“Yes, boss.”
The call ended. I needed every detail about the political ties between Cuba and Miami—names, affiliations, and the money trails. But I couldn’t trust Akim to handle the groundwork there. His face was well-known. So, I had to bring someone else on board.
I rang Roman, and he answered on the fourth ring, his voice dragging. “Brother… oh sorry, Boss?”
Asshole. “I want you in Florida immediately.”
The silence stretched before he finally asked, “Why am I getting these orders?”
“Get your brother out of whoever’s hands he put himself in.”
He scoffed. “And why would I do that to your favourite brother?”
“That’s an order,” I snapped. “And you take it seriously. Get on your flight and go to Florida.”
Anything could happen to men like us. But captured? That was surrender.
I focused on the laptop, scanning through the files Akim had pushed into my inbox. There were numbers, coded memos, names of men who already owed me more than their lives. At the bottom of the stack, a video file waited.
The footage loaded where Dmitri appeared, walking across a cracked parking lot toward his black sedan. His gait was careless, a man who thought the world could never touch him. He reached for the handle, and the moment the door cracked open, the car exploded.
The blast threw Dmitri off his feet. His body slammed against another car, smoke and dust swallowing him.
People sprinted in every direction. Within minutes, the parking lot emptied just as a black van rolled in. Three men in masks stepped out. They moved without hesitation, pulled Dmitri’s limp body off the ground, and dragged him into theirvehicle.
The feed ended there. I leaned back, blood rushing. This was long planned. The van had no plates, and too many eyes were already on him. Dmitri had been marked long before he touched that car.
I opened another file, scrolling through the names of the men tied to his deals. One politician stood out, and the other two were scrap merchants in Cuba and Florida. They were too small and broke to pull something this heavy. I knew Florida better than most of them. I had run every corner of it, laundering cash through ports and casinos, pulling men into my payroll with debts they could never pay back. So it didn’t surprise me when I saw the name Maverick Blackwood, a winery owner. The pretentious bastard who thought his imported bottles and polished image made him untouchable. He wasn’t a man. He was too proud to know his place. And he dared to step into the Konstantinov business.
That was where he fucked up. He could run ten steps ahead, but he didn’t know the face behind the man he had in his hands. And if he did, then he had grown a pair of balls too big for his body.
The list told me what I needed to know. Dmitri wasn’t in Florida. He was dragged to Cuba. The politician involved was a minister of transport, a man who could shift goods across borders without a second glance. It was easier to bury Dmitri in Cuba, where laws bent like paper. The third man on the list was new to me, but having Maverick tied in was enough. My first move had its target.
I forwarded the information to Roman. As a Konstantinov, he knew how to handle names and blood ties. As soon as the file was sent, my phone rang.
I answered without hesitation. “What?”
A faint sob bled through the line, catching me off guard. Ichecked my phone screen. It was an unregistered number. A woman’s voice broke through.
“I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have called you, but it’s about Alessia.”
Alessia. Her name alone demanded attention. I checked my watch. It was three in the afternoon here, which meant it was a few minutes to midnight in Italy. Pavel had reported on her safety. She should be asleep.
“What happened?” I asked.
“She argued with Vincenzo earlier. When she returned home, she started drinking again.”
A soft groan slipped through the line. Alessia. My gut clenched. “Give her the phone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Muffled voices followed, fabric brushing, before her slurred voice spilled through. “I’m stupid. Right, Savina? Vincenzo was hurt and angry and… God, I shouldn’t have drunk. Why are you giving me the phone?”
“Take it.” The maid urged.
“I’m scared of what he will do. He will tell his father and then… I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. Can I have one more glass?”
“Someone wants to talk to you.”