37. Ofelia #3
“The point here,” Mak continues, “is that the war Alexei is walking into isn’t just a turf war.
The Novikovs are one thing. But if I know Thorne—and I do,” he adds grimly, “the Novikovs will be just one of the tools he is using. Don’t forget that the Petrovsky bratva has been shut down for months now.
Miami is in chaos. Deliberate chaos, planned by Zenith and Meridian to ensure Hunter is elected, and executed by Sentinel boots on the ground.
Now, of course, the Sentinel operatives are long gone, leaving absolute anarchy in their wake. ”
He looks around the table. “Miami is at war,” he says.
“The power vacuum has given a license to every lunatic with a gun and ambition to stake their claim. And behind the scenes, these men—Thorne, Calloway, Vane—are busy facilitating the sale of weapons, drugs, and anything else the various contenders might need to get into the fight.”
“So they’re not just players.” Mickey frowns at him. “They’re brokers, too.”
Mak pours himself a cognac and lights a cigar. “Never anywhere you can see them. These men are experts at remaining in the background.”
“What I don’t understand,” I begin—then, catching sight of my father’s face, stop, coloring. I’m not accustomed to being in these rooms, seated at these tables. I’m not entirely sure what my role is. But going by the frown on Papa’s face, it isn’t to speak.
“Speak,” Mak says gently, taking me by surprise. “Please, Ofelia. Ask anything you wish.”
Not daring to look at Papa, I say, “If these men are so good at staying in the background, then who exactly will Alexei fight? And why are you asking Papa for help?” When nobody answers, I go on in a small voice.
“That’s what you said you’re asking for, isn’t it?
For Papa and Dimitry and anyone else to help Alexei regain power in Miami? ”
Papa makes a dismissive noise that clearly communicates his lack of interest in offering any assistance for that particular task. Even Dimitry looks uncharacteristically grim. Mickey is frowning at Mak like there’s something he’s missing.
“Good questions.” Mak smiles at me. “But the answers aren’t quite what you might expect.”
He waits while Papa pours cognac for everyone at the table, except me. Since I still have a full wineglass I can hardly argue, but I glare at Papa anyway, which he ignores.
“Several months ago,” Mak said, “I asked Alexei for a favor: that he disappear for a time and allow me to investigate the man we called John Owens.”
Heads snap up at the word favor. I might not have sat at these tables before, but I know the nature of the men in my world. I know that the asking for, and granting of, favors, is taken extremely seriously.
“Owens has turned out to be a fake identity shielding the group of organizations I’ve just told you about.
So Alexei and I came to a new agreement before he left for Cuba.
” If Mak noticed my momentary loss of composure, his smooth urbanity gives no sign of it.
“I asked to retain the right to deal with Sentinel and Zenith—that is, Reid Calloway and Calder Vane—in my own time. I have reasons for making that request that I’m not able to share.
” His jaw tightens briefly, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.
“Suffice to say that for the foreseeable future, I guarantee to keep both organizations far too occupied on foreign shores to bother themselves with the outcome of a Miami election and turf war. Alexei agreed to that arrangement, on the condition that he be allowed to take out Silas Thorne, the Novikovs, and Meridian. Luca Bellini, as you might imagine, has already dealt with the assassins Thorne hired to attack the yacht. Given the attack happened in Sicily, I think that is a concession we must all accept.”
Everyone nods. Even me. It feels surreal to be giving my tacit approval to the murder of men I don’t know.
It feels even stranger not to care at all about giving that approval—other than to hope the murders were painful.
Maybe I’m more my father’s daughter than I ever knew, I think, taking in his hard mouth and burning eyes. Something tells me I look much the same right now, contemplating the death of Lars’s assassins.
Mak leans forward and looks around the table.
“But Thorne’s grudge against Alexei is personal.
He can’t be distracted, and he has invested far too much time and energy into Alexei’s destruction to back down now.
He’s going to throw everything he can muster at Alexei.
He has both the mayor and law enforcement in his pocket, half a dozen criminal organizations on the payroll, and has made sure the streets are awash with weapons, drugs, and thugs hungry for fame. ”
“Frankly,” Papa says, sitting back in his chair with his arms folded and eyeing Mak narrowly, “that sounds like Alexei Petrovsky’s idea of a good time.”
He might be looking at Mak, but I know the words are meant for me.
I’m still casting about for an effective rebuttal when Mickey speaks up. “Maybe once that might have been true.” He glances at me. “But not anymore.”
