Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Adriano
The Port of Marseilles smells of the sea, diesel and corruption.
The old port is dressed up for tourists in the front while the real business happens in the dark behind it.
There's a lawlessness in this city concealed behind pretty shops and restaurants, tourist boats and the basilica.
I've never liked the place. It's too obvious what goes on here.
There's as much corruption in Rome but we keep it behind closed doors.
Here it's out on the streets for the whole world to see.
Timofey Lenkov meets me and Benito at the warehouse on the Rue de la Joliette.
He's a big man, second in command to his brother, Daniil, whose role since marrying and producing several children, has remained strategic rather than operational.
Timofey is married too, but his wife was in the British security service or something like that and she has more of a sense of adventure.
In this city, we’re Timofey’s guests. Benito and I will conduct ourselves accordingly. When our colleagues come to Italy we expect our rules to be respected and we do the same here.
Our Russian friend pours vodka without asking if anyone wants it and slides glasses across the table to us and the others assembled around it.
There's Niamh Donnelly, a Scottish ray of sunshine with blonde hair and blue eyes so sparkly they put the Mediterranean in the shade.
If you didn't know she heads a criminal organisation you'd think she was a children's TV presenter.
She's got that air about her. At first I thought it was an act she puts on to fool people but once I got to know her I realized she is actually fucking nice.
She's something of an anomaly in our world.
Sitting next to her is Nico MacFarlane, the bastard son of an Italian mobster and a Scottish schoolteacher, if you can believe it.
He and Benito get on well. I'm not sure if it's because they have similar backgrounds or the same aptitude for violence.
Nico is here representing the Cameron clan, whose leader Alexander returned from the dead a year ago and has been establishing his rule ever since.
His sister, Eilidh is married to my cousin Gio.
We do love our strategic unions in the underworld.
There are three other men at the table. The first is Sev Baranov, who heads a small Bratva organisation affiliated with Piotr Reznov, who I'm surprised not to see here tonight after running into him in Rome.
The next is Nikolai Morozov, husband of Mila Lenkova who would probably be here herself if she wasn't heavily pregnant.
She's no doubt sad to miss out on the opportunity to kill our enemies.
I've never met a more casually bloodthirsty woman.
The last is Rory Donovan whose family are new to the consortium.
I don't know him but his reputation precedes him. He'll be an asset to us tonight.
Together the people at this table represent more than half the illegal activity in Europe and beyond. If the police chose to swoop in now, it would be a major coup. They won't, of course, because the Lenkovs have them firmly in their pockets.
Despite the big egos in the room, none of them clash. Everyone here wants the same thing tonight and we're all good enough at what we do that there's no need for posturing.
Niamh chairs the meeting as usual. She's the one who brought everyone together in the first place.
She's good at putting likeminded people in touch, seeming to know instinctively who'll work well together.
When Gabriele decided he wanted to get married, he asked Niamh to find him a bride.
This woman has done incredible things but putting my cousin and Katya together might be her finest work.
"There are seven targets," Niamh says. "Each of you has details of one of them on your phone.
We'll hit them simultaneously at ten thirty.
Tell your teams we're in and out as quickly and cleanly as possible.
We reconvene here at midnight." She turns to Sev.
"You're the exception. I've given you their main distribution center.
I want them to feel the explosion in Tirana. "
"Don't worry about that," Sev says. "I've got it covered."
"Good. Now everyone check the information I've sent you. If there are any questions, now's the time to ask."
Benito and I open the messages on our phones and check the details again. We've been given a restaurant at the old port where the Albanian's accountant, Besnik Gashi, dines each night. We're there to take him prisoner not to kill him since he's the one who knows where the money comes from.
It should be an easy mission. He has the restaurant closed down for him at ten. Two bodyguards accompany him. One stays at the front door, the other is inside with Gashi. We'll take them out and grab Gashi.
Benito and I only need one of our men to drive so the other three men we brought will go with Niamh who's taking out the girlfriend of Valon Berisha, the leader of the Albanians here in Marseilles, and his grown up sons.
By eight o'clock everyone has confirmed what they're doing.
Niamh closes her laptop and we disperse.
As we get back into our rental car and drive off to stake out our target location, I can't help thinking about Eliza.
The way I treated her before I left Rome wasn't right.
I don't know why I did it. She's making me feel things I don't understand.
I needed to put her in her place, I guess.
Only I no longer know what that place is.
That concerns me but not as much as it should.
"You okay, fratello?" Benito asks.
"Of course. Just focused on the mission."
He gives me a skeptical look but says nothing. Santino drives us to the restaurant which sits at the edge of the old port and we wait.
"I'll bet they do a good bouillabaisse in there," Benito says. We Italians appreciate good food.
