to the city, he’s had one thing on his mind: power. He’s making his presence known wherever he can, including the businesses that have been neglected since he left for the West Coast.
When our Uncle Trigger retired he left the gambling dens for Roman to manage, though they were pretty self-sufficient by all accounts. On his annual visits back to the city, he always checked in, and until now, there were no problems to report.
It didn’t take him long to find out that one of the businesses had been skimming off the profits, though. And while it wouldn’t even make a dent in Roman’s pocket, he still wants to remind those below him who’s boss.
Since Milo took me by surprise the other night, I’ve been warring with my own thoughts, torn between how much I enjoyed it despite knowing I shouldn’t. Even though Milo obviously gets off on pushing my buttons, this was a step too far. I’m in desperate need of a distraction, so when Roman said he was going to confront the host who’s been trying to pull one over on him, I jumped at the opportunity. Nothing clears my head quite like the promise of violence.
As soon as our leather-clad feet cross the threshold of the gambling den, all eyes land on us. Around a circular table, six men clutch their cards, their fear palpable as Roman pulls up a chair.
“Gentlemen,” he greets, picking up some betting chips and rolling them through his fingers. He wears the role of a leader well, even if he hasn’t officially taken over for his dad just yet. He’s quickly proving how good he is as an enforcer, and if the collective reaction around the room is anything to go by, he’ll be leading his family in no time.
“Genovese,” one man addresses him, eyes rounding with fear as he darts a glance at me. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Roman looks almost entertained by that comment. He tilts his head and raises a brow, which earns him a harsh swallow from the man opposite. “I don’t believe I have to make a courtesy call every time I want to pay one of my businesses a visit. Courtesy is earned, just like loyalty and respect, Walter.”
“Of course,” he replies sheepishly. Walter nods at the men in the room in a silent command, and one by one, they all stand, their chairs scraping against the tiled floor as they push them out to leave. I resist the urge to wince, instead leaning back against the wall and scrolling mindlessly through my phone.
When the footsteps fade out and it’s just the three of us left behind, Roman stands from the table, tossing the chips into the center. He circles it until he’s hovering beside Walter, looking down at the man who’s been slyly stealing from his profits.
“I know I don’t need to tell you why I’m here, Walt.” Roman crosses his arms, making the man shift uncomfortably in his chair. “So, do you want to talk, or am I gonna have to make you?”
“I—”
Roman glares down at the guy, which is enough for Walt to rethink whatever he was about to say.
Clearing his throat, Walt links his hands together. “It’s about the money, isn’t it?”
My eyes lock with Roman’s, a small smile curling his lips. He always enjoys the torture that comes with interrogations. For as long as I’ve known him—which is all my life—Roman revels in dragging the truth from his victims, using all means necessary to get the information he wants. It seems that tonight, torture might not be on the cards after all.
So why the fuck is he smiling?
“Genovese,” Walt stammers. “I honestly thought you knew about the agreement.”
Roman’s features crease slightly, betraying his confusion. “Agreement?” He glances towards me, like I should know what this man is talking about. Only I don’t have a clue what he’s referring to.
I shrug in response, pocketing my phone to give him my full attention. “What agreement, Walt?”
He spins around in his chair to face me, his brows furrowing. “With the Russians. They?—”
Roman slams his fists onto the table. It’s the first real glimpse of his anger that usually simmers beneath the surface. He’s typically good at keeping his cards close to his chest, but right now he looks like he’s five seconds from boiling over. “We had no agreement with the Russians.”
“Yes… I know, now. But you’ve been gone for so long, and…” his bottom lip starts to tremble as he casts his wary gaze towards Roman. “I honestly thought?—”
“You thought wrong!” Roman bellows, standing from his seat. He leans forward to grip Walt’s shirt in his fist. “You don’t pay them a single fucking dime, do you understand?”
Walt nods. It’s slow at first, until Roman’s grip evidently tightens and forces a faster acknowledgment from the man beneath him.
“You owe me a year’s debt,” he snarls.
“Y…yes, of course,” Walt stutters.
Shoving him backwards in his chair, Roman stands to his full height. “Don’t make me return. You won’t enjoy what happens if I do, but I will.”
With that threat, Roman averts his attention to me, gesturing with his head towards the exit. I can already see the shift in his demeanor as he rolls his shoulders back and leads us out of the den. He’s silent as we step outside, pulling his cigarette packet from his pocket and tucking one between his lips. He offers me one and I take it, retrieving my lighter at the same time and sparking it up.
For a moment, we stand in complete silence, exhaling smoke into the dull city air. The sounds of traffic and construction surround us, and it’s almost therapeutic and calming. But just like the clouds casting a gray hue over the city, Walt’s words swirl in my head. I don’t like where my thoughts take me, because if this is true, it changes everything. The Russians are encroaching on our territory, even after a decades-long agreement. They’ve crossed a line, and we need to put them back in their place.
“I should have known this was going to happen,” Roman mutters before he sucks on his smoke.
“Nobody could’ve known, Ro. Not even Haldon or I knew the Russians would do this.”
Roman shrugs. He’s focused on something in the distance, eyes squinting as he loses himself in thought. From our earlier conversations, I know he was expecting to do some clean-up of the city. In all honesty, Haldon and I left his side of the businesses alone because we believed we had nothing to worry about. That’s a fault on our part, but now that Roman is back for good, we can help him enforce his position.
“That’s the problem,” he sighs. “They did this right under our noses, and we let them.” He grows angrier with each word that falls from his lips. This isn’t exactly the welcoming reception he was expecting, so I can see why he’s so irritated. But our families built this empire, and I’ll be damned if we fuck it up.
“Makes you wonder what else they’re up to,” I murmur. “Whatever they have planned, we need to get a handle on it right away. We can’t let the city fall into the hands of the Russians, and if that means a war, then so be it.”
Roman grunts in response as he stamps out his cigarette on the ground. Sometimes, he has all the words and actions to back them up, but right now, he’s seemingly all out of them.
“We still have control of the docks, most of the city. This is just an attempt at taking advantage of your absence,” I supply.
“Well I’m back now, Vee. They’re not taking shit from us.”
I clap my best friend on the back, glad that he’s back in the city, and for good. I’ve definitely missed having the guy around, and though my sister won’t admit it, I know she’s missed him, too.
“I’ve asked Haldon to find me some venues for the fight nights,” Roman tells me as he pockets his hands.
I’d tell him it’s a bad idea considering the Russians are all over the underground fighting at the moment, but after what’s just happened, I know it wouldn’t matter. Clearly, they’re trying to run us out of the city, using their own sly tactics to gain momentum. But what they haven’t accounted for is the fact that our arsenal is more than just weapons. We have knowledge and experience, and that outweighs what the Russians can provide.
Roman is dead set on making these fight nights his, and I know coming to some amicable agreement isn’t what he’s searching for now. The Russians made their first mistake by going after businesses that didn’t belong to them, and we’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
Dropping my cigarette on the concrete, I grind my heel over it, pulling out my keys at the same time. I know what we need to do, and by the look on my best friend’s face, he does too. “Time to get our hands dirty.”