17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Dominic
M y gaze lingers on Cassandra’s silhouette as she closes my office door. Through the frosted glass, I can make out the curves of her hips and breasts. I want to kick my brother out, grab my girl, and christen my desk.
“Boris Zaytsev was spotted changing planes in Madrid an hour ago.” The grave tone of Marco’s voice pulls me back to the present, and my jaw clenches in displeasure.
“He’s on his way to St. Petersburg.”
“Fucking pussy.”
I shake my head at Marco’s eloquence as I return to my desk, open my laptop, and power it up. “What did you expect him to do? A Russian oligarch that kills a teenage girl in some sort of sick sexual interlude. He’d be stupid to stay in the States.” My keyboard clicks as I type in a multitude of passwords. “Any sign of the Kozlovas?”
Marco squirms in his seat, wincing. “They’re good at disappearing.”
Scoffing, I snap my head up, my displeasure clear. “I want those rats flooded out of the holes they’re burrowed in. If they left the city, someone saw them. I’ve got our contacts in New York and Miami watching for activity on the East Coast. Dad was supposed to talk to Ciro in Chicago this morning. You and Leo start contacting the smaller syndicates. Someone will talk.”
“Yeah, unless Anatoliy or Alexsey have already gotten to them.” Marco scrubs his hand over his face but pulls out his phone to relay my orders.
“Remind your contacts that, in the end, it will be beneficial for them to be on the good side of the Romano family.”
His lips twist in thought before a chuckle breaks free. “Yeah, I’d hate to be the guy who chose the Bratva over us. Although, it would be fun to make an example of someone.” With a dark grin, Marco stands, placing his phone to his ear. “Hey, Leo. Dom has a job for us.”
As my office door shuts, I pull up my email and scan the recent subject lines. My new casino hit a snag with construction. The contractor needs me over there soon for a visit. I curse but send a message to Sophie telling her to set up a time for me to meet with him. Money pours out of my wallet every day there’s no progress on my new property.
Tomorrow at three o’clock?
I sigh at Sophie’s response but confirm the meeting. I don’t have a choice.
Over the next few hours, I force my mind onto legitimate ventures—signing approvals for Il Palazzo and the new build, looking over spreadsheets sent by my financial advisers, and answering interview questions for an upcoming piece in a local Las Vegas magazine article. I’m deep in a report when my door flies open, and Marco rushes in.
“We found them. ”
“Where?” All Tariello International items get pushed to the recess of my mind as I stand, checking the firearm tucked into my waistband.
“Anatoliy beelined to Boston this morning. While making a drop for the Irish, our pilot friend Santiago caught word that Anatoliy was at the airport.” Marco paces while he speaks. “But Alexsey is in LA chumming it up with Victor Cortez.”
My brows raise at the mention of Cortez. “What the fuck is Victor doing meeting with Bratva scum?”
“It’s not like him.” Marco shrugs. “He’s our ally.”
“Put in a call, let him know we want to talk, then get the jet ready for a trip. We’re going over there tonight.”
Before Marco has his phone in hand, mine is ringing, my father’s name displayed on the screen.
“You talked to Chicago?” I ask, forgoing a greeting.
“We need to meet.”
With legitimate business forgotten, I open the false drawer of my desk, removing a Glock and an ankle holster—my go-to backup for the Smith and Wesson already on my person. “I’m headed to the airport.”
“I’ll meet you there.” The line goes dead as my father disconnects the call.
With my brother following close, I leave Tariello International. My CEO persona dissipates as I transform into the ruthless Romano boss.
When we pull in, Leo is at the plane hangar, instructing the pilot—a man we pay good money to keep his mouth shut. Officially, we’re headed to Studio City, a subsection of Los Angeles, to meet with new talent for a long-running show.
Dante climbs from the backseat of Marco’s Land Rover. He's extra security, and a valuable man to have if shit hits the fan. He and Marco check their weapons as I speak with Leo, confirming our last-minute plans.
“I contacted Victor.” Leo’s voice drops as he waves off the pilot and turns to me. “He said he was expecting our call.”
