Chapter 38 #2
“I never double-crossed you.” Salvatore’s smile falters as he waves at his man who has been working on the laptop.
“The Russians fed me the same lie about the Chinese moving in on your turf, and I passed it along to you. I was embarrassed when I realized what they had done, and for my part in any of this unpleasantness, I apologize. I never could have foreseen things getting so far out of hand. Now, Frank, is everything ready for the meeting?” he asks as he turns his attention to the laptop.
When his man, Frank, turns the laptop around on the hood of the Bentley to face all of us, I nearly laugh out loud. It’s a goddamn video call. Not what I expected.
Several faces fill the screen. I recognize Alexei Volkov immediately, and a moment later, another of the men, a Bratva elder named Sergei Ivankov.
There are others I don’t know, who may have even been dialing in from Russia.
These are cold, impassive men whose power stretches across the ocean, and who have brought war to my home.
“Mr. Luciani,” Sergei begins speaking in a heavy accent. “We extend our condolences. The exuberance of our associates… it has created misunderstandings. This was never meant to escalate so far.”
A misunderstanding. That’s what they fucking call it. Murder. Fire. Betrayal. All just a misunderstanding? It’s complete bullshit.
I hear the car door open behind me as Constance steps out and walks up beside me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper to her.
“I couldn’t hear what was being said,” she replies.
“Ah, you must be Ms. Monroe. In order to make amends,” Sergei continues, “we have already authorized a deposit of five hundred thousand dollars into your father’s checking account. Think of it as part of a settlement to aid in rebuilding not just his restaurant, but also some goodwill.”
I glance at Constance, knowing before she speaks how she’ll respond. Her voice shakes with fury.
“You can keep your blood money,” she spits. “You think you can pay me to forget that your men burned my father alive? You think I’m going to forgive everything you destroyed? I want justice. Not compensation.”
In the silence that follows I can hear Salvatore clicking out a message on his phone. “That’s only part of their offer,” he explains as a horn beeps just outside the gate to the junkyard. “The other is just being delivered, now.”
I wave to the yard supervisor, who slides the gate open and lets in a small, unassuming little blue Kia.
It pulls to a stop nearby, and two heavyset, well-dressed men step out of the front seats.
They open the rear door and drag out Kirill Volkov, whose hands are bound behind his back.
They shove him forward, hard enough that he staggers and falls to his knees.
“Kirill not only ordered and led the botched ordeal at Monroe’s, but he also ordered attacks on you and your family, Mr. Luciani,” Sergei explains.
“After his blundering, your police crackdown has caused us significant losses in investments we’ve made in your city.
We hope that by turning him over to you for judgement, we can attempt to reset our relationship. ”
Constance stands beside me, jaw locked tight, breathing sharp enough to cut. I place a hand on her arm to make sure she doesn’t bolt the short distance to Kirill and try to strangle him with her bare hands yet.
“You sent Alexei and Kirill into my city and used them to set up a distribution network right under my nose. You never thought to speak to me first, to try to come to some agreement before unleashing these animals in my city?”
It’s Alexei Volkov who responds this time, his voice thin and tinny through the laptop speaker.
“It was my mistake. I tried to instruct Kirill on your ways of doing business. He was supposed to schedule meetings with you and pay proper tribute to your family. Instead, he kept what would have been yours for himself and attempted to cover up his embezzling by having you removed as the head of the family. His blundering and greed have caused us significant losses, as Sergei mentioned, and now—”
“Now his life is forfeited,” Sergei interrupts, his thick accent grim.
“The Bratva would have dealt with him personally for his crimes against our family, but we hope that turning him over to you for judgement can begin to repair some of the damage that has been done. A street war serves none of our interests, and with this offer, we want to put this unpleasantness behind us.”
Before I can offer any reply, the chirp of a siren draws all of our eyes to the junkyard gate, which had been left wide open. With their bubble lights flashing, six black SUV’s pull into the lot and quickly surround our group.
