9. Dominic
Dominic
Across my casino, patrons waste their hard-earned cash under the delusion that they will be the player to win big tonight.
One man in particular came to our attention.
He’s about forty, with sandy blond hair and the kind of nondescript, office-drone look that makes me think he’s an accountant in Phoenix or Denver, or wherever he’s traveled from.
My cocktail waitresses have done a good job keeping him well lubricated, and from my count, he’s on drink six—scotch and soda.
He motions for the dealer to hit him.
His hand tugs through his disheveled hair, and he loosens another button on his shirt. He lost, again.
Eyes darting around the area, he’s escalating to the point of panic.
He’s not winning big tonight.
“Should I send someone down to cut him off?” Dante stands next to me near the wall of one-way mirrors that overlook the casino from Il Palazzo’s security hub.
The gambler places another round of gaming chips down. He has only a small stack remaining. A few women in cocktail dresses, holding martinis, take the seats next to him. His shoulders tense, and he sends a glare their way as they chatter.
“Yeah, he’s on the verge of combustion.” I rub my chin as the man loses another hand. “Get him out of here. He can have a nervous breakdown at another casino, not mine.”
Dante presses a button clipped to his lapel, ordering our associates on the floor to handle the situation before the man makes a scene.
Two of my security guards appear from behind a set of slot machines and approach. They argue with Mr. drunk-and-soon-to-be disorderly for a minute before they convince him it’s time to call it quits.
Stupid bastard.
I turn from the window as they escort the man out. He’s given me enough of his money for tonight.
Dante returns to the command desk, taking his spot as acting security head while Marco tans his ass on a tropical beach.
I stroll through the room, scanning the security monitors, stopping briefly at one with a view of the theater to try to spot Cassandra on stage. She’s not in the number performing at the moment, but they’re close to the finale. I’ll head down to accompany her upstairs in a few minutes.
On another monitor, I notice a few high rollers I need to say hello to before they leave, Silas Chen and Ezra Kaplan in particular. While I’ve done business with Silas in the past, my current dealings with real estate developer Ezra deserve my attention.
The door to the security hub buzzes open as a few associates exit for a coffee break. Before the door can slam shut, another man rushes in, a dumb-as-fuck grin stretching across his face.
I raise a brow at Leo as he speed-walks toward me. He’s shaking his head, laughing to himself. I’m pretty sure he’s lost his damn mind.
“You all right, or do I need to call a shrink?” I ask as he stops a foot in front of me.
“How do you feel about Puerto Rico this time of year?”
I blink, my brain sifting through any mention of Puerto Rico from our past conversations. “I’ve only ever been in the summer.”
“Well, I think you might want to try it out next week.” Leo holds out a stack of papers, which I take and flip through, hoping they will decode his cryptic statement.
On them are lists of phone records and flight logs, all of which are associated with business names—names I don’t recognize.
“Leo, you’ve got to explain this shit. All I’m looking at are numbers from what are probably shell corporations.”
“We can’t talk about it in here.” He side-eyes a set of security personnel who aren’t on the Romano-Tariello payroll. “Think Dante will mind if we use his office?”
I scoff. “I don’t think he has a choice.”
Leo leads the way as we head out of the room. I tell Dante to call me if needed as we pass.
Down the hall, Leo swipes his all-access badge and steps into a small office. He flicks on the light and glances around. “Does Dante even use this space?” he asks, gesturing to the almost bare desk.
“Guy is a neat freak,” I explain. “Now, what the fuck are these?” I shake the papers in my hand.
“Lucas and I have been working on getting as much information about the Medina Cartel and the Kozlova family as we can. It was actually Lucas who traced the first shell company on that list back to Anatoliy. Look.” He grabs a paper from my hand.
“You see all these calls from Rostov Trading to Viejo Inc.?”
“Yeah.”
“Rostov is the town in Russia where Kozlova’s mother was born. Lucas did a deep dive into the family tree, which Anatoliy’s maternal aunt had stupidly posted online.”
I whistle, cocking my head. “Risky.”
“She did it a few months ago, before she died from cancer. Either she didn’t know her sister was married into the Bratva, or she did and hated the family enough to give one last fuck you before she passed.
I don’t think the Kozlovas know it’s up.