My teeth grit as I pull a breath through my nose. “What’s his fucking game?”
“Dominic, I don’t think he wants to start something with you. He agreed to a meeting tonight and said it can be on our terms.” Leo adjusts the computer bag hanging from his shoulder. “He wants to have a conversation.”
Grunting, I slide my eyes toward the entrance of the hangar where my father’s silver Mercedes comes to a stop. I’m grateful he subdued his flashy taste in cars for the night and went with something less conspicuous than his cherry-red Porsche.
“Am I going to need a jacket where we’re going?” he asks, climbing from the car and holding a wool coat. “Or is this trip to a tropical climate.”
Shaking my head, I mutter our location. “Maybe next time, ask before you decide to hop on a plane.”
“Aye! You might be my equal in business, Dominic, but don’t forget who raised you.” His glare cuts like a knife as his vision settles on me. I want to roll my eyes. He’s an old dog who thinks he’s still intimidating.
The pilot calls from the plane’s door, informing us that we will leave in fifteen minutes. Grabbing hastily packed bags, our group of Romano men climb the steps leading into the cabin and take our seats. My father and I face each other, with Leo and Marco on the other side. Dante takes his place near the cockpit to ensure the pilot and co-pilot aren’t privy to the sensitive topics we discuss.
Once the cockpit door is closed and we’re taxiing the runway, I get business started. “What did Chicago say?” I ask my father, leaning in.
His fingers trace a line across his forehead as he glances out the window at a landing plane. “You might be right, Dominic. The Russians may be a problem.”
“Oh?” I fight the cocky grin that curves the corner of my lips. Of course, I’m fucking right.
“Ciro said Anatoliy is taking credit for the sale of the young girl murdered last night at The Oasis. He’s making it a point to let the sick fucks of the world know that he’s got a collection of ‘disposable’ girls that won’t say no.”
“Jesus Christ.” My fingers curl into fists, the nails biting into my palm. More than ever, I want the Kozlovas caught. The torture I plan to inflict on them is nothing compared to what they’re doing to their victims.
“There’s speculation they are responsible for the disappearance of another girl about six months ago. She was kidnapped from the border in Arizona right after crossing with her mother and sister. Her body was found in a car in South Vegas badly beaten.” My father sits back against his chair as the plane’s engines roar and our takeoff speed increases.
My mind races as we lift off the ground. I need these pricks out of my city.
“Is this happening anywhere else?” I ask once we settle in the air.
“Boston has had some issues. Otherwise, it’s mostly across Eastern Europe and South America. Mexico City might be next. Alexsey was recently spotted scoping out property there. ”
“I’m going to fucking kill them.” My craving for blood strong and decision final, I nod and clasp my hands in front of me. Oh, the many ways the Kozlovas could die . . .
My father chuckles and unstraps his seatbelt to retrieve a bottle of sparkling water from the mini fridge. “And how do you plan to make that happen?”
“We’re going to need help,” I answer honestly. “I need informants everywhere. Intel from our allies.”
In my periphery, I catch Marco raising his hand like a damn kindergartener before he says, “What if we set them up? Order a girl and take them down when they deliver her.”
I rub my thumb against my lip as I consider the ramifications of Marco’s proposal. “Where would we meet them? They’re not going to come to any of our properties.”
“Before we even consider moving forward, we need to be positive they’re behind this,” our father warns. “Taking down another boss and his nephew would harm our family’s position among other organizations unless we have proof.”
“Dead bodies of teenage girls aren’t enough?” Marco scoffs, slapping his palm against his knee.
Leo looks up from the report he has spread across his lap, peering over his black-framed glasses. “You need multiple families on your side before you go through with this plan.”
Nodding, I begin to form a list of our contacts who would love to see the Bratva take a hit. “What are the odds that we can sway Cortez?”
“Well . . .” Leo’s head nods to the side as he considers. “There’s no indication he’s involved in trafficking. From what I know, he and the Mexican cartels butt heads regularly. They’re the ones sneaking girls over the border. ”
Marco raises a finger. “Wait, didn’t Cortez put a stop to a cargo ship trying to smuggle in women through San Diego last year?”
