Chapter 6 #2
“You Italians are damn cutthroats when it comes to business dealings.” He tsks as he pours me a glass of whiskey, then pours one for himself.
“Tell me, Adriano… Is your don aware of your little enterprise? Your ‘side hustle,’ as we say? The fact that you’ve been using your company’s resources to establish a distribution network that covers half the country, and—because of that—you hold practically every criminal syndicate in the palm of your hand?
I doubt Spada would be thrilled to learn that he’s not your sole customer. You are his subordinate, after all.”
“Don Spada is the head of la Famiglia, yes. However, I hold no official role in the Boston Cosa Nostra hierarchy, merely occupy a seat on the Council, where my money is always welcome. Hence, what I do with my personal assets is none of his business.”
The Russian pakhan narrows his eyes as he glares at me, then bursts into a raucous guffaw.
“I’ve been curious as fuck why someone like you has never been promoted to capo.
Hell, even underboss. I assumed that the Family must have been reticent to give a man of your means that much power.
But, it turns out, you don’t fucking want it! ”
I nod. I have been offered a capo’s position over the years.
Many times. I’ve always declined, choosing to follow my own path.
I have no intention of relinquishing either my personal or my business interests to Cosa Nostra, and accepting any sort of rank in la Famiglia would lead straight to that.
I might recognize and respect the don’s authority, but not over me. I bow to no one.
“Well then? Do we have a deal?” I say.
“We have a deal. Now, about this problem of yours. The list—”
“How did you get it?”
“Funny story, actually. Five days ago, this mofo showed up at Baykal, looking for me. Said he’s got some valuable info to sell.
I wasn’t around, but Mikhail was here. He can be very…
persuasive, let’s say, when it comes to asking the right questions.
It’s his gift, really. You know how with just a kind word or two, or the touch of a hand, some people can convince others to spill all their secrets?
That’s Mikhail. He’s an excellent listener and—”
“Right,” I interrupt. “Your butcher started slicing the stronzo into little strips. Get to the point already.”
“Into tiny, tiny strips,” Petrov clarifies. “Anyway, your saboteur must have been high on something. He kept prattling about this good friend of his who convinced him that Bratva would pay a lot of money for this specific intel.”
“Did you get a name of this friend?”
“Um…no.” He shrugs. “Mikhail accidentally nicked an artery. Shit happens.”
Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I groan. Fucking Russians.
“But hey, we got the list. And, knowing the sensitive nature of the info on that list, I chose to promptly return it to you. Fully aware that you would appropriately appreciate such a generous gesture.”
“Of course.”
“Great! All is settled then. We should celebrate our new collab. You’re free later today? We’re having a small party here at Baykal tonight, and, honestly, you look like you need to blow off some steam.”
Not sure if partying with crazy Russians would be any sane person’s idea of fun. “I am afraid I have prior commitments I need to get back to right away.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Roman lifts his drink to toast. “Well, here’s to a long and profitable alliance. Dai bozhe!”
I wait for him to swallow his drink and only then take a sip of mine. Heat rushes down my throat; the burn momentarily numbs the pounding at my temple. Too soon, the pain resurges twice as bad. Almost without a conscious thought, I slip my hand into my pocket. Searching. Seeking a part of her.
This fucking cluster of nuisances unleashed by the rhymey asshole is really getting on my fucking nerves.
It’s not just that he’s messing with my business, but the absolutely random manner of his actions.
There’s no logic to any of it. Through the years, there have been many who wanted to see me fail.
Who would have loved to watch my empire crumble.
But this guy? His A’s don’t connect to the Z’s.
A derailed merger. Misfiled financial statements.
Arbitrary investigation by the authorities.
And now, a goddamn stolen license plates list. What is he trying to accomplish?
Entice the Russians to steal my cargo? Not even Bratva is that crazy.
So what the fuck does he want? Individually, none of the incidents he triggered were severe enough to bring my business down.
Nothing he caused seriously threatened my company.
So the only thing I can think of is that this asswipe is coming after me. Not Ruffo Enterprises. Me. Personally.
