15. Antonio
15
ANTONIO
V alentina doesn’t have much luck intercepting their communications, but I soon find out why the Gafur OPS are in Italy. Ilya Kozlov, son of the pakhan , requests an audience with me Monday afternoon and tells me that he wants to smuggle weapons through Venice to the rest of the continent.
“We can get the guns to Croatia through Poland and Hungary,” Kozlov says once we finish with the preliminaries. “Then we ship them across the Adriatic to Venice, and from there, an overland route to France and then across the channel to the UK.” He smiles at me persuasively. “Of course, we would never dream of going through Venice without your permission.”
“It’s always best to have a local partner,” I reply blandly. “Venice can be such a dangerous city. Take last year’s explosion in the harbor, the one that caused that yacht to sink. What was its name, Dante?”
“The Kalinin ,” my lieutenant replies with a straight face.
Kozlov flinches at the reminder. The yacht belonged to Meych, one of the smaller Russian mafias operating in Moscow. They bribed a handful of port officials, loaded the Kalinin with five tons of cocaine, and tried to bring it into my city.
Without my permission.
I sank the yacht, and Meych didn’t survive the financial loss. Gafur OPS got the message loud and clear, hence Ilya Kozlov’s presence here to negotiate with me.
Ilya rearranges his face into a neutral mask. “Such an unfortunate incident,” he agrees. “My father and I would like to avoid similar unpleasantness. And, of course, we’ll make it worth your while. The margins in this line of business are extremely lucrative.”
He thinks I’m interested, and he’s ready to get down to the serious negotiations. Time to put this to a halt. I hold up my hand. “Let me stop you before you get into the details. I’m not interested in your proposition.”
Dante’s shoulders relax imperceptibly.
“What?” Ilya splutters. “Why?”
There are a thousand good reasons to avoid this line of business. Letting the Russians get a foothold into my city is pure folly; they’re not going to be happy with table scraps when there’s a whole buffet waiting to be had. Gafur OPS is currently engaged in a power struggle with a competing organization, and I don’t want to get dragged into the middle of that fight. An epidemic of smuggled weapons hitting the streets gives ambitious politicians a perfect incentive to declare war on crime, which will disrupt my current business and endanger my people.
But mostly, I just don’t like guns.
Kozlov is waiting for an explanation, but he’s not going to get one. “I said no,” I say coolly, getting to my feet. “I’m not about to change my mind. You’ll have to look elsewhere for support. Dante, will you escort our friends out?”
Kozlov’s face turns red. He’s young still and not good at masking his emotions. “We have buyers lined up and a transport network already in place. You’re making a big mistake, Moretti.”
Buyers and the transportation network? I’m going to have my work cut out for me dismantling this operation. “That’s your opinion, not mine. Have a safe journey home.”
* * *
It takes Dante an hour to return from seeing Kozlov off the island. “What did you think about that?” I ask him.
“That it’s more of a headache than it’s worth to smuggle guns into France and England.” He shakes his head. “What the hell is Salvatore Verratti thinking, making a deal with the Russians?”
“You think he did?”
“Kozlov said they had the transportation network in place. If you want to flood the streets of Paris with illicit guns, what better route than through Bergamo and Milan?”
“Not Milan. It’ll be a cold day in hell before Ciro del Barba lets Russians into his territory. Verratti, on the other hand. . . I have no great love for Salvatore, but I didn’t think he was a fool. Time to reassess my opinion.” I pace by the window. “Look into it, Dante. Find out why he’s cooperating with Gafur. The Russians are either blackmailing him or paying him off, and I want to know which one it is.”
“Yes, Padrino.” He opens his mouth and closes it but doesn’t leave. He lingers near the door, looking like he wants to say something.
“Is there something else?” I prompt.
“Lucia Petrucci.”
I direct a frosty glare at my second-in-command. Dante’s going to tell me that Salvatore Verratti could be allying with Gafur in a bid to expand his territory, and if that’s the case, Venice is his most likely target. A brutal territory war could be brewing, and he’s going to warn me that I should stay focused on that.
He’s right, and yet, I’m in no mood to hear it.
My thoughts keep returning to Lucia.
I don’t understand why I rushed to her side yesterday, not even stopping long enough to clean off. I felt something I couldn’t identify when I saw her crying by her parents’ graves, and suddenly, it was important to see her smile.
Instead of impressing on her that there would be consequences for defying me, I made the Titian a game. My most prized possession and I practically invited her to steal it.
I threw down the gauntlet in challenge, just so that she could pick it up.
And pick it up she had. And the thought of us engaged in a back-and-forth battle over the Madonna at Repose fills me with heady anticipation.
Lucia Petrucci is an addiction, and even though I know better, I’m lining up for my next hit. And it’s a mistake, but I don’t care.
“Yes?”
“I figured it out. In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you lose your temper once. Ten years ago, you ordered Marco into exile after he tried to rob a woman at the docks. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized that woman was Lucia.”
Damn it. I have no idea how Dante found out about our connection, but I’m not surprised. This is the problem with hiring smart people. Eventually, they figure out your secrets.
“She hasn’t been back to Venice in ten years,” Dante says. “But when Arthur Kirkland sent you that video, you recognized her right away. Even though you haven’t seen her in a decade.”
“I’m good at faces,” I say, my tone making it clear I consider this conversation over. “There’s no need to make a big deal about it.”
“If you say so,” he replies. Unfortunately, he’s not done. “Kicking Marco out of Venice was complicated,” he continues in what must surely be the understatement of the year. “He was Domenico’s nephew, the apple of his eye, and Domenico was never willing to rein him in. You almost got yourself killed when you exiled him. I never knew why you did it.”
“Marco broke the rules, and he paid the price.”
“Or you did it for the girl.”
“You’re overstating Lucia’s importance,” I reply. “Now, if you’re done?—”
“Almost.” He fixes me with a serious look. “Back then, if you told me you did it for a woman, I would’ve called you the biggest fool in the world. But now. . . I understand better.”
Dante has spent the last decade pining over a woman he’s convinced he can’t have. Yes, he would definitely understand my obsession with Lucia.
I’m not obsessed with her. I’m just making sure she doesn’t steal my Titian.
“I’m just saying. . . You’ve done plenty for Venice. Your city is safe, and your people are prosperous.”
“What about the threat from Gafur?” I cut in.
He shrugs. “There’s always a threat on the horizon,” he says. “It doesn’t mean you need to stop living. Lucia Petrucci obviously means something to you. Maybe it’s time to be a little selfish, Antonio.”