21. Wynn
WYNN
We met Makarov at a tiny bodega in Russian territory.
His men ushered us to the back to greet the Bratva Head while they unloaded the crates of extra guns.
When we entered the back, the big blond was crouched over a large piece of artwork with a sheet over half of it. His head popped up, and he grinned.
“My favorite assassins,” he said as he straightened. “You brought me some presents, huh?”
Ryu clapped his hand and pulled him in for a hug. “Two dozen extra assault rifles plus ammunition. Merry Christmas.”
Makarov shivered. “Talk dirty to me any more, and you’re going to turn me on.”
I let out a soft laugh. Every time we met up with the Russians, I got the impression that Makarov was just as crazy as Ryuji was—except he had an edge of seriousness hidden beneath his layer of teasing humor. No wonder they’d been friends for years.
“How’s the status in your territory?” Obi asked, glancing quickly at his phone. He typed a quick message and sent it off—most likely checking in with Leona. It had been strange leaving her behind with Max, but Ciel was more than capable of protecting her.
“We’re on high alert,” Makarov responded. “Our guys have had some run-ins with some Camorra men sniffing around our borders. They’re already trying to push their narcotics on our corners. They shot up some of my guys in a drive-by two nights ago, but don’t worry. We don’t go down without a fight.”
Obi nodded solemnly. Our drug income streams were tied to the Russians now as part of our alliance. If their business suffered, so did ours.
Ryu inspected the painting leaning against the wall. He pulled the sheet down, exposing an oil painting of a couple sitting on a bench in Central Park, looking out over the landscape. Ryu clicked his tongue. “What’s this, Kostya? Is one of your men a painter? You sure as fuck aren’t.”
Makarov chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “The Bratva is diversifying. Who knew there was money in high-end artwork?”
“Stolen artwork?” Cas asked, smiling.
Makarov put his hand over his heart and gasped dramatically. “How dare you accuse me of such a crime! I’m simply an appreciator and purveyor of fine art.”
It made sense. Stolen artwork usually made a heavy profit on the black market, and with our alliance, the Bratva didn’t want to push into our territories to increase their drug sales. Working the black market was smart on Makarov’s part.
“Mind your business,” Makarov said, pulling the sheet back over the painting and ushering Ryu away from it.
“Anyway, thanks for the guns. With the Camorra being giant dicks in the city, it’s been harder for us to secure an easy purchase of weapons through our normal channels.
The underworld is spooked. The word on the street is that most of the smaller-scale organizations are already working with them.
They’re sweeping through the city very fast.”
Obi pursed his lips. “We have to be faster. Before they become impossible to extricate.”
“I hear you,” Makarov said. “I don’t want those fuckers here any more than you do. The Camorra and the Bratva have never been on friendly terms. Without our alliance, they’d already be coming for me and my territory.”
“We’ll watch each other’s backs,” Ryu said.
Speaking of needing to be faster than them, I nudged Obi and tilted my head at the door. We didn’t have time to loiter here. There was other work we needed to do tonight.
“You guys sticking around?” Makarov asked. “We could use your help if we run into any Camorra fuckers.”
I shook my head. “No, we’re visiting a contact of ours. Someone who can help us stem the flood of Italians into the city.”
Makarov nodded. He rubbed his bottom lip and looked out toward the front of the bodega. “Need backup? I can spare some men tonight.”
Ryuji shook his head. “Nah, we’re good. This is a special visit.”
Makarov gave us a knowing smile. “One day, I want to see how the great Shadows do their work.”
“You’ve seen plenty,” Ryu answered, clasping Makarov’s hand in goodbye. “Now go be the Bratva leader. You have things to do, don’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Makarov said. “Thanks again for the guns.”
“Keep us posted if you lose any ground,” Obi said. “We don’t want their drugs or gun businesses to outsell ours.”
“Will do.”
We left almost as quickly as we had come.
Now it was my turn.
It was easy to slip into the apartment on the twenty-seventh floor of an upscale high-rise on the Upper West Side.
Ciel had remotely hacked the security cameras and looped the footage before we snuck into the building through the service entrance.
The four of us didn’t even get a sideways look as we hopped into the service elevator, rode it up, and sauntered down the hallway.