“Well said, Mickey.” Mak gives my brother an approving smile. “And a sentiment which I happen to know is true—even if Alexei doesn’t recognize it himself.”
I still, every nerve suddenly on high alert.
Papa makes a dismissive noise. “I prefer to leave redemption to the church, Mak. If Alexei needs his head shrunk, he should find a therapist.” His mouth twists in contempt. “Although given Petrovsky’s body count, he’s more likely to need a fucking priest and a long confession.”
“That’s enough.” I leap up, the words out of my mouth before I can stop them. Gripping the table, I glare at my father. “Back on the yacht, when I spoke to you and Darya, I thought you understood that Alexei and I are together. I thought you’d accepted it.”
Papa slams the table with both hands and rises to match my glare.
“And if you’ll remember,” he snarls, “your boyfriend also gave me his word that you would be safe. His exact words to me, in fact, were ‘Nobody will ever endanger your daughter’s life again. Not while I have breath in my body.’” His eyes blaze at me.
“How the fuck has that promise gone so far, Ofelia?”
“He’s my fiancé, Papa, not my boyfriend.
And what about when you first met Darya?
” I snap right back at him. “Did you keep her safe when she was on the run, pregnant with Aleksander and afraid for her life? And what about the promises you made us after Mikhail died—that you’d always keep us safe?
How did that turn out—when Masha and I were kidnapped, and Mickey risked his life to come and save all of us?
God.” I shake my head bitterly. “You are all such hypocrites.” I stare around the table.
“You, for example.” I point to Dimitry. “Abby was missing for months before you even realized there was something wrong. Held captive in a Myanmar scam farm. Where were you?”
Dimitry shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t try to deny it.
I turn to Mickey. “And you. I bet that if I asked Lourdes right now, she wouldn’t know the first fucking thing about the truth of our family or your business. I doubt you’ve ever told her you’re anything other than a tech guy who works with Lars. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He just sits, stone-faced, staring at the table.
I turn to Mak next. “I don’t know anything about your life. But that’s just it, isn’t it? Nobody does. Mickey did a deep dive on you back when we were kids and found out that you used to work for British Intelligence, under a different name.”
“Impressive,” Mak says lightly to Mickey, though his face is hard, with no trace of his usual cryptic smile. “That information isn’t easy to find.”
I turn my hand palm up in exasperation. “My point exactly.”
“None of this matters,” Papa interrupts furiously.
“Nobody at this table is perfect, sure. That’s hardly news.
But my own faults also make me uniquely qualified to know when someone else is likely to be even worse.
I wanted to give Alexei a chance, Ofelia—I did,” he says, when I look skeptical.
“For Darya, as much as for you. But it didn’t help to discover that not even Sergei has any faith that Alexei can change. ”
“What do you mean, he doesn’t have any faith in Alexei?” I frown. “Alexei told me Sergei was happy for us.”
“No.” Mickey and Papa respond at the same time, emphatically.
“They had the mother of all fights, ’Felia.” Mickey’s tone is almost apologetic. “I’ve never seen Sergei as furious as he was when he found out about the two of you. They haven’t spoken since.”
Why didn’t I know that?
I turn back to Papa. “What did Sergei say to you after they spoke?”
He slowly takes his seat. “You mean Alexei didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head. “Not a word.”
For the first time I see a hint of uncertainty in his face. “Sergei and Rosa left our house the same day he spoke to Alexei. I wasn’t there at the time. Darya and he—I believe they argued,” he says, slightly reluctantly. “She won’t talk about it.”
Oh, I bet she won’t.
This time, when our eyes meet, Papa’s drop first.
Mak clears his throat. “If I might finish answering Ofelia’s earlier questions, about why I’m asking for your help,” he says delicately, his customary urbane mask firmly back in place. “And, perhaps, offer an opinion.”
“Why the fuck not?” Papa takes a mouthful of cognac. “Seems like a night for opinions.”
Mak clasps his hands on the table in front of him.
“You’re all assuming that Alexei is going to war because he wants to reestablish his power in Miami.
” He looks around the table. “In fact, Alexei has no intention of taking the city back. Beyond eliminating Thorne, Hunter, the Novikovs, and any other associates who might pose a direct threat to him or his friend Renata, he has no interest in returning to Miami at all. Quite the opposite.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Including mine.
Only Mickey doesn’t look surprised.