41. Alexei
Alexei
“About this fundraising dinner,” Dimitry says several days later. “You really want to use Roman and me as bait?”
“Not bait.” I pick up one of the guns currently decorating the long table in the salon and check its sights.
“You’re the prize. The whale everyone at that overpriced dinner will want to catch.
” I put the gun down and survey the array of weapons and ammunition spread over the table, along with various other tools men use to inflict pain and cause chaos.
If I’d imagined my crew would be upset by the sudden arrival of Roman and his men, plus a few add-ons sent by Luke Macarthur, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Some of them know one another from various visits, or simply by reputation.
All of them, to a man, seem indecently happy about the prospect of blood and violence.
Then again, most of them have had to sit on their hands—and naturally bloodthirsty natures—for months, while they’ve watched the Novikovs and other criminal elements infiltrate much of Miami.
They’re overdue for a blowout—and we’re about to cause the biggest one Miami has seen since the Orlovs went down.
I was braced to blow it sky-high without help.
But my initial anger at Mak for involving Roman, Mickey, and all the others has gradually given way to an almost treacherous feeling of relief.
Not least because the urgency of formulating a workable plan is the only thing that can, even temporarily, block my endless torturous thoughts of both Lars and Ofelia.
I’m under no illusions that if we all survive this, there will likely still be hard conversations to come.
Either way, now isn’t the time for any of that. For now, our only job is to hunt.
And the smartest way to hunt is to wait and let the prey come to you.
“This fundraiser is Hunter’s biggest yet,” I say. “The election is just over a month away, and he’s still trying to convince key figures in Miami to get behind him.”
The men in the room gather around the table and give me their undivided attention.
“Despite the money behind him—or, more likely, because of it—Hunter has a trust problem. Everyone holding bank in Miami knew that Hunter was on the payroll of organized crime. Now those organized crime figures have disappeared—but instead of peace, Miami is being torn apart by cartels and sadistic fuckers like the Novikovs, hungry for a slice of the pie.”
I grin. “Especially lately, since word spread that I’m out of the picture. Kiril has slipped back into town with his entire crew and is making a predictable mess.
“The people at tomorrow’s dinner are watching their city collapse before their eyes.
They’re scared. And instead of the hero they’re holding out for, they’re being asked to believe that Marty Hunter Jr.—a small-time politician they’ve all seen with powder on his nose, losing his shirt in illegal casinos—is going to be the governor who will save Florida from the bad men. ”
That gets a few derisive snorts.
“The guests at the fundraising dinner might claim to hate organized crime,” I go on.
“But the truth is that they know we’re necessary.
What they really want are acceptable criminals they can work with.
Now.” I grip the table, leaning forward.
“Since our friends at Meridian have spent considerable resources painting me as public enemy number one, I no longer qualify. You, however”—I tilt my head at Roman—“you’re the answer to their fucking prayers. ”
That gets outright laughter and even a reluctant smile from Roman.
“Nobody knows you’re the man behind Mercura, but they sure as fuck suspect it,” I go on.
“Either way, Mercura is the kind of criminal enterprise they can all live with. Every profile piece for years has mentioned that you’re originally from the Miami streets, which gives you local cache.
And best of all, you just wrote an obscenely large check to Hunter’s campaign, plus bought tickets to his overpriced fundraiser.
It doesn’t hurt that you look like you just walked out of a GQ magazine feature on organized crime’s most eligible bachelors.
And before you punch me,” I go on over the hoots of laughter and Roman’s darkening scowl, “your son has been hard at work for several days spreading rumors about your supposed impending divorce and return to Miami. Mickey?” I gesture to him at the other end of the table.
“You and Pavel want to take it from here?”
“Our online campaign, spreading word about Roman’s supposed return to Miami, rivals anything Meridian is capable of.”
Mickey picks up the ball without a moment’s hesitation. It hasn’t escaped me, in the days since his arrival, that any trace of the geek-jock-playboy thing he had going on has disappeared entirely, replaced by the gravity that was always part of his personality—and a grimness that is new altogether.
“We’ve created thousands of social media accounts with backdated posts and links to fake reports, all of which suggest Roman is facing pressure from Spanish authorities, which in turn has led to the demise of his marriage and his imminent return to Miami.
