9. Chapter 9
9
Luca
“Get your priorities right, Luca,” Levi snaps as I walk back into the room, phone still in hand. All Covenant leaders and their heirs eyes are on me as I stroll back to my chair at the oval oak table in the centre of the boardroom.
Roman and I are the odd ones out today, invited in for them to hear my plan. A plan that I hope will turn their attention to disrupting the Albanian operations, enabling me to get a foothold in London.
The timing couldn’t be better, a Black Logistics convoy was hit entering Canary Wharf last night, fucking up the Langleys’ operation and putting another splinter into the already fractious relationship between the Blacks and Langleys’. Each element of the organisation has now felt the direct impact of the Albanians.
I take my chair next to my uncle and everyone turns back to the four large TV screens on the back wall. That is everyone except Levi and Roman, who are still watching me. One calculating; the other curious.
I slip my phone back in my pocket imagining my sunshine shouting profanities at me as her treacherous body reacts just how I want it to. I rearrange my trousers over the growing bulge.
“Here’s the latest intel,” John says. “Arben Marku met with Gregor Garcia earlier this morning.” At the mention of the Garcia name, I stop looking at the numbers and pay closer attention, maintaining the facade of disinterest.
“For?” Terrance Langley asks, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Considering he is responsible for shipments in the banking district, the man isn’t that smart. These men who sit at the table used to be ruthless. They used to be feared. They used to be so much more than just lazy, aging men. And don’t get me started on their fucking heirs, they are all just power-hungry idiots, in love with the idea of it all.
I rub at the stubble on my chin, glancing over at Levi.
He’s John’s son, no mistaking it. His huge muscles bulge beneath the crisp white shirt he wears, tattoos poking out from under it. His calculating blue eyes scan the men around the table, including me. We make eye contact before he turns his attention to the others.
I’m nothing but a cockroach to him.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Levi replies, his lofty posture screaming arrogance in the chair next to my uncle. He pulls out a cigar and cuts off the end. They all wait for him to light the thing. “The Garcia Cartel supply the Dutch, who in turn supply us. They are fucking with our supply chain.”
Murmurs erupt around the table and my uncle holds up his hand.
“What do you know, John?” Terrance Langley asks, the seat next to him filled by his irritating brother, Ricardo. Terrance’s heir, his daughter, won’t ever take a seat at the table, simply for having the wrong chromosomes.
“Luca,” my uncle says.
I stand and Roman passes me his black laptop, which I tuck under my arm and walk to the front of the conference room. Plugging in the laptop, I wait for the screen to present to the four large TVs.
“Gentleman, I give you the forecast of the Covenant for the next three years.”
I press a button and one of the screens changes. You don’t need to be an accountant to read the graph and see that the line is going down not up.
“If we continue on this current trajectory of fuckups and inaction, we can say goodbye to London.” I don’t mince my words, there’s no point.
“Nonsense, we have controlled London since the 1900s. We won’t let these Eastern European bastards take over.”
“Let them take over?” I stare at Terrance, dumbfounded. “You need to wake up Terrance— they’ve already taken over. You may as well have pulled your pants down, lubed up your arsehole, and bent over. They have fucked all of you up the arse.”
“Who do you think you're talking to like that?” snaps Robert Kenton.
Robert waste of space Kenton. The lanky bastard can choke on his red pocket square for all I care. Owner of multiple gambling houses and horse racetracks.
The main money launderer for the Covenant.
He thinks he’s irreplaceable, but in my world, anyone is replaceable. Including his dear darling seventeen-year-old snivelling little cocksucker of a son, William.
“Your product costs are too high,” I state calmly, ignoring Robert’s outburst. “Arben Marku was meeting with the Italians because, gentlemen, the Italians don’t care who gets their product on the market, they care that they are making money, and to do that their product needs to be on the streets.”
“But our product's the lowest it’s been in a decade,” Levi says, and the men in the room nod and mutter their agreement.
I click another slide to bring up the Albanians costs and overlay ours on top.
“Theirs is lower, and thanks to them, cocaine is the cheapest and purest it’s been since the 90’s. The Albanians product is superior to ours. You need to face facts—we have lost London, gentleman. The question I ask you all is, what are you going to do about it?”
“How are they paying four thousand times less than us?” Asher Black asks, studying the file Roman has passed round as I’ve talked.
“They have their own supply chain, which they control from start to finish. They have direct relationships with Cartels that source them, they have business deals. Which is exactly what they want to do with the Italians. The Garcia Cartel will provide the goods, they will ship it and sell it.”
I show several pictures on the screen. “Roman,” Roman stands and joins me at the front.
“Matteus Garcia,” Roman states.
“For those of you unfamiliar with Matteus, he controls mainland Europe’s drug trade, including the UK and European ports. With the exception of Liverpool, which is ours.”
“Which we are now losing,” William Kenton mutters.
I pull up a map and circle Belgium and Netherland nexus ports. “The Albanians want these two ports.”
“Why those?” Andrew Black asks, wincing as he shifts in his chair.
“Because I’ve shown an interest in them.” The Albanians watch all of us, it’s one of my men’s favourite games to give them the run-around.
“You are not next in line, Levi is,” Ricardo Langley says. “What authority do you have to be looking into ports on behalf of the Covenant?”
“Neither are you, Ricardo, but here you are.” He stares at me unamused, his posture screaming superiority. “In answer to your question, my own. I may not be next in line for the Westons—”
A whisper interrupts me. I shoot a bored look at William Kenton, who is now sniggering at this own joke.
“If you have something to say, William, use your big boy voice.”