The man on the computer, Frank, starts to close the laptop before Salvatore throws a hand up to stall him. “Maximo, what is this? Why would you bring the authorities into our mediation?”
As the trucks skid to a stop and the fake officers begin pouring out of the vehicles, I hold up a hand to my men to hold them back. “Wait!” I bark at Spicy, who’s wearing a “Police” windbreaker over a suit of body armor.
I then turn my attention to Salvatore and the Bratva who I can still see on the computer screen. “I brought the police to prove to you something you haven’t seemed to completely grasp. This is my town. These are my police, and they enforce my will.”
“Why would you involve them?” Alexei Volkov demands from the computer. “Arresting Kirill can only hurt both of us if they cut a deal to make him talk!”
“You still don’t understand,” I practically growl the words. “Constance, here is the man who killed your father, just as I promised you. Retrieve your gun from the truck and finish him if that’s what you still want.”
I hear the door to the Escalade open and then slam behind me, but I keep my eyes on Kirill Volkov.
His hands are bound behind him with zip-ties, and he has a gag in his mouth.
He’s on his knees until he sees Constance storm past me racking the slide on her pistol.
He stares at her in wide-eyed horror before falling backwards, desperately trying to push himself away across the gravel lot.
The two men who dragged him out of the Kia and threw him to the ground wisely back away as she stalks him down and stands above him, leveling her gun at his chest.
She doesn’t pause to say anything, and her hand is steady as she stares down at the man who ordered the murder of her father. The crack of her first shot snaps through the yard. Then a second. A third as Kirill’s body jumps and spasms, then shudders limply at her feet.
Salvatore Bianchi, his men, and the Bratva elders on the computer all stare at us in shock as I raise my hand again to the gathered officers and make a spinning motion in the air, then point back out the gate.
Spicy understands immediately and barks out, “Load up! We’re leaving,” to his men, who immediately pile back into their trucks and begin backing out of the junkyard.
Constance turns her back on Kirill’s corpse, and as she walks back over to me, I can see the trembling in her hands. Her determination has been unwavering, and now, I can only imagine the rush of emotions she must be feeling. “Are you okay?” I whisper to her as she draws even with me.
“I will be,” she answers with a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Max. For keeping your promise. For helping me get through all this…” Her voice trails off, and I can see in her eyes she’s struggling to hold back tears.
“Why don’t you wait in the truck while I finish things up here,” I tell her as I reach over and give her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You did perfect, Constance. Your father would be proud of you. I know I am.”
She nods at me and then walks over to the Escalade, opening the rear door and climbing into the back seat. I turn my attention back to Salvatore and the Bratva, who are speaking to each other on the computer.
I call out to Enzo’s crew who are still watching impassively nearby. “Take the body over to the crusher. There’s a car already loaded. Throw him inside and get rid of him.”
All six of the men immediately walk over and after a brief conversation, four of them pick up Kirill Volkov’s corpse and carry it across the yard.
The other two come back to stand guard near me as I walk over to Salvatore.
Only one face is still on the computer, Sergei Ivankov.
The others have apparently disconnected when my police surprise arrived.
“I did not understand, at first, why the police were here,” Sergei said. “Now I do. You wanted us to see who is in charge in New York City.”
“That, and I wanted some back-up just in case Kirill or Alexei decided to try anything else,” I confirm.
“Alexei has been summoned back to Russia after his failures overseeing his nephew led us to this debacle. You will not see him again in New York,” Sergei promises.
“Make sure of it,” I warn him. “The Volkovs killed two of my cousins and other members of the Luciani family. With Kirill’s death I’m willing to call a truce, but if any more of your Bratva boys appear in my city without my authorization and proper tribute, I will burn them out immediately.”
“Then we are in agreement,” Sergei confirms. “We have several clubs in New York that have always paid tribute. They stay open?”
“I have no problem with your current businesses, only with your recent efforts to expand your influence in my city.”
