Chapter 36 - Ransome
RANSOME
I never talk about Nik.
Ever since my brother died in a street race turned hostile, his name has only been mentioned a handful of times. And it’s usually paired with other words, like reckless, foolish, unfortunate, and shame.
All those, of course, come from my father. Like Nikky’s death was an inconvenience. Like he lost a chess piece in the game of Bratva and not a son.
I also can’t help but think he believes Nik’s death was my fault.
That because I was two years older I could have somehow prevented it.
Of course, anyone who knew Nikky knew that he wasn’t the type to stay under anyone’s thumb.
He did what he wanted (usually something bad) when he wanted (all the time) and how he wanted (recklessly).
He was the prince of YOLO and a pain in my ass. A pain I miss every goddamn day.
The fact that I told Amara about it is not something I am proud of. That kind of shit is deeper and darker than even the most locked-up Rozanov secrets because it’s something laced to my core. To parts of myself that I never share with anyone and don’t plan to. Not even Amara.
She’s making it really fucking difficult to be angry with her, though. I know I shouldn’t be mad at her for running my mouth. I shouldn’t be mad at her for my own mistake of letting her in. But I am. Or at least, I’m trying to be.
But it’s kind of hard when she shows up to work in a simple black dress that looks like something you’d wait Casino tables in, the way it flounces off her perfectly taut ass.
She’s also early. Very early. By the time I walk into my office, my schedule is in place, my meetings are arranged, my coffee is hot, and my dry cleaning is hung. That last part doesn’t even make sense, because they don’t open till eight and it’s a quarter to seven.
“I name-dropped,” she says when she notices me eyeing the suits on the hanger. “Turns out you’re important everywhere.”
“Yeah.” I nod and take a sip of my coffee, which is also perfect.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rozanov,” Amara says.
My eyes slice up to her. “What are you sorry for?”
“Because your meetings were all pushed forward or back. You have five today.”
“Let me guess.” I grit my teeth. “My father.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fuck. Doesn’t he know I have a business to run?” I bark. I’m not upset with her, obviously. But I am very annoyed.
“I told him today wouldn’t be easy because your schedule is a little tight, but he insisted it was important.”
“Isn’t it always,” I mutter.
I look over the schedule myself. I know why he wants to meet. El Paso is on the move, which means there are a lot of parts flying in a lot of directions. We need to lock down and make sure everything is in place.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and consider popping a shot of whiskey in my coffee. The only reason I don’t is because it would change the temperature and right now, it’s damn near perfect. Like that dress I’m trying not to stare at.
After a beat, she speaks. “Did you need anything else from me, sir?”
“No,” I answer flatly.
And with that, her heels click across the tile. I catch one tiny glimpse of her hips swaying beneath the dress before the door closes behind her, cutting me off from the only thing I actually wish I was doing right now.
Her.
As I sit down at my desk, I drum my fingers for a moment. My bad mood, courtesy of Anton Rozanov, hangs in the air. But as I sit alone, the smoke clears enough that I am able to think about the interaction Amara and I just had.
She was professional. Attentive. And… aloof. But not in a mad at me sort of way. I know how she gets when she wants to keep me at arm’s length. She gets salty and makes bad choices. Choices I have to reprimand.
No. The way she was acting just now was more like she’s bothered by something. Like she has an issue pressing on her mind, one that has nothing to do with me.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to think about it. I have a meeting with Saudi Arabia in ten, and it’s a snowball after that.
Whatever is on the mind of the girl I can’t get off my own mind will have to wait.
“We’re in business, boys.” Anton steeples his hands, a smirk on his thin lips. “We have three trucks headed southwest. When they hit their checkpoint, three more will be headed northeast. Like ships in the night, except they’ll stop for an exchange.”
“So A, B, and C are headed this way. They break and then unload into D, E and F at the checkpoint before heading back for another run?” I ask.
He takes a sip of whiskey. “Nothing gets past you.”
I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not, and I’m not in a guessing mood today.
But whatever I may or may not have been about to say, Baron interrupts. “All due respect, Uncle, but why take the risk of a swap at all? Why not drive the trucks straight through?”
Baron is not one to get ballsy with the sensitivities of the Bratva. But he’s smart, and if he sees it fit to speak his mind, he does.
I lean back in my chair, pointing at my cousin as my eyes stay on my dad. “I feel like a ships in the night metaphor would mean they are passing each other, not meeting.”
“The trucks are labeled differently depending on their dock. Las Cruces labels look suspicious in NYC.”
“Not for OTR,” I argue. “And I agree with Baron. A trade off of that much product in the middle of nowhere is much riskier than a trucker looking lost.”
“It’s a secure hub. No one goes in or out except for Apex. No one bats an eye.”
“So you’re just unloading and reloading over five hundred pounds of blow every week in the middle of nowhere.”
“If you have a problem with the way I run this business, say it.”
“Let’s just say in a few months I’ll be handling things differently.”
“Yesli by tvoy brat byl zhiv…” my dad says.
If your brother was alive…
I bolt up from my chair and zero in on him. “Finish that sentence and this meeting is over.”
But my dad doesn’t even blink. If anything, he looks bored as he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Sit down, son. You know, if you’re going to run things, you’re going to have to learn to cool your temper. Now. We need to focus on the other moving parts here. What are people saying on the street?”
When I don’t answer, Baron steps in for me. “The Chadovichs are sniffing hard.”
“Do they know what we have going on?” my dad asks.
“They know we are up to something big, but they don’t know what.”
“Keep it that way,” he says.
I snort.
Like it’s that easy.
“You got something to say, son?”
“You know Tristan. I don’t have to tell you that he’s going to worm intel out of people and they’re going to figure shit out. Unless we lock things down, it could get even uglier.”
“Your contracted marriage is supposed to help with that,” he says.
“You know as well as I do that Tristan Chadovich doesn’t give two fucks about the truce,” I spit out.
When my dad doesn’t say anything right away, I know he knows I’m not wrong.
“So what do you propose we do, son?” he asks after a painful moment.
I sit back again. “We need extra measures. I personally would start with running the trucks straight through, no stop. But since you’re determined to do things your way, I think we need someone keeping a closer eye on logistics.
Someone who has time to make it a full-time job.
An eye and ear on all six trucks at all times. ”
“They’d have to be a nobody for it not to look suspicious,” Baron says.
“A smart nobody who we trust,” my dad says. “You know anyone like that?”
I think about it for a second. But honestly, it’s been in the back of my mind for weeks. “I have someone in mind.” My lips tip in a hint of a smirk in one corner.
“Someone we can trust,” he reiterates.
“Yes. This person has proven loyal.”
“And we know this person will stay loyal?” he asks.
“She has incentives to, yes.”
“She,” he parrots. “Let me guess. That little minx of an assistant you’ve been parading around?”
Baron holds his breath, his eyes on me as I go on.
“She’s smart. Whip-smart. And very, very good at detailing sensitive work.”
I give my dad a moment to think about it. After finishing his whiskey, he takes in a labored breath. “Set up dinner, then. If she is going to be involved, and from the sounds of it she already is, I want to meet this young woman in a more… formal setting.”