44. Alexei
Alexei
“The Guapa?” Silas Thorne glances warily at the upper deck as he steps off the tender, looking slightly green after the short voyage. “Who else is onboard?”
“Friends,” Roman says carelessly. “Don’t worry,” he says, seeing Thorne’s face. “The Guapa was in for maintenance when I took over Alexei Petrovsky’s compound, so it’s mine now.” He smirks at Silas. “Even better, Petrovsky had already paid the bill for the work.”
They all laugh, including Hunter and Thorne.
Laugh away, motherfuckers. I hear Lars’s voice in my head. You’re just a few short steps away from hell.
“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” Roman ushers the men toward the stairs. “Ladies,” he adds, turning to Kristi and her barely upright mother, “Teresa will show you to a suite where you can freshen up.”
I grin as one of Ofelia’s dragons steps forward.
“Can I offer you a drink first?” she says, indicating the bar behind her.
Mrs. Hunter’s eyes focus for the first time since she left the ballroom, eyeing the bottles greedily. “Can you make a martini?”
Julia, the other dragon, says, “Of course. Why don’t I make a whole shaker and bring it to your suite?” She turns to Kristi. “And for you?”
“Krug,” Kristi says haughtily. “A bottle. On ice.”
Oh, you’re going to pay for that one, Kristi. I smirk at the look on Julia’s face as she turns away to make the drinks. The dragons do not like being given orders, even from me.
When Roman told me that Ofelia’s old security duo had requested to be part of the team who came out from Spain, I hesitated. It’s still hard for me to forgive them for what happened in Granada.
But I also understand the need for payback.
Bullshit. I hear Lars’s voice again. Having them here keeps you connected to Ofelia, just like having Roman and Mickey here does.
I smile inwardly. Glad you’re still talking, asshole.
Only because you finally started listening, motherfucker.
Roman has our guests upstairs and is facilitating introductions.
“Roman tells us you’re the man who’s going to ensure the deaths in our family are avenged.
” Rico Lucchese shakes Hunter’s hand like he honestly doesn’t know Marty Jr. was the man responsible for those deaths.
He’s doing a great impression of being a very young man who’s never seen a gun, let alone held one.
“Oh, I’m going to do my best,” Hunter says eagerly, pumping Rico’s hand. “Your family members were honored friends of mine.”
Renata almost spits out her drink. “Check out Hunter’s face,” she sputters. “He looks so relieved he might actually piss his own pants. Is he honestly dumb enough to believe the Luccheses don’t know he was working with the Novikovs?”
I shake my head. “I stopped asking myself how dumb Hunter is a long time ago. It’s like asking how long a piece of string is.”
“So,” Roman says, as the steward pours a round of Graf and hands everyone a shot glass. “Let’s drink to old friends and making new ones.” He raises his vodka and swallows it, the rest of the gathering following suit.
Right on cue, there’s another explosion on shore, the flames lighting the sky before the sound hits us in a muffled boom.
“Christ.” Thorne goes to the railing, his face pale. “What the hell is going on over there?”
“Well,” Roman says, regarding the shoreline with detached interest, “I can’t say for sure.
But judging by the events of this evening, I’d say that it seems like Miami has a considerable vermin problem.
” Accepting a whiskey from the steward, he smiles lazily when Thorne turns around.
“I understand you gentlemen may need some assistance dealing with that problem.”
“We do,” Hunter begins eagerly.
“Maybe.” Thorne shoots him a quelling glance. “I have some questions first.”
Roman waves his glass. “Fire away.”
“I see representatives from two major families here tonight.” Thorne nods at Rico and Luca as if neither of them have actual names. “But I don’t see a Cardenas here, or any other cartel members.”
“Oh,” Roman says, smiling, “you will, don’t worry. But not on my yacht.” He touches glasses with Rico and Luca as if they share an in-joke. “Cartels might be a necessary evil, but we like to keep them at a safe distance.”
Thorne’s lip curls in an arrogant sneer. “I’m glad we agree on that much.”
“Racist fuck,” Renata breathes beside me, glaring daggers at the screen.
“My point is,” Thorne continues, “what kind of alliance am I dealing with here?” He swirls his hand in a patronizing gesture which includes Roman, Rico, and Luca in one clearly undesirable circle.
Not smart, Thorne, I think, as Roman’s eyes narrow.
“Miami is out of control.” Rico Lucchese, with admirably good instincts, chooses that extremely tense moment to intervene.
“I think we can all agree on that. Certain elements”—his mouth twists in distaste—“are operating with carte blanche. We understand,” he goes on, “that you and your friends wanted to disrupt the Petrovsky bratva. We might even have helped, if we were consulted.” His eyes shift pointedly to Hunter.