I throw back what’s left of my drink and stand. “If I see your trigger-happy brother anywhere near my fleet, it will not end well, Roman.”
Two hours later, I’m back on the plane, heading to Boston with not much more than what I knew before. And no other clue about who has been fucking with me. Somewhere over Cleveland, a message from Brahms arrives.
15:17 Brahms: Shit is hitting the fan at the new site.
“SAVE OUR HOMES! SAVE OUR HOMES!”
“Do you really think this will do something?” I say, trying to be heard over the rhythmic clamor, and adjust my hold on my sign so I don’t bonk another protester on the head. “Mrs. Dixon says they’ve already received eviction notices.”
“Of course they have,” Evelyn shrieks. “The company promised to help residents find new places to live, but their solution is a dump of a complex fifteen blocks away, too far for many of the seniors and families who live here and don’t have an easy way of getting around.
Plus, a lot of the units are on the upper floors, and there are no elevators.
And I wouldn’t be surprised if the rents get jacked up before the ink on the move-in agreements is dry. ”
“Bastards.” I grit my teeth, raise my sign that reads Shame On You! and join the shouts of the gathered crowd.
We’re protesting the planned demolition of an apartment building after it was sold.
It’s only a block from my home, and I’ve passed by it almost daily on my way to and from work, so I know many of the people who currently live there.
They are not just neighbors. Not to me, and not to each other.
They are friends. Family. A lot of these people have lived there for decades.
Many are elderly. But there are also quite a few young families who’d struggle to afford to live somewhere else.
From what I heard, the new owner didn’t even bother to come down to meet them before sending a lackey to inform everyone that they will be losing their homes.
“Do you know what the fucker intends to build here instead?” Evelyn asks between the shouts. “A stupid warehouse!”
“What? Can they even do that in a residential area?”
“It appears the big, bad corporate honcho was able to grease some palms and got it rezoned as mixed-use, claiming the low industrial activity will support local small businesses, with the warehouse being the logistics hub.”
“So, the company gets richer by forcing people out of their homes?” I shake my head.
“Yeah, well, some assholes just don’t give a fuck.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m glad I remembered to switch the mode, since I would never have been able to hear the ping over the noise around us.
I quickly pull it out to check the text.
I’m hoping it’s Rina getting back to me.
I asked her again to see if her cousin has any openings at the gentlemen’s club, and she promised to follow up.
I’m getting desperate. My mom isn’t doing too well.
She seems even more tired than last week, and I think her chest pains are getting worse.
She won’t admit it to me, though, which worries me.
18:23 Rina: Sorry, girl. Nothing for now. ? But maybe soon. One of the girls is thinking about moving to LA next month. Maggie said they’ll probably hire someone to replace her. Fingers crossed.
The already angry bout of yelling explodes from the part of the crowd gathered near the road. I slip my phone back into my pocket and crane my neck, trying to see what’s going on. The only thing in view, though, is the backs of people’s heads and their lifted-up posters and placards.
“Should we try to push through to the front?” Evelyn asks, standing on her tippy-toes. “I can’t see shit.”
“Hmm… I don’t think that’s a good idea. Can you hang on to this?
” I hand her my sign so I can climb on top of the raised concrete flower bed behind me.
With the season being what it is, and the constant neglect, there’s nothing but a few dried-out twigs poking from the ground.
“Looks like things are getting really heated over there. There are a few guys doing more than just yelling. It seems like they’re making threats. A lot of fists are being waved around.”
“Here, take this. Help me up.”
I grab both of our placards and stretch my free hand down to hoist Evelyn up next to me.
Just as I pass her sign back to her, a sleek black limo comes to a stop near the gathered mob.
“Oh, check it out. I think the dickhead owner finally decided to show his face!” Evelyn shrieks and starts yelling profanities at the scourge making these people’s lives hell, and holds her sign high up over her head as she does it. I quickly join her, waving mine.
The noise around us is thunderous. It’s making my head pound.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the number of folks gathered here is double what it actually is.
Among the front row, there’s a woman with a small child, and he has joined the ruckus with his ear-splitting wails. It’s pure pandemonium.