“He worked with the Feds,” my father says.
“Which has the potential to be a problem,” I mutter, my tongue pressing against my teeth in frustration.
“I don’t think he’ll turn on you, Dominic.” Leo closes his files, crossing one knee over the other. “Your businesses are too intertwined.”
I sigh, hopeful that Leo is right and knowing that my upcoming meeting with Cortez will give me a read on whether or not we can trust him. “Dad, what about Chicago? I’m concerned about the direction Ciro is sending the family and his relationship with the Russians.”
“Ciro won’t be a problem.” He chuckles as I raise my eyebrows in question. “He’s stepping down. Health problems.”
“Is he all right?” I ask out of courtesy, not concern.
“High blood pressure among other cardiac issues. He had a scare last month and decided to pass the city off to his son, Nico.”
My lips twist at this development. I knew what to expect from Ciro. He pushed the edge of what the Romanos deemed acceptable. But Nico, I barely know. He’s a distant cousin I only saw at family events in our youth.
“From Ciro’s complaints, I get the feeling that Nico’s morals align with ours. He’s planning to cut back on the drug running that Ciro was investing in. I don’t get the impression he wants trafficking coming to his city.”
“Perhaps it’s time for a phone call to congratulate the new Chicago boss,” I muse, catching Leo’s nod of agreement from my periphery.
“Dominic, I’ll start compiling a list of families I think we have on our side. Tomorrow, you and Vincent should start making calls.” Leo opens his phone contacts before pulling his laptop from his bag.
I’m taking the Kozlovas down, and I’ll have the entire underworld on my side when I do it.
When we arrive at the private airfield outside Los Angeles, a sleek black Lincoln Navigator waits. Cortez’s driver hops out as we deplane, meeting us at the bottom of the stairwell and welcoming us to Southern California.
We drive toward the sprawling coastline, forcing small talk that my mind is too preoccupied to participate in. My father takes the lead, asking after old contacts, some retired and some soon-to-be. I learn that Cortez didn’t send just anyone to escort us to his Malibu Hills estate. Our driver is his nephew, an up-and-coming captain in the organization.
Two armed guards grant us entry once we stop in front of a wrought iron gate at the end of a private drive. Behind a line of oak trees, we catch glimpses of a Spanish-style home with a terra-cotta roof and white-washed exterior. The grand fountain accenting the circular entrance welcomes us as three figures appear in the arched doorway.
“Victor.” My father climbs from the car and greets the tallest man, standing in the center of the group.
“Vincent.” While I adjust my suit jacket, I assess Victor Cortez. As always he’s dressed impeccably, although more garish than my taste. I hold back a roll of my eyes at the pink silk handkerchief that peeks from the breast pocket of his pinstripe suit. He’s been in California too long. The less masculine style of the area has influenced him.
My hand stretches out as I approach and climb the tiled front steps. “Thank you for meeting with us on short notice.” Fine lines at the corner of Victor’s eyes put a slight crinkle in his tanned skin as he shakes my hand.
“Anything for the Romanos, Dominic. I value our friendship. The last thing I want is a misunderstanding between us.”
Cortez ushers us inside as he introduces us to his second in command, a burly El Salvadorian named Ruben, and his adviser Rafael. After we ask about wives and children and drinks are served by a set of women dressed in uniform, the doors to Cortez’s office close, and the air thickens with tension.
Not one to waste time, I take charge, looking for immediate answers about our acquaintance’s loyalties. “I was told you met with Alexsey Kozlova this morning.”
Cortez nods before sipping his one-of-a-kind tequila, produced on a family ranch outside Guadalajara. “I did.”
Simple and to the point—a trademark I envy. In our world, the less said, the safer.
“You know I am looking for more than a simple confirmation,” I say, leaning into the cowhide chair I occupy.
Victor’s lips twitch. “That much, I figured. But I’m torn, Dominic. While I do not condone the Kozlovas’ recent actions, I have no desire to get in the middle of a war right now.”