It’s pretty detailed and fucking damning for some guys I didn’t even know were part of the organization.
Anyway, that’s how Lucas found the company. ”
I flip through the pages again, noticing a new pattern this time. The report mentions six companies multiple times, in random order—three with Russian names and three with Spanish names.
“Half of these are Anatoliy’s. Half belong to Perez,” I mutter as the meaning dawns on me.
“Exactly,” Leo says, pointing out the first two. “Once Lucas figured out the family tree, he started looking for links to the Caribbean. Wouldn’t you know, Anatoliy’s cousin has a company, Rostov Trading, which does a lot of business in the Dominican Republic and, more recently, Puerto Rico.”
“What about Viejo Inc.?”
Leo leans against Dante’s desk, crossing his arms. “That was harder to trace. It’s a subsidiary of a company opened with a trust in the Bahamas. The only thing we have to go on is that their bank is the same one Perez uses in Grand Cayman. All the companies with Spanish names are set up this way.”
“Perez is smarter than Kozlova.”
“But not smart enough.” Leo smirks. “Here’s the big thing: those flight records are all from one airport.”
I glance at the top of the records page. “SIG?”
“An airport servicing San Juan.”
“So, they’re meeting in Puerto Rico?” I drop the stack of papers on the desk.
“It looks that way.” Leo smirks.
“When do we fly?” For the first time in months, we have the upper hand.
“Marco gets home with the jet next Friday. If we wait until then, we will have time to devise a plan and do our due diligence. How do you feel about a long weekend in paradise?”
“I feel like Cassandra is going to be pretty pissed off that it’s not a leisure trip and she can’t go.” I laugh. She’s been hinting at wanting to go somewhere with palm trees and beaches for our honeymoon.
“Perfect.” Leo grabs the stack of papers, tapping them into conformity against the desk. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
As I turn the knob on the office door, I pause. “Hey, Leo. Tell Lucas he did a damn good job.”
“Will do.” With a nod, he’s off, headed back to the office or his suite, where he’ll use his brilliant mind to come up with a proposal.
I linger behind, not closing Dante’s door all the way, and pull out my phone. Once Leo is out of range, I dip back into the office, shutting myself in.
I scroll through my recent calls and select the anonymous number connected to a cold phone that very few people know about.
It rings twice before my contact answers.
“Tariello?”
“Hey, I have some information for you.” I lean against Dante’s desk, my eyes flicking to the door as if someone will barge in at any moment. “We think Kozlova and Perez are communicating hidden between shell companies.”
“How so?” I can hear a keyboard clicking in the background as the man makes notes.
I close my eyes, sifting through the information I have, deciding what to tell him and what I need to keep confidential.
“We saw some phone records of companies linked to the Kozlova Bratva. They are communicating with other companies based in the Bahamas. It’s harder to trace the ownership of those, but our theory is that the Medinas control them. ”
“Names of the companies?”
“I don’t have them on me.”
The man growls into the receiver. “Dominic.”
“I’ll get them to you when I can.”
He grunts. “Yeah, sure. Any idea where they’re meeting?”
I blow a breath through my nose before saying, “We’re working on figuring that out.”
My contact falls silent for a moment, likely weighing whether to believe me. He’s smart, but he’s also somewhat at my mercy. I’ll tell him what I know eventually, but I want to get to San Juan before he does.
“One other thing,” I tell him. “Apparently, Anatoliy Kozlova’s aunt posted their family tree on an online ancestry website. No idea what her motivation was, but according to my adviser, it’s a detailed list naming people we didn’t know were connected to the family.”
“Huh.” He chuckles. “Guess I’ll have to look into that. My friends in Boston would love to have the information. Got anything else for me?”
“That’s it for now.”
“So, when are you headed to the Caribbean?”
I laugh. Fucker knows me too well.
“When I find out where Kozlova and Perez are meeting.”
“Right.” He scoffs. “I’ll keep an eye on your flight records for the next few days.”
“My jet is in the Virgin Islands. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I stand straight, ready to end this call and go meet my fiancée.
“Call me when you’re willing to share more.” The man concedes—for now.
“Talk to you when I can.”
The line goes dead, and I drop my phone into my pocket.
Looks like a direct flight to Puerto Rico is out of the question.