He's probably right. The place has been there for eighty years, run by the Viblanc family. It can't have lasted that long without the food being exceptional. It’s a pity to turn it into a crime scene but that’s the price of letting a man like Gashi eat there when everyone knows this is Lenkov territory.
At ten o'clock Gashi arrives in a black Mercedes sedan.
Our information is correct. He has two bodyguards with him.
Benito and I check our weapons and ensure Santino knows his part in this.
We'll walk up, take out the guard at the door, then the one inside the restaurant.
Santino will have the car waiting for us at the front door, engine running. It's child's play, really.
At ten twenty-nine we get out of the car. By the time the guard notices us, Benito has his gun out. A single shot to the chest takes him out. We go inside and Benito shoots the second guard.
"Leave me something to do," I complain.
"Grab the asshole who's running out the back," Benito suggests as Gashi tries to escape.
He's a heavy man in his late fifties who's dressed like he's heading to the golf course in plaid trousers and a polo shirt.
There's no way he can outrun me but we've already attracted attention from the kitchen and I don't want to draw any more.
We need him alive, but nobody said uninjured so I shoot the asshole in the back of the leg. He falls to the floor screaming in pain. Benito and I each grab an arm. On the way out the door, I shove an envelope with a few thousand euros in it at the startled waitress.
"Pour le dérangement, mademoiselle."
Santino is waiting outside as instructed.
We shove Gashi into the trunk and get into the car just as an explosion makes the ground beneath our feet shake.
In the distance a fireball shoots into the sky.
It looks like Niamh's wish for them to hear the explosion in Albania's capital might come true.
We head back to the warehouse and it's no surprise we're the first to arrive.
Ours was the easy task. We unload Gashi from the trunk of the car.
Benito checks his leg and administers basic first aid.
When he's sure the man will live he finds a lockable room at the back of the warehouse and secures him inside.
Timofey left a stash of vodka so we pour ourselves another glass and wait.
"I could have done that myself," Benito says. "Two of us was overkill."
"Damiano wanted a Volante presence here. We both carry the name. It shows dedication to the cause."
"Yeah."
A half hour after we arrived, Rory Donovan limps into the warehouse.
"You hurt?" Benito asks. As much as he likes taking people apart, he enjoys putting them back together. In another life he might have been a doctor.
"Old injury." Rory grits his teeth. "Flares up now and then."
He slumps into a chair. I pour him a vodka and slide it over to him. Niamh is next to arrive, followed closely by Timofey and then Nikolai.
"Where's Gashi?" Niamh asks as she accepts a vodka from me.
"Locked in the back. Asshole got himself shot," Benito says.
I almost smile at that. I never noticed before but he always phrases it as if the person who was injured asked for it.
"Good work." Niamh checks her phone. "No Nico yet?"
"Da," Nikolai drawls. "I am here, Niamh."
"Not you. Nico with a c."
Nikolai puts his hand on his chest. "Truly, Niamh I'm wounded that you're worried about some other Nico and not me."
She shakes her head despairing at him. His wife is her closest friend so they're all one big happy family really.
Sev arrives next, a huge grin on his face. "Did you see it?"
"Hard to miss," I drawl. "Not much subtlety with you Russians, is there?"
"No point in being subtle when you're trying to send a message," Niamh says. "You did good, Sev."
He performs a comedic bow for her and grabs a bottle of vodka from the table.
We sit and drink and discuss casualties.
One man on Rory's team was killed while Nikolai lost three.
Timofey and Niamh both had men who sustained minor injuries.
Given the scale of the operation it could have been worse.
Hell, it should have been. The Albanians were heavily armed, but we had good people on our side and great planning.
As it edges closer to midnight, the conversation lulls as we start to wonder what happened to Nico.
The deadline to reconvene comes and goes and the atmosphere in the room grows more tense.
Any failure risks allowing the Albanians to regroup.
But it's not just that. None of us wants to lose one of our own.
At ten past midnight, a young red-haired man stumbles through the door. Niamh gets up and goes to speak to him. She returns a moment later and sinks onto her chair.
"Nico's been arrested," she says. There's a stunned silence as everyone considers what that means for our operations.
Nico isn't some low-level soldier. His arrest could spell disaster.
I'm about to ask what happened when a smile breaks on Niamh's face.
"Seems he forgot we're in France. He was driving on the wrong side of the road and was arrested pending results of a drug test."
As people make various comments about Niamh worrying us like that and Nico being a fucking idiot, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and look at the incoming message from Simone. It's short but to the point. Trouble with Bruno. Taken care of. Eliza okay. Ran but came back.
What the hell? I nudge Benito and get to my feet before announcing to the room "We need to go home."
"Is everything okay?" Niamh asks.
"It will be." As soon as I get home and check on Eliza everything will be fine. At least, it better be. I read the message again as we head for our car. Ran but came back. What the hell was she thinking?