“That was the Volkovs, and that mistake has been rectified. We apologize again for the misunderstanding, Mr. Luciani, and we hope that any future dealings will be more pleasant.”
“Let’s make sure of it.” I nod to Sergei, then watch as he leans forward and disconnects the call.
As soon as he’s gone, Frank folds up the laptop and climbs back into the rear seat of the Bentley, leaving me standing with Salvatore.
“Well, that was exciting,” he replies with a grin.
“Kirill had complained that you were just full of surprises, and I see he wasn’t wrong.
Tell your woman, Constance, that I hope she feels better now.
Some people don’t react well to revenge.
For me, I’ve always found it cathartic.”
“I appreciate you playing mediator, even if I still have my suspicions about your involvement in this whole affair.”
Salvatore doesn’t bat an eye at my accusation, and his infuriating grin never wavers.
“It was a business arrangement, Maximo, no different from the dozens you yourself have made. You may not believe me, but I’m going to tell you a small truth.
If I had known that Kirill would attempt to harm you and your family, I would have warned you and tried to put a stop to it.
I didn’t know the extent of his plans, and helping mediate an end to this dispute is my way of trying to make amends. ”
I nod to him, accepting that this is the closest to an apology I’m ever going to get from The White Devil. “Go back to Jersey, Salvatore, and tend to your own garden. Keep your crew from stepping on any of my toes, and we won’t have any more problems.”
“Take care of yourself, Maximo, and your woman, too.” Salvatore flashes one last toothy smile at me before opening the front passenger door of the Bentley and disappearing inside.
As the car begins to pull away, I breathe out a deep sigh as the tension of the confrontation eases its grip on me.
Once Salvatore has left the yard, I turn and walk back to the Escalade where Constance is waiting.
Leonard has already climbed into the driver’s seat and got the truck running.
I had wanted Constance to sit there in case she needed to flee the meeting, but she got into the back with her pistol lying on the seat beside her.
As I climb in, I can see that she’s already unloaded it, and I put it on the floor by her feet so I can slide close beside her.
I put an arm around her and pull her to me as I notice the trail of tears running down her cheeks.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her as I squeeze her shoulders in a one-armed hug. “Relieved? Vindicated? Maybe just in shock?”
“I don’t know how to describe it,” she admits as she leans into me.
“I feel nauseous, mostly, and shaky from the adrenaline. When I saw him lying there tied up and helpless, all I could think about was my father and what he had done to him…to my entire life. All I knew was that he had to die, and it had to be right now. Every breath I saw him take was intolerable. I’ve never felt so much hatred for anyone, and it’s made me physically ill. ”
“You’ll feel better in time,” I whisper to Constance as I lean down and kiss the top of her head. Then I instruct my uncle, “Leonard, go ahead and take us back to the house.”
“You did the right thing,” Leonard tells Constance as he glances at us in the rearview mirror. “I wanted to kill that son of a bitch myself for what he’s done to our family…to my son. You avenged all of them.”
“Does this mean it’s over?” Constance asks. “It’s really over, these Bratva people aren’t going to try anything else?”
I give her another squeeze and then sit in silence for a moment while I try to decide how best to answer. Should I reassure her, or give her the truth?
“Max?” she glances up at my pensive expression when I don’t respond. “You don’t think it’s over, do you?”
“It’s never really over, Constance. Not in my line of work, and certainly not with a group like the Bratva. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to put one of their men in his place, and I doubt it will be the last.”
“What else do you think they might do?”
“Nothing, for now. But the Bratva aren’t known for forgiveness, and they sure as hell never forget an insult. But you don’t need to worry. I promised you your vengeance, and now I’m making you a new promise. I will keep you safe.”
Hugging her to me, I feel Constance nod against my chest as she dwells on what I said. She doesn’t speak on the ride back to the estate. I don’t try to force her either. Instead, I hold her close and make myself a promise: whatever the Bratva try next, they won’t touch her.