I kneeled in front of the “secure” door of the apartment. First, I typed in the code Ciel gave me to break the high-tech lock. Then I pulled a knife from its sheath on my thigh and used the hilt to smack the box. The door cracked open.
I smirked. Too easy.
“Please tell me Ciel doesn’t use this shit for our house,” Ryu said with a snort.
“No,” I laughed. “He’s way better than that.”
Obi shouldered the door open as quietly as he could. With guns drawn, the four of us breached the apartment. It wasn’t like we were expecting any resistance, but one could never be too careful.
The sooner we got this over with, the sooner we could all get home.
Cas looked around. He raised an eyebrow and scoffed at the refuse practically covering the apartment.
Old takeout containers littered the kitchen countertops.
Black trash bags were piled in all the corners.
A rank smell hovered in the air. What should have been a paragon of modern luxury in one of New York’s richest neighborhoods had become a hovel for a sad, terrible man.
“Looks like our friend has been having a hard time since the last we spoke,” I observed while I crept through the hallway, gun drawn just in case.
“Crippling fear of confronting your darkest secrets will do that to you,” Cas said as he followed.
Together we reached the door to the bedroom, at least according to the blueprints I’d spent the last few days studying. My hand closed over the handle, and I pushed the door open.
A man slept on the bed, completely unaware of the assassins infiltrating his home. His snores filled the air.
“What a dick,” Ryuji said from beside me.
I let out a breathy laugh, staring down at the sleeping form of Sean Porter, the director of the Motor Transit Authority.
He was a white man in his early forties.
He normally lived in a brownstone on the Upper West Side with his family, but he spent a few nights a week at this secret apartment.
His family, as far as I could tell, was blissfully unaware of how terrible a man he really was.
My nose curled with hatred. Sean Porter had been part of the trafficking operations that allowed the Albanians into New York City and beyond.
They’d paid him huge amounts of money to use the resources of his department to hide in plain sight, transport victims, and conduct auctions in the abandoned subway tunnels beneath the city.
He’d been at The Obsidian in Philadelphia, and he’d tried to force himself on Leona.
I’d wanted to cut his throat then, but we’d let him live for one reason, and one reason alone. He’d one day be useful to us.
That day had come.
Porter snored again and rolled over. I gave an annoyed look to Obi. He set up a signal jammer to make sure Porter didn’t have any other electronics in the room, then he gestured at Porter’s prone body.
“Time to wake up, Sean.” I kicked the bedframe. It rattled and jolted Porter awake. With bleary eyes, he searched the room until he saw four heavily armed men, dressed in dark combat gear, looming over his bed. None of us wore masks.
We wanted him to recognize us.
“Y—y—you!” he whispered, finally sitting up straight. His eyes flashed with fear, and I didn’t blame him. We held enough blackmail on him to bury him under ten tons of his own depravity.
I pressed the barrel of my gun to his forehead in warning. “Yes. Did you think we wouldn’t come back for you?”
He gripped the bedsheets, terrified, while his eyes flicked back and forth between all of us.
Even in the dim light, I could see the dark circles hanging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He looked like he had lost some weight. A little bag of white powder sat open on his night table. “Are you going to kill me now?”
Slowly, I shook my head and lowered my weapon, but I kept it in my grip so he could see it.
“Then what do you want from me?”
Obi dropped a USB pin drive on the bedsheets. “Inside that drive are details of the Italian mafia organization, the Camorra. They are currently infiltrating New York City with the goal of taking over the criminal underground. You’re going to help us stop them.”
He blinked rapidly, eyes flicking back and forth between all four of us. “What? Why—why me?”
“You opened the door for the Albanians,” I said. “You can close it for the Italians.”
“I can’t control that,” he started, pushing himself straighter. “You’re asking for me to—”
“Yes, we are,” Obi said. “I don’t care what is within your purview or not.
You will control the flow of Italians into the city, watch their imports at the shipping ports, and make sure that they do not increase in numbers.
I want you involved in customs, air traffic, oceanic transportation, politics, anything it takes.
I don’t care who or what you have to do, but you will use all of your power to inhibit them and their leader, Piero Greco.
If you don’t, we will first ruin your life, let you live long enough to feel the painful consequences, and then we will kill you. ”
He licked his cracked lips. “I could just go to the police. You broke into my home—”
“The secret home you keep hidden from your wife and kids,” I interrupted.