Bullshit, obviously,” he goes on, giving his godfather a fleeting smile.
“But nobody in the States is likely to look into Spanish media articles. Pavel?” He glances at his old mentor and Roman’s head tech engineer at Mercura.
“We used Lance Ryder at Darkside to post shots of Roman and Dimitry coming out of Miami Airport looking suitably shady,” Pavel says, making everyone laugh again.
“Along with the pictures, the Darkside ran an ‘exclusive’ about Roman’s supposed legal and marital issues, using all the backdated social media posts as proof.
Then, after making Roman and Dimitry’s return to Miami the hottest story on every platform, we managed to get Lance Ryder on three of the major bro podcasters this week to talk about it.
The interviews broke the fucking internet, et voilà.
” He tilts his head to one side in satisfaction.
“In less than a week, the entirety of Florida, if not the United States, is buzzing with news that there’s a new player in town. ”
“And not just any player,” I pick up again. “The exact kind of player our nervous Miami businessmen are looking for. One they think will keep the swamp under control and stop the mud from coming into their houses.”
I look around the table. “I said that Roman isn’t just bait, but the whale the Hunter campaign hopes to land, and I wasn’t exaggerating.
The campaign literally scrambled to get him to their big fundraiser.
Sent fucking hampers to his penthouse, the whole thing.
They know that securing his support is the deciding factor in this race.
They get Roman, and the rest of Miami business will fall into line. ”
Roman meets my eyes. “It’s a good plan,” he says quietly.
“One I couldn’t have pulled together without help.” I nod at Mickey and Pavel. “And most of your tech team, from what Pavel tells me. Thank you.”
Roman inclines his head like it’s nothing. But the truth is that when I was conceiving the idea on the flight over, I’d dismissed it as impossible to pull off. Having the weight of Mercura’s tech team behind me gave me an added weapon to play with.
“These Meridian motherfuckers.” Dima speaks up. “Even with the rumors of your marriage breakup, Roman, surely they must at least be suspicious that the two of you are still working together?”
Mickey glances warily at me. “You want me to answer, Lex, or do you want to take this one?”
I shrug, trying to ignore the tension trickling down my spine. “Go ahead.”
“Among the various rumors we planted on social media,” he says, “were some very dark ones about Alexei and my sister, Ofelia.”
The room is suddenly still, silent enough to hear a pin drop.
I stare intently at the table.
“According to the latest Darkside reports,” Mickey says carefully, “when Roman wouldn’t give his blessing to their romance, Alexei kidnapped Ofelia and is now hiding out in Sicily with her.
Roman’s sudden desire to reenter Miami, the story goes, is motivated by revenge, pure and simple.
Alexei took Roman’s daughter; now Roman plans to take his empire as payback.
Hurting Alexei would also hurt Darya, who according to our narrative, is about to take him to the cleaners in divorce court.
“The story we’re spreading is that Roman plans to take Miami himself, ensuring Alexei has nothing to come back to—and that Darya is too scared to fight him in their theoretical divorce.”
Not a single man at the table says a word. The silence stretches on long enough to become uncomfortable.
“Hey,” Roman says finally, tilting his head toward me in an attempt to inject some levity into the room. “This is his master plan, not mine. Personally, I hate this fucking city.”
“We both do.” Dimitry’s smile helps lighten the atmosphere. “Too many people who think pastel is a personality.”
“Cocktails with umbrellas,” Roman adds, nodding. “What the fuck is with those? Point is,” he goes on without waiting for an answer, “Lex’s plan ensures I not only have good reason for being here, but that I’m motivated by revenge.”
Which, after all this is done, might not be far from the truth. But I leave that thought unsaid.
“It’s not a theory that will stand up over time.” I’m surprised my voice comes out sounding so steady. “But we don’t need it to. We just need it to be believable until this dinner is over. Which leads me to how this is going to work. Pull up the map, Mickey.”
He hits a key, and a screen on the wall flickers to life, showing a map of Miami.
“Everything relies upon timing,” I begin.
“Well—timing, and a few well-placed explosives. Paddy,” I say, glancing at an Irishman who has worked for Luke Macarthur for years and is renowned for his ability with incendiary devices.
“That’s going to be your department, but you’ll have plenty of help. ”