“Of course.” I lick my lips and place my tequila glass on the distressed wood table at my side. “And I will not ask that of you. I am here to secure your word that your organization will not retaliate against any action I take with the Kozlovas. I want to keep our business dealings intact. You’re a valuable asset to us.”
“And you to us.” Victor nods in agreement. “If I am going to be completely honest with you, I don’t care what happens to those Russian fucks.” Chuckles erupt around the room at Victor’s apt description of the Bratva scum. “Alexsey came to me this morning looking for funding for a venture he plans to establish in your city. He must not know me well if he thought he could secure me as an investor.”
“What venture?” my father asks, jaw tight.
“He plans to sell women.” Cortez sighs, his hand smoothing back his dark hair. “I have a problem with that. In your city, I know women’s bodies aren’t off-limits, that escorts sell sex regularly.”
“And consensually,” I add.
“Yes. And while I do not partake, I understand that many men do, and the women involved make plenty of money. But what Alexsey plans is far outside any realm I am comfortable with.”
My chest tightens and my muscles tense as I picture what sick, twisted thing Alexsey has planned. “Care to elaborate?”
“He doesn’t just want to create a monopoly on the escort business in your town. He plans to sell young girls to satisfy the sick, violent fantasies of any man who can pay the price.”
“Like the girl last night at The Oasis,” Marco says.
“Exactly.” Cortez takes a moment to shoot the remainder of his tequila before a tortured expression settles on his face. “Have you ever heard how I entered this business?”
I glance at my father, who dips his brows in confusion. Nearly every boss we know was born into a crime family.
“I was sixteen, still living in Mexico. I worked as a farmhand on our family ranch but was attending school at my father’s demand. Soon, I was in charge as I was one of the few men there who could work with numbers and speak some English. One day, a man arrived in our town demanding to buy the ranch. My father was not there, so it was up to me to tell this man, who was dressed in the finest suit I had ever seen and drove the shiniest car, that the ranch was not for sale. He did not take my answer well.”
“Cartel?” my father asks.
“One of the most prominent leaders,” Cortez answers. “Had I known at the time, I would not have answered.” Lost in a memory I’m sure he wishes to forget, he glances away. “The next day, my sister disappeared. We searched for her for days in neighboring towns and the surrounding desert. My mother prayed as my father formed search parties. People whispered and speculated that she had run off with a boy, but I knew her better than to assume that.
“After a week, the man in the fine suit reappeared, except this time he arrived with the cavalry. Ten men with guns climbed out of cars and demanded we give up our ranch. They told us they had my sister captive and would kill her if we disagreed.”
My jaw clicks from the pressure I’m instilling on it. “You didn’t agree?” I guess.
“My father did. I didn’t. That night, as my parents frantically packed only our essential belongings, I snuck out on horseback, riding to a compound ten miles away where it was rumored a cartel was stationed. No one questioned the young boy who claimed to be a new stable hand returning a lost horse. I waited in the barn until the early morning before entering the house through the kitchen door.
“Around a corner was an open door leading to a cellar. I could hear the agonizing screams of a female. Her cries were so broken that her voice was almost too strained to recognize. Yet I knew, in my heart, it was my sister. I was quiet and soft-footed as I descended the stone steps leading to the dungeon where they held her. When I reached the bottom, it took every ounce of willpower I had not to scream out or call for help. ”
“Jesus,” Marco whispers, as enthralled with the twisted story as the rest of us. “They went after a woman.”
Cortez scoffs. “They went after a fourteen-year-old girl.”
I spit out a curse, my fists tightening into balls, desperate to beat the shit out of the men involved.
“She was naked with a man on top of her and another watching from the side. Her body was bruised and beaten, her arm broken, and her left eye swollen shut. At that moment, I knew I had to kill those men. It was the most bloodthirsty I have ever been.” He lets out a sardonic laugh. “I got lucky. The men had left a shotgun against the wall next to the bottom of the stairwell. I lifted it to my shoulder and pulled the trigger. They were dead before they had a chance to turn around.”
“You saved your sister,” I conclude.