He flinched, but he powered on. “You’re threatening me. With my family’s money and my connections, you do not want to get on my bad side.”
Ryu snorted, playfully hitting Cas’s arm. “Cas, why don’t you tell him what we’ve got on him?”
Cas grinned. “Since we saw you last, Porter, we’ve attained your financial records, your internet history—especially your frequent visits to the trafficking website which we shut down—and the history of your physical location over the last six months.
We know exactly how much money you spent with the Albanians and other trafficking organizations. We know when and where you were.”
Porter blanched.
“We are watching you,” I added. Ciel and I had been busy the last week following his digital and physical trail.
“Every single movement. We know when you shit, when you wank, when you leave for work, and when you get home. We know the women you bring here to this apartment to cheat on your wife. We know the drugs you’ve purchased, including the cocaine on your nightstand, and who you’ve purchased from.
Spoiler, you’ve been buying drugs from our supply, from our men.
If you go to the police, we will blow your life apart.
Did you think that your visit to The Obsidian and your depraved behavior there—including your assault on our leader—was the only information we had on you? ”
True terror paralyzed him from head to toe. His eyes watered. “Your…leader?”
Obi crossed his arms over his chest. “You know her. Leona Vero, the woman you attempted to force yourself on at the club. She is our woman, our queen, and the ruler of New York City’s underground. If that wasn’t reason enough to kill you, we have dozens more.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, promising myself that when all this was over, I’d come back to this apartment and kill him anyway. “You do not want the world to see your browser history, or what’s saved on your computer, do you?”
His voice dropped to a rasp. “No.”
“No,” I agreed. “Every movement you’ve ever made online, we have a record of.
All the times you visited the dark web. All the things you’ve seen, messages you’ve sent, and pictures you’ve looked at.
All of it is prepared to send to the police, your wife, your parents, your bosses, your coworkers.
If you do not do exactly what we ask of you, every single person you know, and every single person you meet in the future, will know what kind of ugly cretin you are. Only then will we kill you.”
A single tear dripped from his eye. “Okay. I’ll do what I can.” He held up the drive. “Everything I need is on here?”
Obi nodded. “Dossiers of every known Camorra soldier. Information on their leader, Piero Greco. The last known information about their shipping habits. What products they buy and sell. We know who likely works for them—including law enforcement and politicians who run the city. It’s your job to make sure they don’t get their hands into the mayor’s office, or any other department directors like yourself. ”
Porter scoffed. “How the fuck do you think I’m supposed to pull this off? You might as well kill me now.”
Obi flicked the safety off his gun and held the barrel to Porter’s forehead. “Is that really what you want? I’d be happy to oblige.”
Porter’s lips trembled. His hands fisted in the bedsheets. “No.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Obi said. “You figure it out, or you lose everything.”
Porter sniffled and then nodded.
Obi withdrew his weapon. “If we don’t see progress, we will visit you again. Do you want that to happen?”
His head dropped. “No.”
“I didn’t think so,” Obi said.
Ryu pulled out one of his knives and stabbed the blade through Porter’s bedsheet. He let out a strangled cry as the blade pierced his thigh.
“Just something to remember us by,” Ryu said with a wicked grin. “So you don’t wake up in the morning and think this was a terrible nightmare.”
Porter cried in pain and held his leg while his blood stained the bed. “You could have killed me! I can’t help you if I’m dead!”
Ryu rolled his eyes, insulted by the accusation.
“Like I’d hit anything important. I missed your arteries on purpose, Sean.
Do your fucking job, or I’ll come back and cut your limbs off one by one.
We’ll skin you alive and make you eat your own fucking balls.
Trust us, there are things far worse than death. ”
Porter swallowed down more cries, nodding vehemently.
“If you try to run, we will find you,” I said. “No amount of money could save you. No hole on the face of this planet would be safe. The Shadows will hunt you down. You can’t escape this. Your only hope is to do what we ask.”
“I understand,” Porter gasped. “I’ll do it. I swear.”
Obi picked up the pin drive, so it didn’t get ruined in the blood-soaked sheets and put it on the end table. “Get to work. We’ll be in touch.”