Chapter 13
VIKTOR
Eventually, I track down where Nash took the product.
He holed up under a bridge six blocks away, thinking it was far enough that no one would come looking. He mentioned that if we lost anything at the warehouse, at least he’d have saved some of it.
He wasn’t trying to help any of us out though.
He did it for selfish reasons.
He wasn’t thinking about the crew. He was thinking about a promotion.
Nash is easy to get along with, which isn’t something you find often in this line of work.
But I have to remind myself to watch my back. Because behind all of that, he’s looking for a way to take my position.
That’s not happening.
After I move what’s left of the product to another warehouse, one we don’t use too often, I head for the airport to pick my father up from his incoming flight.
He’s flying back in tonight after some meeting with a new state representative. It’s not his usual kind of business partner, but knowing him, there’s a reason behind it.
I try to recall the name as I near the tarmac.
Armani.
That’s it.
The private jet is already parked when I pull up.
As I shift the truck into park, the stairs on the plane start to lower.
I step out of the car and lean back against it, waiting for him to come down from it.
He steps out, suit still crisp, not a single thing out of place. He pauses at the top of the stairs, his eyes settling on me for half a second longer before he starts making his way down.
He doesn’t say anything as he reaches the bottom.
His eyes sweep over me once, then he adjusts his cuff and walks towards me.
I push off the truck and wait until he’s directly in front of me to say anything.
“The warehouse got hit,” I say, getting straight to it. No point easing into anything with him. “We had heat on the area, just not the cops.”
His jaw locks tight before he speaks. “Losses?” he asks.
“Gordon’s dead. Tony took a hit, but he’ll live.” I pause for half a second. “Nash got part of the product out. I secured the rest at another one of our warehouses.”
The silence lingers between us as I wait for his reaction.
“Who was it?” he asks finally.
I shake my head once. “I don’t know. They had thick Russian accents; that’s all I’ve got for now.”
He nods slowly, already somewhere else in his head, trying to piece it together.
Then he moves past me like the conversation’s done, heading for the passenger side. “I’ll find out,” he says, climbing in and shutting the door behind him.
I circle around to the driver’s side and slide into the seat. I start the engine, then pull us away from the tarmac.
“Armani,” he says.
I glance over at him briefly before looking back at the road. “That’s who you met with today?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his angle?” I ask.
Gabriel leans back slightly, eyes forward.
“He wants more political influence,” he says. “Access to things he can’t get on his own.”
“And he thinks we’re the way in.”
He pauses for a moment as we take the exit onto the highway.
“Yes.”
I let out a quiet breath, tightening my grip on the wheel just slightly.
“And what do we get out of it?”
“Once the votes come in and he lands a permanent position with the state, he pays back everything I fronted, plus interest.”
The city starts to come back into view as we get closer.
Beside me, he shifts slightly in his seat.
“You handled the situation well,” he says.
It’s not a compliment. It’s a reminder that if I’d handled it any differently, I would’ve become the problem.
“Didn’t have much of a choice,” I mutter.
“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t.”
Silence settles again, heavier this time.
If my father went out of his way to meet with someone like Armani, a political runner-up, then this isn’t just business as usual.
There’s a bigger game in motion here.