“Saved.” He shrugs. “I think she would have preferred to die than live with the memory of what they did.” He twists to pull a bottle from the sidebar behind him. The tequila opens with a pop, and he refills his glass. “So, Dominic, Vincent, while I have no interest in fighting a war, consider me a silent partner in whatever action you take against the Kozlovas. I do not want another girl to experience what my sister did. Someone needs to stop these pricks.”
I look between my men, each of us knowing that having Cortez in our pocket will be useful. “For now, your support is enough. And if you ever need help with the cartels . . .”
“Don’t worry. Two weeks after I saved my sister, I killed the man in the fine suit. I can handle the cartels. But I appreciate the sentiment. Now, before you leave, my staff has prepared a traditional meal with a tequila tasting. Please be my guests for the evening.” Cortez stands, pressing a button and summoning his serving staff .
We drain our glasses and thank the staff for the quick refills, choosing different tequilas from Victor’s collection. The heavy atmosphere of our meeting dissipates as we stroll through the expansive living room of Victor’s estate onto the wide veranda overlooking the hills and a 180-degree view of the Pacific Ocean.
While Leo and Rafael work to compile a list of families that would be beneficial to have on our side, I listen to Victor tout the joys of fatherhood. His wife, a beautiful Brazilian model, just gave birth to their first son. He and my father discuss things like nap schedules and baptisms—topics I have no knowledge of, but topics I find myself suddenly curious about.
Christ, babies .
I push that thought away, using my mind for more productive planning, such as how to rip Alexsey Kozlova apart limb by limb.
After a filling meal of chili relleno, empanadas, and fajitas, my men and I begin our goodbyes. We won’t be home until well past midnight, and I am itching to climb into bed next to an enticing showgirl who I pray stayed at Il Palazzo for the night.
“Romanos, always a pleasure,” Cortez says as he shakes our hands again at the doorway.
“Next time, we should meet under better circumstances.” My father pats his back, slightly drunk from the tequila.
“As I said, Vincent, you must come out for the baptism. We’re planning for next month—”
“Mr. Cortez.” A young guard slips in the front door, closing it firmly behind him. “I have a man here to talk to you. He says he’s a federal agent.”
The room freezes as Victor walks to the security console on the wall beside the doorframe. On the screen, a man appears standing at the bottom of the front steps. His hands are in his pockets as his eyes scan the house’s facade .
“Ah. I wasn’t expecting him. Tell him we can speak in just a few minutes,” Victor says, dismissing the guard. “Dominic, Vincent, don’t worry. This is a friend of mine. We have a mutual understanding. I will be clear that you were here for a friendly visit, nothing more.”
Tight-lipped, I nod. Although encountering a Fed anywhere is not ideal, here it’s incriminating. However, we have no choice but to face the situation at the moment.
“I will see you soon?” Cortez asks as he opens the door and steps out.
“Next month,” my father promises as we pass.
I trail behind, still weary of the man looming at the bottom of the stairs. He’s middle-aged but lacks the gut most men his age acquire. His beard matches his wavy brown hair, and his department-store slacks and button-down seem out of place with the designer clothes the rest of us wear. Inexplicably curious as to who Cortez seems to trust so explicitly, my eyes slide over, making contact with his.
The familiarity strikes me.
They’re a striking amber—intense in their scrutiny, telling a story I already know.
I can’t place it, but something tells me I have encountered the man before.
“Come in, come in,” Cortez says behind me, and the man’s attention moves on as he enters the house.
I frown as I buckle my seatbelt, my brain running through every contact I have, trying to place the man who claims to be a Fed. Preoccupied, I ignore the conversation surrounding me until we board our plane, ready to head back to Vegas. It’s then I realize that Marco is breaking down in detail what Amanda does to his balls when they’re in a particular sexual position. My expression twisting in disgust, I pull my AirPods from my pocket and stick them in my ears, drowning him out with smooth instrumentals.
As we reach cruising altitude, I drift into slumber. Expressive honey-brown eyes fill my last conscious thought, and a smile tilts my lips.