“But we weren’t.” His eyes move away again.
“Unfortunately, that disruption has created a bigger mess than you appear capable of dealing with.”
Nobody argues with him.
“Neither Luca nor I have the manpower, or the financial backing, to take control of Miami.” Rico nods at Roman. “But he does. We’ve done business with his organization in the past, so we’re happy for him to speak for us now. Does that answer your question?”
Hunter smiles eagerly. “I’d say so, Silas, don’t you think?” He turns expectantly toward Thorne.
“Shut the fuck up, Hunter,” he says coldly.
Hunter obediently subsides.
“So long as we’re establishing pecking order,” Roman says, his tone deceptively casual, “the Cardenas cartel has suffered some supply chain issues recently. Was that your doing? And if so, do you have a preferred supplier to take their place? Or is the cartel issue something you’d like me to deal with? ”
Thorne casts a speculative glance at Lance Ryder, who is watching all of this with avid fascination, and at the two future bureaucrats, who by contrast look rather uneasy at being present for such open discussions.
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Roman says dismissively. “Lance is one of my security team,” he lies. “Benson here is taking over Miami PD.” He gestures to the other man. “And Knut is about to replace the existing Miami head of the FBI.”
Renata spits her drink out in an explosive laugh. “Knut?”
Pavel’s voice crackles through the comms. “Tell me I heard that right.”
“Yes, you did,” I say through their laughter. “We just replaced BallSAC with KnutSAC.”
Up on deck, Thorne has paled, but Roman is still talking. “I’ve found it’s always better to start clean in a city,” he says airily. “And these two come highly recommended for our purposes.”
“Recommended by whom?” Thorne’s eyes narrow behind his glasses as he looks at the man opposite.
“I thought—” He pauses, then amends whatever he was going to say.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” His tension is palpable.
Thorne is clearly skeptical of any political appointment he hasn’t directly orchestrated.
“By a common friend.” Knut’s voice shakes slightly; he’s not as practiced as Roman at saying his lines with confidence. “Calder Vane, at the Zenith Advisory. Reid Calloway introduced us,” he goes on, “at prayer breakfast several weeks ago.”
Thorne relaxes slightly. “You know Calder and Reid?”
“Reid and I were at West Point together.” Casting Roman a surreptitious glance, Knut shifts and lays his jacket over the table. Pinned to the breast pocket, facing discreetly upward, is one of the Cartographer’s Club pins I had made for the occasion.
“We see things moving in the same direction.” Knut delivers the line with all the subtlety of a kid showing a fake ID at a nightclub door, but it clearly works, because Thorne’s demeanor changes instantly.
“Well!” He nods with almost sycophantic goodwill. “Always an honor to meet a man who can read the compass.”
“Seriously?” Renata groans, shaking her head. “Next they’ll have a secret fucking handshake. This is embarrassing to watch.”
“What about you, Benson?” Thorne turns speculatively to the proposed head of Miami PD. “Are you also a West Point man?”
“Hillsdale College, Michigan,” Benson answers promptly.
“Home of the Compass Initiative’s most successful chapter, thanks to Marty Jr.’s daughter.
” He raises his glass to a beaming Hunter, pausing long enough for the light to catch his signet ring, discreetly inscribed with the Cartographer’s Club logo.
“Of course, Hillsdale is a long way north of where we are currently.”
“Excellent.” Thorne settles self-importantly back on the sofa. “Just excellent. It’s a pleasure to have you both with us.” He gives Roman an approving nod. “I like your choice of friends, Borovsky.”
Roman, somehow, manages to maintain a grave expression. “I appreciate that, Silas.”
Dimitry almost chokes on his vodka. Even the Italians have to drink deeply to hide their amusement.
“Speaking of the Compass Initiative,” Silas goes on, “Kristi has done such good work, we should really have her join us.”
“Of course, of course.” The perpetually beaming Hunter reaches for his phone, then frowns as he pats his pockets. “Your men have my phone,” he says, glancing at Roman. “They said they took it for security reasons, but surely—”
“Sorry,” Roman says, not sounding it at all. “But I’m sure you understand,” he goes on, addressing Thorne. “You know how easily tech can be tracked.”
“Absolutely.” He nods emphatically. In a matter of minutes he’s gone from skepticism to almost fawning sycophancy. “Good call, Borovsky.” He gives Roman a knowing look. “Although I guarantee you’ll find Kristi’s company satisfying. I always have.”
“Definitely,” Hunter echoes, his smile not slipping in the slightest.
“Jesus,” Renata says. “Is that slimy prick pimping out his own daughter?” She leans in to study Hunter’s face. “To both men?”