Bonus
BONUS
VLAD
The charity gala is in full swing, the hum of classical music blending with the artificial laughter of the Vegas elite. I nod to a familiar face, exchange a brief smile with another, but my attention is elsewhere. My eyes scan the room, not out of curiosity, but habit. In my world, complacency is a weakness. Only, I'm not looking for hidden threats. Not anymore. Things have been quiet these past couple of years.
Nico and I have legalized most of our businesses and the only downside to being legit is now the need to attends these boring events. He enjoys them. I think it's in his blood, in his upbringing. I'm a simple man. So I just tag along and smile.
Finally, I spot Nico across the room, his broad shoulders squared as he listens intently to a group of European investors. His dark hair is neatly styled, his tailored tuxedo a perfect fit. He's in his element, charming and poised, the kind of man who commands attention without demanding it. I watch him for a moment with pride. He catches my gaze for a second and I lift my drink in mock salute. He does the same and returns his attention to the people he is talking to. With the Atlantic City project underway, Nico wants to expand to Europe.
And who am I to stop him?
The crowd shifts and Ivan emerges.
"Boss, Esteban Arellano is here," he says.
"And?"
"He wants to have a word."
I stare at Ivan, waiting for more.
"In private," he explains, gesturing toward the exit.
I nod, glancing at Nico deep in conversation again. Then we start walking.
I'm escorted to a secure room somewhere in the bowels of the venue. There are two men guarding the door and another man, openly armed, inside the room, when I enter. My eyes land on a single figure in the center.
It's dark here save for a single lamp, but Esteban's slight built is recognizable right away.
His sharp features framed by the flow of dim light are burnt into my brain at this point. He's one of the few former associates whom I still have business dealings with. He's a strong ally. And even though I'm only doing this kind of work part-time, knowing an Arellano can always come in handy.
"Esteban," I greet him curtly and look around, noting another male figure in the corner. The shadows conceal his face. "What's with the secrecy?"
"Vladimir, my friend." Esteban offers a smile but there's a tightness to it. "Been a while."
"Yes. It has."
Esteban clears his throat. "To answer your question… It's best no one sees us meeting tonight."
I study his face. "You look like a man with a thousand things on his mind."
Without wasting more time, he flicks his wrist at a figure in the corner. " Ven acá, mijo. "
The unidentified male moves closer and when the light illuminates his face, recognition flickers in my mind.
"You remember my nephew Axel?" Esteban asks, clapping the young man's back.
"That's right. We've met." I recollect vaguely my second stay at the villa and the quiet teenager who shared a meal with us and the rest of Esteban's family. The teenager is gone. He is a grown man now. Wide-shouldered and strong. Still has those deer in headlights eyes though.
"I want to cash in my chips, Vladimir," Esteban says, voice low. "If you know what I mean."
I look at the man and then at his nephew who hasn't spoken a single word yet.
"You didn't deliver Shtyk," I say carefully.
"We delivered Salvatore Morelli. His stay in the lower hemisphere is indefinite."
"Fine. You got me there."
The room falls silent for a moment. Esteban and I stare at each other, assessing.
"The boy got in trouble back home," he finally supplies, giving the young man a side-eye like whatever happened was completely and entirely dumb.
"I see. And you want me to do what? Remove the trouble?"
"No. I want you to hide the boy."
"Hide?"
"Yes. I don't care how or where. In the bunker or in plain sight. Just make sure he is not found."
I calculate all the potential risks in my head. The favor isn't a request; it's an obligation, one I can't afford to ignore. "Fine. I will figure something out."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I will do my best, however."
Esteban turns to Axel, hugs him quickly, whispering something in his year in Spanish, and then lets him go with a pat on the shoulder.
As soon as he leaves along with his entourage, I shift my attention to the young man and give him a once-over. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched as if he's trying to shrink away.
"You're not Axel anymore," I tell him sternly. "Got it?"
He tips his chin in agreement.
"You speak English, right?"
"I do," he replies.
"How well?"
"Well enough." Hardly ever any accent.
"Good. Forget you ever spoke Spanish. You understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Just Vlad. Call me Vlad."
THE END OF VLAD AND NICO'S STORY