“I said, ‘Thank God’.”
Roman shifts but I shake my head, a smirk tugging at my lips.
“And thank you for that riveting thought,” Levi says, bored, “but let’s let the grown-ups continue, shall we?”
“But what is needed is for the survival of my family, for this organisation—”
“You’re not even a Weston. The fuck you doing here, anyway?” William repeats.
I look to Robert who says nothing, then to everyone else in the room that allows this little turd stain to disrespect me and my name.
“Roman.” His name has barely left my lips, and a gun is pointed at William’s head from where Roman stands at the front of the room.
Chaos erupts around me as everyone at the table pulls guns out and aims them at me and Rome.
Everyone but John and Levi.
“Put a leash on the boy, and we’ll put the guns down,” I declare. “I’m trying to help you, as you seem to be incapable of helping yourselves. You have done nothing but watch for the last six months.”
Angry murmurs fill the room, and again my uncle holds up his hand.
“Luca may not be my direct heir, but he is my blood, he will be respected, and he will be listened to.”
John is a formidable force, even at sixty-eight. His bulk is still huge, and he’s still smart, but he’s lost his edge. The men in the room can’t see that, or don’t want to see that. Because it means admitting that they have all lost their edge.
“All I ask is that you give Luca ten minutes. Ten minutes to lay out a way forward, then we vote. So put your guns down, and, William, shut your mouth, before I let Roman cut your tongue out.”
“Now hang on a m-minute, John,” Robert stutters.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous. Luca, carry on. William will keep his mouth shut, he is here to learn and listen. Let’s let his balls drop before inviting him again, shall we, Robert?” Asher Black says, putting his gun away.
The other men nod as a few chuckles are released, and the atmosphere relaxes.
“Thankfully,” I start again, “Matteus Garcia and I have already made a deal, and men loyal to the Covenant are already in position within the Nexus ports. You pay 22,500 pounds per kilo—the Albanians pay between four thousand and 5.2 thousand pounds, due to their business model. As it stands, we are unable to compete. That’s because we use wholesalers. Middlemen who up the prices.”
“The Dutch,” Levi adds helpfully.
“The Albanians have shown their hand, they want to disrupt our supply chain, and are leveraging their existing business model to create a new relationship with the Garcias. With men already in the Nexus ports it’s going to make shipment harder for them, they have routes from South America, not Europe, which makes it easy for us to disrupt their operations as we already have a stronghold there.”
“What about the Thames Freeport?” Terrance asks. “Surely getting it straight out from Italy reduces the risk of transporting across Europe?”
“There’s already a turf war between the Sokolov families, you idiot,” Levi snaps. “We don’t need to add the Russians into the equation to complicate things.”
“Let the Russians keep the Thames freeport,” I continue. “We need to prioritise these three.” I pull up the map where I have them circled. “With the Blacks’ distribution companies, we’ll be able to get the shipments into the UK and in turn the main cities, including London. We just need to make sure we aren’t consistent in our movements which should reduce the risk of any interception, government or Albanian.”
“But that doesn’t stop the Albanians and the Garcias’ business venture,” Robert points out.
“We don’t need it to. The Albanians follow one rule to keep the promise . And we know the Italians view the Albanians as equals. They work in partnership and not in competition. See the relationship they have is an outsourcing one. The Garcia Cartel outsource the distribution to the Albanians, and the Albanians need the Nexus ports for their distribution to work. If we can disrupt the Albanians’ operations enough it will create a crack in that new relationship and leave a space for the Covenant to fill. With an alternative distribution solution for the Garcia Cartel, if the Albanian operation implodes.”
“And the Dutch? They will be pissed if we cut them out?” Robert asks.
“We’ll deal.” John answers, Robert stares at him then nods, reading between the lines.
“And the current issues in Liverpool?” Terrance asks John, who stares back coolly. “How has it gone so wrong?”
“We had a leak,” John says, “which Levi has since plugged.”
My fingers twitch to pull out a knife and stab it into the nearest person.
Levi did fucking nothing.
“So, what do the Westons need?” Robert asks, watching me intently as he strokes his upper lip, the papers from the report messily on the table in front of him.
“We need to orchestrate multiple coordinated hits on the Albanians’ operations.” Levi says.
“Fucking hell,” Robert mutters shaking his head.
“How?” Andrew asks.
“Low-level gang activities,” I reply, and everyone in the room has the reaction that I knew they would have; they look at him then me like we are bat-shit crazy.
“You want to overthrow the Albanians with low-level gang activities?” Robert asks, his eyebrow raised.
“Even I can see that is a ridiculous idea,” William adds, and I envisage cutting the little cunt’s dick off.
“As Luca said, the Albanian model is based on professional business deals and equal respect,” Levi explains. “But what they don’t publicise is that they are already struggling with low-level Albanian street gangs who they rely on to get the product on the streets. Some are getting too big, too mouthy, drawing too much attention and are threatening their operation. What Luca is suggesting is we add to that threat to expedite…errors in the Albanians’ operations.”
“They have been doing the same to us,” I add. “They are already trying to ruin the relationship between the Covenant and the Dutch, and now the Italians. By removing our supplier, or taking over from the Dutch directly, they can increase the wholesale price even more, making it impossible for us to compete.”
“They are pushing us out of the market, gentlemen,” Levi says, as if this is his plan. “We either need to act now or make a deal with the Albanians.”
“Our families have all spilled blood for this organisation.” Terrance Langley spits out, “I will not roll over and let these bastards take over.”
The room erupts with angry shouting, as they all swear blue murder on the Albanians.
I glance at Roman.
The game is afoot.